Scp-732 Novels & Stories

“You’re eighteen, right? Sixteen years ago was the tail end of a pretty large war in the werewolf world. You could have been a survivor. Do you remember anything about what happened before you were at the orphanage?” “I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “It’s fine. A lineage test would be able to tell you if any of them are alive at least.” Another knock sounded from further away. She stood. “Seems like the calvary is about to advance. Would you like to meet him?” I blinked. “Him?” She grinned. “Chief Operative of the SCF and Liaison Specialist Dagon Bluescale.”

I almost lost control today in her apartment and if she saw the brutality I was capable of when I had no control Dea would fear me till the day she drew her last breath. "That complicates things. I'm sure we can find a way to scare him. We could always use the little bloodsucker. I'm sure he and Lilith wouldn't mind some fresh, hot blood," Quade chuckled at his morbid idea and, even I had to admit, it was a good plan, "you do remember who they are?" "I remember," I admitted, "I've worked with each one of the council members individually to have slight memories of them so Sydney wasn't around all the time."

I had to maintain the feral act until the moment came to drop it. So I threw myself against the cage bars with renewed fury, roaring and snarling like the alarms had triggered some primitive fear response. The vampires barely glanced at me - just another caged animal reacting to loud noises. "Protocol Seven," the third vampire announced, checking his weapon. "Secure all assets, prepare for extraction if necessary." "What about the specimen?" the blonde asked, gesturing toward my cage. Marcus hefted the metal rod like a weapon. "Orders are to terminate if rescue seems likely. Can't let werewolf intelligence networks get their hands on what we've learned about consciousness suppression."

The moment Continuum said Ava’s name out loud, the room changed. Not physically. Just the way air changes when power shifts. The way you feel heat before you see flame. Inside Geneva’s black chamber, every sensor on the walls flickered. Pulse rate. Neural rhythm. Voice modulation. All jumped. Just high enough to trigger VX Protocol 7.3. Fail-Safe Initiated. It started slow. The chair she sat on stiffened. The lights dimmed. The floor beneath her hummed like it had a heartbeat.

“A file. About you.” I froze. “About me?” He nodded, face grim. “Encrypted, but I saw enough.” “What did it say?” Julian hesitated. The flickering red cast sharp shadows across his cheekbones. “You were never just an analyst.” My stomach clenched. That wasn’t possible. I’d seen my records. I knew who I was. Didn’t I? Before I could ask, the overhead intercom crackled to life, metallic, soulless. “Subject 07 and Handler Alpha. Containment breach in Section Delta. Do not proceed.”

Outside the safehouse, a shadow lingered in the alley across the street, eyes fixed on Serena’s window as the light inside flickered off. He raised a communicator to his lips. “Target has read the letter. Project Harbinger is compromised.” A pause. “Initiate Phase Seven.”

His hand came up and cupped the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw. “Later,” he said, voice rough. “We survive the node first.” The voice returned, louder, filling the chamber. “Subject 47. The Resonator’s presence has been confirmed. Present her to the dais for full integration. Compliance will stabilize your remaining functions. Resistance will result in permanent severance.” Kael’s body jerked as the failsafe tried to force him toward the dais. Black surged hard. I stepped in front of him, both hands on his chest, pouring will and residual heat through the contact.

I smirked and pushed him away and wiped my lips which caused him to frown even more. "Rest well, bae," I said, then slowly he lost his consciousness. I whistled as I saw him lying on the cold floor. "Looks like you can't even go to your girl now," I said and shook my head. I think, I need to thank Sophia for her lipstick. AS ordered by Aycxe we met at the compound of the mansion of Matthew Laqueza, a mafia lord and member of the Ktinódis syndicate. "Put this on each wall," I ordered Shiela and gave the two pieces of bombs.

extraction team had already breached the secondary perimeter. Standing on the far ledge was Unit 731—a group of "Crossover" operatives who had been scrubbed of their "Analog" humanity. They wore matte-black tactical gear that seemed to absorb the dim light of the tunnel, their "Chronicle" visors glowing with a "possessive" blue malevolence. "Ethan!" Aria screamed, the "raw vulnerability" in her voice echoing off the damp stone. "They’re using 'Neural-Lock' snipers! If we move, they’ll trigger the paralysis field!"

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."