Scp 099 Novels & Stories

“Of course, I will let you go.” “Really? Oh my God, thank you so much.” “But that will be after ninety days.” “What?” She screamed. “Yes, ninety days.” “What do you mean after ninety days? Are you crazy? You kidnapped me for no reason and you won't let me go till after ninety days?” “You should be lucky I didn't say I will kill you.” “Let me go, this is a great offense and I will report you to the cops, untie me and let me go.”

Charles was still stubbornly trapped in his delusions, and he screamed, "Just wait a little more! I have to be right, my superpower lets me see the future!" Having lost her trust in him, Iris shook her hand out of his grip and ran straight out the door. However, the weather outside had already become -94°F, and there was no more electricity and water, much less any transportation, so she had no choice but to return to the Dennings. Sipping another warm cup of milk tea, I activated my generator. Because of the weather, the surveillance footage was cut out more often than not, but I could tell what was going on at their place through the comments in real time.

The man hung his head low, his fingers buried deep in his hair, carefully considering where I might have gone. As his eyes wandered, they suddenly fell upon the trash can nearby. Those pink fragments looked so familiar that the moment he saw them, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He slowly crouched down, not caring that the cream stains would dirty his sleeves. He picked up the pieces from the trash can bit by bit. Then, he carefully assembled them back together. There were exactly 99 reconciliation vouchers. He remembered five years ago, when he had looked at those vouchers and sincerely promised me, "Cecilia, don't worry. I'll never give you a reason to use them."

"The Obsidian Hand has been buying information from the Southern border guards. They knew about the boy’s birth before the fires of our keep had cooled. The scout I killed on the ridge did not have meat or water in his pack. He had three small glass vials of preserving oil, and an iron scalpel designed to shave skin from the throat." The air in the room went cold, the oil lamp flickering as the draft from the door grew stronger. In the corner, near the dark salt-chest, the shadow seemed to thicken. Lucian turned his head slowly, his silver eyes locking onto the dark space. His lips parted, and that same ancient, clicking tongue came out, softer this time, like a whisper spoken into an empty

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I took my phone and tried to make a call, but someone grabbed and broke it. @DeathWish All Right Reserved 2021 Sena Mangampo

Like seeing someone from a dream you forgot. Its head tilted slowly. Studying me. The scientist smiled. “Prototype Zero.” A pause. “Meet Ariana.” Silence. Then— the thing spoke. Its voice sounded distorted. Broken. Mechanical. Human. All at once. “…Subject… Nine.” My blood turned cold. Subject Nine. Me. How did it know that? Damien stepped forward instantly. “You don’t come near her.” Prototype Zero looked at him. Then back at me. Its expression changed slightly.

My script is running flawlessly, linking the aliases to the offshore accounts, mapping the network of untouchable billionaires and politicians who think they own the world. My spine aches. My eyes are burning so badly I can barely read the text, but the manic, vicious energy of the hunt keeps me locked in. I don't look at Kir. I don't look for his approval or his comfort. I just keep typing. "Got a hit on the Sector Nine delivery," Chana says suddenly. I stop typing. Ray leans forward. "The tail number traces back to a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands," Chana says, her dark eyes flicking rapidly across her screens.

And tomorrow, every detail of that statement would matter. His phone buzzed on the table. A text from Louis. 𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑑. 𝐸𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. Dimitri typed a short reply: 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑.

The door to my room was suddenly pushed open without warning. My brother, Adrian Hoffman, walked in and scoffed when he saw me staring blankly at my diary. "Aren't you a little too old to be writing a diary?" Normally, I would have argued back. But this time, I didn't even lift my head or respond. Seeing my lack of reaction, he grew irritated and ran his hand through his hair before snatching my diary to take a look. On it was a single number—99.