Scp-978 Novels & Stories

The voice was no longer filtered through speakers. It came from the dark at the far end of the service corridor, low and steady, carrying the same distorted resonance as the core itself. “Subject 47. Resonator. You have entered the primary imprint corridor. Further resistance is inefficient. Present yourselves for final registration.” Kael stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into his back. His hand stayed locked around mine. Through the bond the failsafe surged in open recognition of the voice, black flooding the edges of his amber eyes and holding there with more force than it had shown since the dais.

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."

"The biological sensors are picking up a 'Culling Frequency' from the triangular ship. The creature is trying to detach itself from the peak. It wants to flee back into the dark!" ​"Hold it together, Harl!" I roared, my hands fusing with the central trunk of the Grove. ​I felt the mercury in my blood accelerate, the violet lattice pulsing with a new, intrusive stream of data. A window popped up on my internal HUD, a file I hadn't seen in a lifetime. It was a digital copy of my own medical residency papers from the university, annotated in a clinical, multifaceted script. ​Subject 09-Elara. Potential: High. Resistance to Conformity: Critical.

I kept myself busy in the kitchen, deliberately making loud noises as I arranged the glasses to vent my frustration. Skyden was busy unpacking large boxes in the living room, ignoring me as if I weren't even there. Whenever we passed each other, I'd deliberately bump into his shoulder hard, and he'd just snort under his breath. Amid that "cold war," I caught sight of an elegant black brochure lying on the marble table: Echelon Nine Living Manual. I read it slowly while standing at the kitchen counter, skimming past the section about the fitness center and spa until my eyes locked onto one rule printed in gold ink: every Wednesday at 11:00 PM, the basement area is closed to the public.

After remembering for the eighth time that I am the real heiress to the wealthy Fletcher family, my brothers are about to hypnotize me again for the ninth time. My three older brothers, Dustin, Dominic, and Derek Fletcher, make me draw lots to decide the role that I'm going to have to assume after I'm hypnotized. The three lots are labeled "fake heiress", "the maid's daughter", and "the impoverished student the family is sponsoring". "Draw one." I don't move a muscle. Dustin's face turns grim first. "If you still want to continue living in the Fletcher household, Autumn, then stop trying to steal Daphne's identity away from her!" Dominic frowns and says impatiently, "Can't you be more

Gone were any semblance of intelligence or even wildness - instead there was an emptiness that was accompanied by a distant bloodlust. “By the way,” said the Director. “Thank you for bringing subject X99 with you. She’s my finest experiment, and this is an excellent opportunity to awaken her.” The Director then raised a gauntleted arm, and curled his hand into a fist. In that exact moment, a tone echoed out all around the room, which pierced the wolves’ minds. It tore through their psyches like a blade, even as the Director himself laughed at Freya and Lucifer’s predicament.

“What do you mean?” Marla tapped her keyboard. On the screen appeared a registration document. Not legal. Medical. Anita read it aloud. “‘Subject: SB-001. Genetic viability: confirmed. Psychological profile: compliant with conditioning. Intelligence quotient: stable. Risk level: dormant.’” Nathan blinked. “She’s not a person to them. She’s a project.” Ethan added, “They’ve been monitoring her since she disappeared. And guess where she was for the last six months?” Marla’s voice was grim. “A Rothschild psychiatric facility in Prague. Off the books. Not for treatment. For reprogramming.”

Data, coordinates, intent and a face. I uploaded it to the neural scanner. The man beside Damian wasn’t just muscle. He was a known ghost from black-ops: Kazimir Vukov. Ex-SERAPH. Off-grid for six years. Now he was back—and working for the enemy. Sophia wasn’t being held for leverage. She was being held because she was the only one who could still outmaneuver him and if Damian got bored… he’d test her limits just to see how long it took to break her.

Her smooth, rounded body relaxed into me with no opposition. "This ends tonight," I said. And for an instant, I did. *** Meanwhile… Emmaline Shaw – Private Server Room, Underground Facility The emergency messages streamed across her screens in waves of cascading red. ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED PROTOCOL FAILURE - CODE X900 ASSET TRACE: INITIATED She looked at the cascade of information streaming in—Eric's scan had touched off an irreversible chain reaction. "Shut it down!" she exclaimed. "But ma'am—"