Scp-992 Novels & Stories

The Biological Treason "You're remarkably calm for someone who just got handed to a Tier-Zero," the guard grunted. He stared at his handheld scanner, his brow furrowed. "The signals coming off your match's file are rising fast. They’ve already moved him to the deep containment wing. Facility 9 isn't a honeymoon suite, girl.” He glanced at her. “It’s a tomb." Lyra didn't look at him. She was staring at her optical computer, Unit 7, which was pulsed softly against her temple.

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

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

the female technician asked, her gloves squeaking against rubber tubing. ​"No post surgery," Sterling replied softly. His voice dropped into a hushed, flat monotone that sent a wave of icy horror crashing through my paralyzed body. "The Vance estate arranged the transfer directly from the surgical suite. She goes straight to the tarmac." ​"Under what designation?" ​A pause stretched between them. The only sound in the room was the dull hum of the suction machine and the rapid, unsteady beep of my heart monitor. ​"Code Crimson Nine," Sterling whispered.

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.

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.

The laboratory on the fifth basement level of the Montgomery Building was bone-chillingly cold, a subterranean tomb of glass and silicon. Under Zero's frantic guidance, Sophia finally stood before the "Root Server," a monolithic black pillar pulsating with a ghostly, rhythmic blue light. The air was thick with the acrid, metallic scent of electrical overload, and the countdown on her HUD had entered its final three minutes—00:02:59.

The creature didn't scream; it hissed, its orange core flaring as it tried to stabilize. "That’s for Phuwin, you glowing bastard!" Somito roared, bringing the mace down again and again until the orange light flickered and died, leaving only a pile of cooling, amber slush on the floor. "You really need to work on your stealth, old man," Zilo said, rushing to the terminal and his fingers flying across the keys. "Okay, I’ve got the bypass. Cell 402. Restricted access. It says... 'Subject: Pilot. Status: Integration Complete.'"

Notes scribbled in code still clung to clipboards tossed across the floor. “What were they doing here?” Mason whispered. Evelyn opened a drawer, fingers trembling. Photos. Notes. Logs. She stopped at a page marked Case Subject 9A. Age 16. Male. Transfer from “Hollow Branch.” Subject showed signs of high aggression post-serum. Terminated. “These weren’t criminals,” Evelyn said, voice low. “They were kids. Street kids. Runaways. Easy to disappear.” She didn’t say it out loud, but they all knew what she was thinking:

I feel like I will never escape from the cage I spent so many years of my childhood in. The dream of my first time in the laboratory haunts my mind, a constant reminder that I am the Dark Alpha’s pet, Experiment 399. I subconsciously ran my fingers down the back of my leg, feeling the permanent engraved scar of 399, and then felt the scar over my lower abdomen. Closing my eyes, I let out a whimpered sigh. The buzzing of my phone breaks into my thoughts and I see its Benji calling. I swipe it open, and press the speaker before resting it on top of the small stool I keep near the side of the tub. “Hello?”