Scp-192 Novels & Stories

Charlie Gale looked at the cuff with interest. Cameron saw Meguitte’s shoulders hunch defensively. What, precisely, was her involvement with the cuffs? He wondered. She had been handcuffed, but not with magic, and she had known the words to release the werewolves… Talen’s name. “Did you see the Van Helsings’ torturer, Sparrow, during your time as a prisoner?” August interrupted, sparing Meguitte the necessity of answering Charlie. “Is there anything that you can tell us about him? He remains our number one target,” he added to the council, his eyes going to Greg. “Greg’s Triquetra will resume their efforts to locate and detain him now that the explosion is no longer of concern.”

The wolf's flinched, looking around wildly for him, but he hadn't materialized as of yet. "You guys," Nat said softly as she seemed to notice something. Pink and Sam looked back at her as she held up the tracking sphere. It glowed a bright blue when pointed towards the cradle. "Allena soul is in there?" Pink asked as she looked back and forth from the orb to the churning spire of magic. Sam was the first to break from the group, moving swiftly towards the pulsing indigo mass. "Sam, don't touch it!" Nat called as she came up behind him.

What the hell were they experimenting on here? Darwin touched her shoulder. “Don’t look.” She forced herself to step away. The further they walked, the worse it became. Some cells had scratches on the walls, deep and frantic. Others had dried blood smeared across the floors, as if something had been dragged away. One door was barely hanging on its hinges. The label was faded, but Fiona could still make it out: SUBJECT 12 – ESCAPED She swallowed hard. Marcus exhaled sharply. “Yeah. That’s not terrifying at all.”

Cassidy said, “The possibility of opening portals here is in the back of the minds of some of the guards closest to the Red Queen. They are thinking about the ways they can get her out if necessary. They know there’s a possibility we’ve deciphered the emails we found, but they don’t know for sure. The head of her defenses is a tall Vampire with glasses and a jagged scar on his face. They call him Komandir Chepin, but that’s not his real name. He’s… not nice.” “Then get out of there before he realizes you’re poking around in his head and decides to keep you for a while!” Brandon shouted at her. “He doesn’t know I’m here. None of them do. I’m probing the guards, not him. Or her. There’s someth

[Author's note: All the dialogues enclosed within asterisk are commmunicated through telepathy. So, even if the words said, roared, etc are used it is to be assumed that they are communicated through telepathy!] R-18 was busy working on the new project, assigned to him by his master when his mate S-15 mind-linked. *Your hostage is causing a ruckus. She has come out of the cell. Unfortunately, F-20 has seen this. You know how much he hates humans. I am sure he will kill her if he reaches before you*

Instead of warning sirens, a cold mechanical voice suddenly echoed through the chamber overhead. “Containment failure detected. Facility lockdown initiated.” Every elevator light instantly turned red and the open elevator doors behind us slowly began sliding shut. “No no no,” Matt muttered frantically while rushing toward the controls. The stranger tried shoving the Alpha backward again but the creature barely moved now. Its claws remained buried inside his shoulder while blood poured heavily down his arm. “You are all staying here,” the Alpha growled. Natasha suddenly broke away from Matt and ran toward me despite everything happening around us.

The room was silent. Only the faint hum of Zelios' electrical lights broke the stillness. Sera stood motionless before her desk, her eyes resting on the scattered files she had spent hours reading. Reports lay open one over another, their yellowed pages filled with decades of observations, failed experiments, blood analyses, and names that should have remained buried. Project Crimson Hunger. Crimson Blood. Subject H-01. Husen. She slowly reached for the final report and closed it. The soft thud echoed through the room. For several long moments, she simply stared at the worn cover.

“Alright.” As they took the left corridor, the hum of old machinery returned—an unnatural sound, too rhythmic to be background noise. Damien's hand instinctively rested on his weapon. Aurora moved closer, tense but composed. Then, they found it. A large, circular vault door stood at the end of the hallway, with a biometric scanner and rusted keypad. The sign above read: SUBJECT NULL – RESTRICTED. LEVEL 6 CLEARANCE REQUIRED. Damien’s heart pounded. “We’re here.”

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."

Everything stills. The heart rate levels. The blue light in the pod stabilizes. And I freeze. What did I just do? Behind me, a sound. A soft electric click like a lock disengaging. I whirl around And the door at the end of the hallway slides open silently. Cold air spills out. Artificial. Chemical. Wrong. A silhouette stands there. Tall. Still. Watching me. Not Alexander. Not Clara. Someone else. The figure steps forward, robotic but precise. A security drone unfolds from the ceiling behind him like a spider dropping onto prey.