Scp-124 Novels & Stories

Outside, the birds fell silent. A figure stood in our garden, between the rosemary and the struggling carrots. It was neither male nor female, clad in a robe of shifting, neutral grey. Its face was pleasant but forgettable, and it held a slate of smooth, dark stone in one hand. In the other, a stylus of white light hovered, ready to take notes. “Designates: Sze and Kairi,” it said. Its voice was calm, measured, and utterly devoid of inflection. “I am Assessor Seven. I am here to evaluate Incident Report 4492-Alpha and the ongoing status of your localized anomaly.”

Rows of tanks glowed dimly, each holding something floating inside…a shape, a body, a half-formed life. Then I saw it. The baby in the machine. Small. Barely formed. Connected to tubes. Its heartbeat flickering on a screen. The label beside the tank: SUBJECT TWELVE — Survival Probability: High I choked on a scream. The scientists stood around it, scribbling, whispering. “Heart rate stabilizing.” “Resilience is strong.” “Subject Twelve is viable for long-term emotional conditioning.” My stomach twisted. Subject Twelve. Me. The screen flickered…

"You've been silent since we cleared Nigerian airspace. What do you see?" "I see their signatures, Caspian," Jade whispered, her voice sounding distant, as if she were speaking from another room. "The Board of Twelve. They aren't just names anymore. They are biological pings on a global grid. They’ve been using a refined version of the serum for years—a 'Pure' strain that keeps them alive and hidden. But because I have the Sterling frequency, I can track the echo of their DNA."

Jessica stopped cold. Miguel turned slightly. "Explain". Claire gesture toward the thick walls. "Sector Twelve is where they keep anomalies. Those they couldn't control, couldn't break, couldn't kill. They've been preparing this room for years modifying it with pulse fields, memory triggers, neural loops. Romeo won't just be waiting inside..." Her voice dropped. "He'll already be fighting for his mind". Jessica's chest tightened painfully. "We're not too late. We can still stop whatever they're doing to him".

Level 2 — Surveillance Control Operators shouted across consoles, their eyes on security feeds. “Sector Four breach!” “She’s with it—some girl!” “That’s no girl. That’s Carson’s kid. The one who raised it.” One soldier barked into a comm: “Orders? Terminate both?” Static. Then a voice replied, grim and clipped: “Negative. The Chimera protocol is priority. Do not engage unless necessary.” The guards hesitated — but hesitation didn’t save them.

Emily was doomed. She was aware of the fact with a quiet acceptance, and surprisingly enough, it left her with no fear. The man who'd grabbed her when she managed to get into the room with Amber was named Brian. He was the one she'd followed here, to her place of doom.

They were fast—unnaturally fast. “Signal sent,” Nomo whispered as the tablet chimed. He looked up just as the first creature lunged from the shadows, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle-like silver teeth. He raised his sword, the silver blade humming with his own desperate energy. “Sofia... I hope you’re watching.” (SOFIA QUISPE’S POINT OF VIEW) “The signal is coming from the basement levels of Warehouse 14,” Phuwin said, his fingers flying across the keys. “I’m trying to override their security, but someone is counter-coding me in real-time. It’s Klaus. He’s been waiting for us to trip this wire.”

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.

“They want to change me.” Adrian leaned in. His fingers hovered near the override controls. Society protocol dictated a calming override—audio frequencies designed to subdue panic responses. One touch and the room would flood with compliance triggers. But Isabella didn’t move to stop the unraveling. She let it happen. “Who are ‘they,’ P-12?” she asked softly, her voice calm, nearly maternal. “And what do they want to change?” P-12 halted mid-step. His eyes darted to the corner camera. Adrian could see the fear in his stare, but also clarity. A flicker of the man he used to be.

"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..."