Scp-978 Novels & Stories

when in truth she stole everything. The young woman stood nervously by the door. “Commander… is something wrong?” I looked up slowly. “When was the last time this facility was used?” She hesitated. “This morning.” My jaw tightened. “On who?” “A shifter child from Sector Nine.” Sector Nine. The Garden. Cross was actively breaking children. Still. Today. My voice sharpened. “And where is the child now?” “There.” She pointed to an adjacent door. I opened it. Inside, a little girl, maybe seven, pĺsat on a chair with a blank expression.

"And it recognizes its mistress." Harris's fingers brushed the revolver's checkered grip. "Where is Subject Eight?" His mother's smile revealed teeth filed to subtle points. She pressed a sequence into her console. The wall behind her split open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a cylindrical containment chamber. Suspended in amber fluid, a girl floated in fetal position—her dark curls swaying in the current. Not a girl. A weapon. Luna's face. Anna's eyes. Rachel's smile. "Generation Nine," his mother breathed. The black veins pulsed as she approached the tank. "The first perfect hybrid."

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.

I typed a query into the stolen Citadel frequency. Troop Deployment Manifest: Sector 99. The screen flooded with red text. The light leached the color from my hands, turning my skin a sickly, artificial crimson. ACCESS GRANTED. DEPLOYMENT CONFIRMED. UNIT: PURGE CORPS (BATTALIONS 1-10). ASSETS: HEAVY WALKER DIVISION. AERIAL SUPPORT. OBJECTIVE: TOTAL ERADICATION. "Wolfy?" Neoma stood in the doorway. My skin prickled—not an itch, but a sharp, electric sting. The air around her was ionized. The chemical scent of it made my lungs tighten.

"The boy bypassed a secure municipal grid in under ten seconds. His coding signature matches the incident at the Arctic Core five years ago." "And the girl?" A distorted voice replied from the speakers. The man switched cameras to the video of Mia hitting Julian with a shoe. "Subject Beta. Highly aggressive. Protective instincts confirmed. No overt powers displayed yet." "What about Subject Gamma?" "The little one? Aurora?" The man zoomed in on the black SUV leaving the school. Through the tinted windows, thermal imaging showed a small heat signature radiating intense energy—hotter than a normal human. "Subject Gamma is a nuclear reactor," the man whispered. "Energy readings are off the char

logic beneath the sanitization. A voice echoed from the white walls—the same harmonious, terrifying chord from before. "Alpha-Regent Silas Blackwood. You are identified as a Primary Contaminant. Your rejection of the Sovereign unit created the initial entropy. You are a chaotic variable that cannot exist in the Second Phase. Please remain still for decommissioning."

I opened the folder. Inside were incident reports from other universities. Students with "extraordinary abilities" who'd lost control. Photographs of destruction, entire buildings collapsed, burn patterns that didn't match any known accelerant, people frozen solid in the middle of summer. And at the center of it all, casualty reports. Hundreds of deaths attributed to "supernatural awakenings." "Oh my God," Miguel breathed, reading over my shoulder. The final document was a psychological evaluation of Maya Cross, dated three weeks ago. The conclusion made my blood run cold:

I had bought a very specific piece of intelligence from a corrupt Council Clerk before the storm hit. "There is no need to draw your weapons, Officer," I said, my voice smooth, cold, and entirely level. I didn't step back. Instead, I leaned slightly forward, locking my eyes onto the lead guard’s identification badge. Commander Zack. "The machine didn't fail," I whispered, keeping my tone low enough that only a werewolf’s enhanced hearing could catch it over the wind. "The identity bound to Mask 99 is under an absolute proxy seal by the Northern High Vault. If you force a hard reset on that console, the biometric lock will flag this entire sector as a security breach. And I don't think your c

“That’s my Luna. My mate. My everything.” Inside the estate, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. Another message. I almost ignored it. Almost deleted it without looking. But something made me check. A video file. No text. Just the attachment. I opened it. Watched. Felt my blood turn to ice. The video showed a facility. White walls. Medical equipment. And rows of people in glass chambers. Hundreds of them. All unconscious. All hooked to machines. The camera panned. Showed a placard. Project Genesis. Activation in 89 days.

Because I understand. If someone had told him there was a way to ensure I wouldn’t die young, wouldn’t weaken, wouldn’t fail as an Alpha… He would’ve signed anything. I pull the manifest. The screen fills with sterile text. Clinical. Cold. No villains. Just data. SUBJECT: NOONE, ALESSANDRA STATUS: ACTIVE / UNCONTAINED CLASSIFICATION: GENETIC CATALYST Harley inhales sharply. I scroll. SUBJECT: FIVE STATUS: ACTIVE / CONTAINED