Scp-042 Novels & Stories

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.

I scrambled, ripping the fabric, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Bianca! Run!" Dante tried to stand, but the sand gave way beneath him. A third harpoon thudded into the dune behind him. Then a fourth. They weren't aiming to kill. They were building a cage. "Subject 402 and 403 identified," a voice boomed from the lead ship. It wasn't an AI. It was a man. A human voice, filled with a decade of accumulated hate. "Deploy the Neutralization Gas. We want the Butcher alive for the trial."

The other was a tall man with the permanent scowl of someone who'd once been a bureaucrat and now had to carry a gun. The woman introduced herself as Marta Sánchez, formerly Control Acquisition Division. The man, DeWitt, didn’t give a first name. Marta pulled a tarp off a metal cart. What lay beneath looked like a human brain, roughly basketball-sized, mounted on a mess of tentacles and chitinous limbs. It had no eyes, but ridges across its central mass pulsed faintly, as if registering light. "Meet the enemy," Marta said. "This is a dead one. We think. Don’t poke it."

Chemical conditioning. Then she found something that made her stop breathing. A handwritten note clipped to her file. Subject Twelve shows promise but maintains emotional attachments. Specifically to Subject Four. Recommend separation to complete conditioning. Below that, another note in different handwriting. Subject Four terminated. Subject Twelve's conditioning resumed. "Subject Four," Celeste whispered. "Who was Subject Four?" Her brother took the file. Searched through it. Found the roster. Ran his finger down the list. "Here. Subject Four. Enrolled age seven." He went quiet. "Real name: James Veritas."

he answered. Dumfounded, "What do you mean?" "Like us, they also survived and managed to get hold of powerful traits. Like Noel!" he answered. "Are you sure?" asked Gloyd who now changed back into his human form. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "I was given to the turtle monster by the one from the void. They even called me subject 42. And I don't even know what that is." He explained. Alex hearing this information, he could not stop himself from being curious and ask for something more, "What about subject 42? What about it?" Alex said.

And the scarred leader, who gave her name at the hatch as Renn and nothing else, folded into the last seat with the stillness of someone who has already decided how this ends and is only here to make sure it ends for everyone. A crew of the damned. Nobody trusts the person breathing next to them. For once, the room is telling the truth. The Nadir-04 is a sphere of forty-year-old titanium with a viewport the size of a dinner plate and just enough room for the living to be miserable in. Sarah runs her checks out loud, naming each system as she wakes it, and her voice in the cramped dark is the steadiest thing aboard. She does not pretend this is safe. She just refuses to let it be sloppy.

Liam ripped off the panel and rewired it manually, sparks flying. “You’ve done this before,” Elara said. “Too many times,” he muttered. “Victoria loved her puzzles. I learned to break them.” When the hatch hissed open, a gust of sterile, recycled air hit their faces. It smelled of metal, chemicals, and faint traces of blood. Liam descended first, the beam from his flashlight slicing through the darkness. The deeper they went, the more the walls changed from rough stone to polished steel. And then he saw it. Rows of glass chambers, glowing faint blue. Inside each one floated a small, motionless figure of children, suspended in liquid. Their faces were peaceful, too peaceful. Labels scrolled a

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.

“Now, put your hand on my forehead. Feel the true power of your soul.” I hesitated. The energy coming off of her was intense and almost overwhelming. But she was part of me, right? It should be safe. I reached out and placed my palm against her forehead. But the moment my skin made contact with her spectral fur, electricity shot through my entire body. Power flowed into me, through me, around me with such force I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even fathom what was happening. And then, like a switch had been flipped, everything went black.