Scp-124 Novels & Stories

Something in-between. I follow the sound through the ruins, down into a lower tunnel that miraculously survived the blast. It’s dark, wet, and cold, the walls humming faintly with residual power. At the end of the passage, a door stands slightly ajar. I push it open. Inside is a small containment chamber, flickering with emergency lights. In the center — a single cryo-pod, cracked but intact. The label glows faintly: Subject 014. My heart stutters.

Just snow and shadows and silence. Perfect for ghosts. Luca started setting perimeter charges. Nico handled comms and power. Matteo dragged a table into the main room and dropped the drive on it. “You sure about this?” he asked me. “No,” I said. “But it’s time.” We sat together as the drive powered on, screen flickering blue. A countdown appeared: 47:56:21 And then beneath it, in blood-red letters: SUBJECT 01 – PROTOTYPE RESONANCE EVENT TRIGGERED

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."

Ten minutes later, the lobby of Grand Summit Residence fell into a silent tension. Mr. Cooper, Dr. Lynch, and the Riverson couple stood in the center, their faces as pale as chalk. Around them, armed SWAT officers were on high alert. The massive lobby screen was split into three frames. On the left, Zeke struggled to breathe in the hidden chamber of Unit 1204. In the center, Matthew was tied to a chair in my living room. On the right, a five-minute countdown clock glared in bright red.

he said, his voice too loud in the quiet room. His Beta appeared in the doorway. He was out of his suit, dressed in dark clothes. He looked like a soldier, which he was. "The reports from Level 42 are bad. Focus is down. Aggression is up. The wolves near her station are on edge. It's like a mental allergy." "Her name is Nyxara," Rhydian said, still not looking away from the city. "The anomaly," Kellan corrected, his voice careful. "She's a disruption. What are your orders?"

he said coldly, “you won’t live long enough to regret it.” Twelve froze. Kai tugged him back. “Maybe… maybe just let the Alpha handle it, yeah?” Ronan lowered his forehead to Kiera’s. Heat bled from him into her chilled skin. “Look at me,” he murmured. “Just look.” Her eyes flickered. But not at him—through him. A hall of white light. Doors with numbers. A small hand pounding on glass. A voice saying: ‘Subjects Subject 3 and Twelve—begin synchronization.’

I opened the next document, another fragment, this one tagged Incident Report, RDM-47B. It contained only a few sentences: “During containment, subject displayed uncontrollable electromagnetic discharge. Room temperature dropped by 15 degrees within seconds. When conscious, subject described recurring visions of a burning field and a girl made of gold. Council observer recommends continued sedation until resonance levels stabilise.” I felt the blood drain from my face. The “burning field,” the “girl made of gold.” Rain. That was Rain. I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. The laptop hummed quietly, a low electronic heartbeat in the silence.

PROTOCOL 0X13 – PERSONNEL CAPTURE INITIATED Target: SERA DUVALL Status: LIVE Marcus (to himself): “You want to unlock her, Lucien? Let’s see if you can protect her once she’s open.” The screen flashed red. The hunters were coming. Amber HQ – Sera’s Quarters – 08:02 EST The room was dim, quiet, save for the hum of encrypted sensors hidden in the walls. Sera sat barefoot on the edge of her bed, Elise’s last journal open in her lap. Lucien stood in the doorway, watching her.

As soon as my fingers brushed the screen, it flickered to life. Only for a second. A single, bright second. Long enough for me to glimpse the open page before it locked again. A message. From one of his security team leaders. My name stood out—bold and clear. And underneath it was a sentence that made my stomach drop far lower than any cramp ever could: “Sir, we have confirmed she was contacted. Sender still unknown. Someone wanted her at Pier Twelve.” The screen slipped back into darkness, swallowing those chilling words. I sat there, frozen in place.