The Prototype: Theta

The Prototype: Theta

  • WpView
    Reads 4
  • WpVote
    Votes 1
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
WpMetadataReadOngoing1h 42m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Dec 31, 2024
WpInfo
Fiction
Science Fiction
In the dead of night, the sterile corridors of Blackreach Facility hum with the faint buzz of flickering fluorescent lights. Deep underground, the air smells of disinfectant and cold steel, heavy with the weight of whispered horrors. Subject Theta, a genetically engineered super soldier, sits restrained in his containment cell, his enhanced senses registering every faint creak and hiss of the facility's machinery. For years, he has been their weapon, their experiment-a perfect killing machine shaped by ruthless tests and endless pain. But tonight, the hunter becomes the hunted.
All Rights Reserved
#493
manipulation
WpChevronRight
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • Stuck in the Elevator Again | ONC 2022
  • The Mystery of Facility-13
  • Project Phantom
  • Unstable
  • Stasis (Yandere AI x Reader)
  • Special
  • 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐒
  • A Different Kind of Animal

COMPLETED Roselyn is heading for her first-ever interview for one of the world's top enterprises. Being late, she steps into an almost-empty elevator and is attracted to the handsome man in a gray suit that compliments his electric blue eyes. She, of course, doesn't start any conversation between them. They are strangers after all, and she is not tempted to flirt with some random guy despite her interest. However, everything changes when the elevator gets stuck on the 70th floor... - - - π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘šπ‘. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘šπ‘. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘šπ‘. As I'm aware of my surroundings now, the banging only adds to my trepidation. My tense jaw muscles tick as I grate my molars. πΆπ‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘π‘˜. πΆπ‘™π‘’π‘›π‘˜. That is the sound of metal breaking. I am sure of it. But what's outside? The maintenance crew? The firefighters? My lungs start constricting again. Stop. I have to stop overthinking. It's going to be fine. π‘€π‘’π‘›π‘β„Ž. π‘†π‘‘π‘œπ‘šπ‘. πΊπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘Žπ‘›. Light comes through the tiny puncture. First a beam, then a shaft, finally a gap. Fingers situate themselves onto the elevator floor. Blood-red cover the tips. Why will there be red paint on fingers? A long-lost dreadfulness pours into every pore of my body as a grim augury preoccupies my distressed mind. I unconsciously scoot to the back of the elevator, pressing my body close to Mr. Uburg's as I cling onto his robust arm. Hands grip onto the elevator door and use bare strength to rip the metal further apart. Then, a blood-plastered face comes into view. His bloodshot eyes bore into me with hunger. Patches of flesh on his forehead and cheek are torn. His nose is gone, replaced by a seeping wound. His teeth are crimson, a piece of fiber in between the gap of his incisors. What frightens me most is the emotion in his eyes. The craving for flesh and blood. The desire to fulfill his hunger. I do the only reasonable thing. I scream.

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines