Scp-971 Novels & Stories

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."

Between them, a child, maybe four or five, with soft features. And the eyes— The same storm-gray eyes as Christopher. Her breath caught. The air thickened. There was no date on the photo. No note. Just a silent, accusing stare. Aurelia. Ethan. And a child Isla never knew existed. She forced herself to keep looking. Behind the photo, a folded paper slipped out. She unfolded it carefully, pulse racing. Subject-317. Reassigned after disappearance. No recovery. Presumed dead. Terminated under Protocol-9. No further questions.

As the Static Blanket dissolved, the vacuum left behind was filled with a new kind of sound, a high-pitched, metallic whine that vibrated in the teeth of every shifter in the city. ​Leo Vane stood in the center of the Chiyoda plaza, his boots crunching on the glass shards of the Ghost-Tower. Around him, millions of people were stumbling out of buildings, clutching their heads, their neural-links glowing white-hot as they disconnected from the Architect’s grid. ​"Leo, we have to move," Ren shouted, his eyes fixed on his frequency-mapper. "The Shadow Council isn't just sending drones. They’ve triggered Protocol 99." ​"What is Protocol 99?" Maya asked, her golden Force flaring as she shielded a

N Protocol - Subject 07" Her hands trembled as she opened it. A series of medical reports filled the screen growth charts, DNA enhancements, emotional suppression records. And the she saw it. Subject Name: Aurora Collins Status: Contained - Relocation initiated Located: Facilty Delta - Sector 9 Jessica covered her mouth, tears flooding her eyes. Aurora. That was her baby's name. The one she'd whispered before the world burned. Behind her, the faintest creak of floorboards broke the silence. She spun, weapon drawn but her breath hitched when she saw the figure emerging from the shadows.

It was chained to the rock with massive, glowing runes—Taoist binding spells that had been corrupted by time. "Subject 004-Delta," Caleb’s voice shifted slightly, the analytical tone of the AI blending seamlessly with his own observations. "Designation: The Cinder-Husk. Status: Dormant. Threat Level: Extreme." "It's not just dormant," Scarlett whispered, pulling out her jade brush. "It's suffering. Look at the chains. They aren't holding it; they're feeding on it. This thing is a living battery." "Then we put it out of its misery," Caleb said. He didn't transform into his wolf form. Instead, he simply took off his jacket, revealing the intricate, silver tattoos that now covered his arms—the

That emotional glitch—that hiccup in loyalty—was the crack I needed. Sia appeared at her desk, punctual as ever. “You’re needed upstairs.” “Which floor?” Floris asked. “Nine.” Of course, floor Nine didn’t exist on the official blueprint. That was the point. When the elevator took her beyond what she thought was the top, her heart rate surged—109, then 123 bpm when the doors opened and my guards stepped forward. She didn’t scream or run. Just braced herself like a girl walking into war. Room 917 was primed. White as death. Silent as guilt. The AI greeted her like a lover: “Property of Eric Brighton.”

Scarlett clicked open the full file. The terminal whirred softly. A new document appeared. Transfer Notes Confidential Her eyes scanned the text. Subject Seven demonstrates exceptional early cognitive response and adaptive emotional resilience. The maternal guardian insists transfer is necessary for long-term protection. Protection. Her breath caught. Protection from what? Dominic leaned closer. "There's another page." Scarlett opened it. A recorded voice file blinked on the screen. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The date was fifteen years old. Her trembling finger pressed play.

He wore a uniform of the Prime Architects—a suit that seemed to be made of shifting liquid silver. "I am Overseer 09," the man said. "And you are correct, Subject 01. The girl is the anchor. She is the 'Undo' command. As long as she exists in this sector, the Intersection is considered an 'unstable build.' At the end of the 24-hour cycle, the system will automatically roll back to the last stable state." "The last stable state..." I felt the blood drain from my face. "You mean the 'Real World.' The world where she’s dead and we’re in a coma."

The alarms blared. Red light swept across the lab, painting the glass walls in flashes. Dr. Hattie Quinn's hands shook as she typed into the terminal. “No, no, no, containment was secure.” Her throat felt tight. “It was secure.” A shadow moved beyond the glass in a predatory movement. Then he stepped into view. Subject X-9. He shouldn’t have looked so… human. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver veins glowing faintly under his skin. His eyes were wrong though, they were a burning gold and were locked on her as if she were prey.

Then another. "It’s not the Mother," Malakai whispered. His knuckles turned white. "Then who is it?" The terminal doors at the far end of the station creaked open. A man in a clean, white lab coat stepped through. He wasn't a wolf. He wasn't a hybrid. He was holding a remote detonator. "Subject 7B," the man said. His voice was projected through the station’s PA system. "The test period is over. Please step away from the civilian and return to your containment unit."