Scp-011 Novels & Stories

The young man inside the capsule looked no older than Adrian. Same height. Same face. Same voice. Only his eyes lacked warmth. He looked at Adrian as though staring into a mirror. --- Adrian stepped forward. "Who are you?" The young man hesitated. Then quietly answered. "I..." "I don't know." "They never gave me a name." "They only called me..." "A-01." Evelyn closed her eyes. Samuel had done it again. Another child. Another stolen life. --- Eve's voice echoed through the chamber.

“Eleven confirmed. Nineteen probable. More unknown.” “And Subject One?” I looked at the first file. S-01. No origin listed. No family. No intake record. Only experimental notes beginning in the middle, as if the person had appeared already erased. “Nothing yet.” Elias’s fingers tapped once on the table. “There may be a pre-vault ledger.” Daniel frowned. “Where?” “Voss mentioned it once. Before subjects entered the war vault, they were processed through a temporary camp.” Elias’s eyes narrowed as he reached through memory. “Moonbreak Camp.”

The siren echoed through the underground tunnel. Loud. Relentless. Terrifying. WOOOOOOO… WOOOOOOO… WOOOOOOO… Nobody moved. Nobody spoke either. Because something about that sound felt wrong. Very wrong. Elliot stared at his tablet. Then looked again. Then looked a third time. “No.” Victor immediately turned. “What now?” Elliot looked pale. Really pale. “The facility is activating Protocol Zero.” He said.

The scent of antiseptic burned my nose. A hospital. I turned and froze. A glass window stretched before me, wide and gleaming. Beyond it— A chair. Restraints. Monitors. Tubes. And me. Strapped to the chair. Pale. Still. A line of stitches running across my scalp. I stepped closer, horror flooding my chest. “What is this?” I whispered. The glass flickered, flashing words in red: "Project Confessor: Subject 01 — Giovanni Moretti" Date: 2002.

Its rose symbol glowed softly in her palm. The core pulsed violently. A holographic figure materialized in front of her, a younger woman, beautiful and cold, eerily familiar. Not Evelyn. Not her mother. One of the founders. The first architect. The woman’s voice was smooth as glass. “Subject G01 identified.” Scarlett’s heart slammed against her ribs. The hologram smiled. “Welcome home.” No. She slammed the pendant into the slot. The lab screamed. Light detonated. Every screen shattered into blinding white static.

Project Halo had to be in there somewhere. In one hand, she carried a memory scanner. In the other, her fear. But she didn’t hesitate. Because this was no longer about answers. It was about reclaiming control. She found the mainframe beneath the biometric chamber. Silver wires stretched from the walls like veins, pulsing softly. Ophelia plugged in the device and began scanning the database. Names flew across the screen. Carl Maddox. Subject 04. Immune to psychic abilities. Recruited at age 7 after maternal sacrifice.

I know she’s both thinking about the safety of the pack and my own exhaustion level. “The police are on their way to meet Scar where Channing found the dead human. And,” I say looking up to glance at the clock on my office wall, “in just about six hours, Leader Bruno will be here to talk to us and Scar’s parents about their experiences with the undead, so we can have some ideas in place for when Scarlett contacts COWS. You know she’ll want you in on that meeting, too.” That’s another great thing about Scarlett — she recognizes the value that the mate brings to the table. Zella, Asher and Lupita aren’t just the mates of myself, Bree and Jacob, granting them the titles of Beta, Gamma and Delta

The plan was for the interior team to have at least ten minutes to get into position and locate the Red Queen before the attacks started outside. Jo had glanced at the clock on her IAC as she’d started levitating toward the chimney. They should have about five minutes left before the shooting began. They rushed down a hallway, Dax, Ingrid, and Jo following behind Cassidy who was moving at such a rapid pace, the rest of them struggled to keep up, she doubted anyone would be able to see her as she flew past, even the Vampires, who should be able to track a lot better than a mere human.

of the Foundation—a smell of sterile plastic, high-frequency electricity, and the cold, analytical hunger of men who viewed the soul as a data point. The door didn't explode with starlight. It was kicked in by a man in a tactical vest, his movements professional and devoid of narrative flair. He didn't carry a silver-glass needle; he carried a high-pressure sedative rifle. "Target Alpha-001 and Sovereign-001 identified," the man said into a radio on his shoulder. "The Genesis unit is with them. Initiate the 'Quiet Room' protocols."

When the doors opened, it felt like opening the mouth of something dead. The lab swallowed them whole. Cold metal corridors. Empty rooms. The hum of generators still barely alive, like the place had been waiting. Cassian moved fast. Dahlia followed, eyes hard. Anais gripped Maris’s hand tightly. They reached a control room. Dust covered the desk, but the monitors flickered when Cassian powered them on. Old feeds. Files. And then—on the center screen—a name blinked alive. SUBJECT 0-A Anais stared.