Scp-153 Novels & Stories

All the doubt, anger, and suspicion vanished in the face of that tiny, frail voice. Officer Holt's voice came urgently through my phone. "Sophia, we see him! He's in the hidden chamber of Unit 1204! Hold on tight! We'll organize a breach immediately and—" "It's too late," I interrupted. "Professor Walker's system is linked to mine. He just triggered a self-destruct program. In 15 minutes, the oxygen in that hidden chamber will run out." "What?" "Officer Holt," I uttered with a newfound numbness, "only I can save him now."

Victor replayed the footage of Evelyn leaving the estate again. And again. He noticed the subtle tension in her expression. Something troubled her. Something she wasn’t sharing. Victor’s instincts sharpened. “You’re hiding something.” He walked back to the desk and opened a new file on the computer. The screen displayed a report from the research records he had requested earlier. Project Aurora. Genetic trials. Sixteen failed subjects. One surviving result. Victor tapped the desk slowly. The code appeared again on the screen. S-V-017 He stared at it for a long moment.

I opened the next document, another fragment, this one tagged Incident Report, RDM-47B. It contained only a few sentences: “During containment, subject displayed uncontrollable electromagnetic discharge. Room temperature dropped by 15 degrees within seconds. When conscious, subject described recurring visions of a burning field and a girl made of gold. Council observer recommends continued sedation until resonance levels stabilise.” I felt the blood drain from my face. The “burning field,” the “girl made of gold.” Rain. That was Rain. I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. The laptop hummed quietly, a low electronic heartbeat in the silence.

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:

The system was designed to detect ghosts — students who’d vanished but weren’t supposed to. Her name flashed again. SOPHIA MAKINDE — STATUS: ALIVE A male voice in the dark swore under his breath. He clicked the command prompt. Initiate: Containment Protocol Code: “CRIMSON WAKE” Behind the hum of servers, a second monitor showed another girl’s profile now tagged: HELENA JAMES — POTENTIAL INFECTED The machine made no sound. But someone watching was already picking up the phone. Back in Madrid — Sophia’s Small Apartment

They were fast—unnaturally fast. “Signal sent,” Nomo whispered as the tablet chimed. He looked up just as the first creature lunged from the shadows, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of needle-like silver teeth. He raised his sword, the silver blade humming with his own desperate energy. “Sofia... I hope you’re watching.” (SOFIA QUISPE’S POINT OF VIEW) “The signal is coming from the basement levels of Warehouse 14,” Phuwin said, his fingers flying across the keys. “I’m trying to override their security, but someone is counter-coding me in real-time. It’s Klaus. He’s been waiting for us to trip this wire.”

That wasn’t synthetic. Neither was mine. A soft tone interrupted the silence. New notification. Not from the apartment. From my tablet. I crossed the room slowly and picked it up. The screen displayed a single classified document. PROJECT ORPHEUS Behavioral Synchronization Trial – Phase III Primary Objective: Emotional Dependency Pairing for Executive Stabilization My blood went cold. Below it— Subject A: Reid, Shawn Subject B: Agreste, Catriona Status: Convergence Successful Shawn went utterly still behind me.

Penelope circled the room, flashlight darting over control panels and embedded drawers. One caught her eye, no power indicator, no screen. Manual latch. She popped it open. Inside: a slim drawer of hardcopy files. Old-school. Labeled by hand. She pulled the one on top black folder, silver embossed: LUX PROTOCOL // PHASE ONE She flipped it open. Top page: biometric charts. Notes on “suggestibility thresholds” and “symbolic anchoring in post-trauma subjects.” She turned another page. Then I stopped cold.

His hair was snow-white, his features impossibly sharp, and his eyes—shining through the high-definition display—were a bright, glowing, unnatural violet. "Good evening, city," the man's voice echoed from every street speaker, smooth, cultured, and chillingly familiar. "This is Richard Kelvin. A security breach has occurred tonight at one of my corporate residential sectors. A dangerous fugitive and his accomplice have stolen high-value asset blueprints." The screen shifted. Vivian’s breath hitched in her throat, a cold spike of absolute horror piercing her chest. Displayed in massive, crystal-clear definition across every screen in the entire city were two high-resolution facial scans.

"This contains a virus that will lock the kernel. It’ll force the Algorithm to evaluate its own code as a threat to its existence. It’ll trigger a recursive loop until the system burns itself out from the sheer weight of the calculation." "Do it," Chalida commanded. Pim stepped forward, but the console flickered. The screen changed. It wasn't code anymore. It was an image. It was a live feed of the penthouse they had just left. It showed the security guard waking up, reaching for his radio, and reporting their absence. But it also showed something else. It showed Minister Somsri, their mother, sitting at the kitchen table, staring directly into the camera. She wasn't surprised. She was smili