Young adult style tale set in a world where the Groups of Interest are mapped out as countries (Seventh Council Protectorate, Coss Imperium, Great Occult Commonwealth, etc.), all on the brink of war.
The main character would be a girl who discovers she has paranormal abilities, and needs to escape the Agents of the Council. She wants to get to the Serpentine Hinterlands, where the Black Queen offers protection to anomalies like her.
Along the way, she'll find the Nobody Under the Mountain, a towering bald and scarred man from another world.
Anyway, talk me out of this before I write anymore.

SCPs to use:

3425: Metal worker. Made of metal.

Hazel Wilkinson had last been free for five minutes when she was twelve. She had run off from a work gang when her chains slipped, but with no plan beyond run, she'd been captured swiftly. It had been a year until she'd seen light again, and another year before she finally saw another opportunity. But this time, she was not going to squander it.

She'd been allowed into the Safe Yard for the first time three weeks before. They'd watched her closely then, but she'd been as submissive as they could want. She knew she had no chance while they were watching closely.

She blinked a bit as they moved her roughly into the sunlight.

"You know the drill," the guard said, prodding her gently with his deadstick. Her back felt slightly numb, and she moved forward. Enough of a hit and she'd hardly be able to walk.

There were about fifty other inmates in the yard, probably a third of the Safe population. The rest would be filtered in and out as the day went on. No one was allowed to be out for too long.

She glanced over at the gate leading to the prison courtyard. It would be easy to get through those gates, but then there would be a large open field between her and the outer gates, with no vegetation or cover.

For now, her plan was simply to watch. There were always opportunities, distractions. She just had to recognize them and be ready.

An old familiar face turned to her and a slim dark arm waved her over.

"Hazel!" Iris said as the two embraced.

Hazel stepped back after a moment and stared at the iron mitts on the other girl's hands. "What'd you do?"

Iris grinned insolently. "Just a little charcoal sketch. Don't know why they got so upset. Everyone's a critic, I guess."

'I thought you needed, you know, real paints to do your thing."

"That's what they thought too." Her smile lingered a moment before dropping. "Honestly, no idea if it would've done anything. I just wanted to draw, to make something for myself for once, not for the magisters. Second they saw what I was up to, they had me in irons and my work scrubbed away. Now I gotta wear these anytime I'm not eating, bathing, or getting tested."

"That's awful!" Hazel said.

"At least they know I'm not completely tame."

"If ever they think you are domesticated, it will be to their sorrow," said a deep, rough voice from several feet above their heads. Hazel looked up to see the hairy, ape-like face giving a close-mouthed smile back to them.

"Trumpet, you hairy arsehole!" Iris hit him gently on his hip. "How the hell does a great lump like you move so quiet, anyway?"

"Much practice. Once I was a scout," said Angel's Trumpet.

Hazel gave him a hug. She felt a bit silly, like a little girl hugging an adult, but she had missed him.

Angel's Trumpet was there as a prisoner of war rather than an Anti-normal. Though the Commonwealth was officially at peace with the Children of the Moon, there were still occasional border skirmishes. Trumpet had been the official ambassador to the Commonwealth when the latest bit of fighting kicked off, and he was being held until either things cooled down or his family paid the ransom.



An old man was standing in chains before the guards, though Adams couldn't see how. His skin was an unnatural mottled orange and covered in sores. His bones were easily visible beneath scant muscle. He leaked a pungent oil that visibly etched into the wooden floor. The bindings seemed unaffected, however, aside from a mild discoloration.

The guard read from a slip of paper in a tan folder. "Number 3988. Also known as Nicholas Burns, Burnt Nick, Fireheart. Must be bound at all times. Bindings must be constructed of an alloy of--"

"Thank you, that's enough," she said. She'd read the man's file. It was amazing how much damage he'd been able to do for one so frail.

A thin man with a neatly trimmed beard stepped past her. "Not so tough without his armor, is he?"

She didn't turn, but kept looking forward, trying to keep the disgust from her face. It would only give him satisfaction. "No sir."

Magister Kondraki hit the back of the old man's leg with his cane, sending him tumbling to the floor. "Don't stand on my account," he said cheerily.

The old man struggled to his feet, the oily fluid leaking on the floor.

"One hundred and fourteen of the Overwatch Committee's best men dead, a factory in ruins, and very near to a breach of containment in Camp 67," Kondraki said. "You've been a naughty boy, haven't you Nicholas?" He used the tip of his cane to push the man over again.

"Sir, you shouldn't--" Adams began.

"I know what I am doing, Adams," he said sharply. "Don't presume to dictate to your betters."

She held her tongue. Secretly, she was glad he didn't listen to her. They couldn't blame her if anything happened now.

Kondraki turned back to the prisoner. "You all think you're so much better than we are, but I won't be the one locked in a little box for the rest of his days, you oily bastard. I'll be sipping brandy in my room while you'll be lucky if you see sunlight again. What do you think of that?"

The old man muttered something indistinctly.

"What was that? Speak up!" Kondraki said, prodding the man and leaning more closely.

The man took a deep breath, and then spat as hard as his frail lungs would allow, hitting an oily glob right on Kondraki's cheek.

The Magister screamed as the viscous acid hit. He fell back and began clutching his face, only to feel the burning spread to his hands.

Adams moved swiftly. She grabbed him by the back of his collar and moved him out of range of the anomaly, then forcibly pulled his hand from his face. She began administering a neutralizing agent.

"Decommission!" he screamed. "Decommission! Fuck, fuck, fuck, just kill him!"

She ignored him, and motioned for the guards to remove the anomaly.

The day was shaping up better than she'd hoped.