Scp-040 Novels & Stories

"I don't know you and you don't know me, but I hope that you can help me. It's not about me but the man who has been imprisoned in Madrigal mansion for twenty-eight years already. I don't know if I will succeed in rescuing him because I'm sure the criminal who hid him there will surely hunt me for the failure I made in the job he has given me. Here are the front door entrance combinations: *0926# and *6104#. The study where he has hidden him is *6104#. There's a table inside the study, and inside the right drawer is the button to open the secret passage to the underground, where the man is. The light switch is also in the drawer. It will move on the right so you have to stand a little far af

“How about that one. D3M04/A4G31. It looks like the codes I saw on the other files.” Rowan opens the file and gasps. We don’t even notice that our noses are almost touching the screen as we read through the file. D3M04 10RD- Captured date 03/16/1999 - Present Subject showing signs of aggression after being separated from the mate. Due to genetic abilities, the subject is a viable donor for the life endurance of interspecies permutation. D3M04’S mate, A4G31, although a viable donor, is expendable. However, D3M04 10RD has proven himself to be unmanageable because of his superior abilities. Therefore, an arrangement has been made with D3M04 10RD that as long as he remains cooperative, A4G31 sh

On the top floor of ValeCorp, Elena Marsh’s clearance badge blinked once. Then failed. Security arrived four minutes later. She didn’t resist. Because she knew: The system didn’t belong to her anymore. It had remembered its true heir. The file was locked beneath six levels of redacted security. Even now even with root access it hesitated before opening. But she didn’t. She tapped the command key. The screen flickered. And there he was. Elias M. Ghost classification: 004. Erased: 5.09.21 Status: “Presumed Terminated – No Confirmation.”

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.

"Say your code. Now!" The emotional conflict shattered me. If I said the code, I gave the world to the monsters. If I didn't, I watched my son die on a monitor. I looked at the baby’s face, so peaceful in sleep, and the "Hidden Tycoon" within me died, replaced by something much older and more primal. "Seraphina Vance," I choked out. "Vocal ID 11-Omega-Four." The pedestals turned green. "Biometric Handshake Confirmed. Accessing Vaults..."

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.

And in the furthest Council vault the old servers began to fry, spontaneously, violently. An operator yelled. Sector 4 is gone! Another was crying, Memory banks are killing themselves, data is rewriting! it is playing on her name!” It was the final screen flashing: Breach of PRIMARY SUBJECT. SUBJECT SEVEN: SYNC 46 %. ZERO PROTOCOL… MERGING.

Agnes whispered under her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. A sudden, blood-red file unlocked at the top of the queue: > **CLASSIFIED RECORD: OPERATION NIGHTFALL** > AUTHORIZATION: ARCHON MALAKOR / GRAND WOLF ASSEMBLY > EXECUTOR: MORRIGAN VANCE (STEP-MOTHER) > ORDER DETAILS: TOTAL INCINERATION / ASSET SEIZURE > Agnes’s breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes scanned the decrypted blueprint attached to the file—a highly complex, ancient Relic schematic stamped with her late mother’s personal crest: **The Apex Relic.**

"We’ve checked your apartment. There are no signs of forced entry. Doors and windows are intact. Inside, there are only your fingerprints and hair. No one else’s. "There are biological remains on the floor," he continued, "and they match what was found in Unit 703." "What does that mean?" "It means," Officer Cross said heavily, "Based on the surveillance footage and the evidence we currently have, the last person to have contact with the deceased, and the one who carried… body parts into a public area, was you."

I pulled an unmarked folder free from the furthest corner, and a wave unease crashed over me. This wasn’t just paper and ink, I could feel the malice vibrating in my nerves. It was a record of lives stolen, futures erased. Grainy and stark photographs showed small, cold forms wrapped in lace, newborn pups whose eyes would never see daylight again. Beside them, names, dates, clinical notes, all of it a catalog of cruelty. ‘Subject 402: Discarded. Essence insufficient for the ritual.’ Zebub’s unmistakable elegant, looping, precise handwriting detailed a massacre.