Scp-154 Novels & Stories

The trapdoor creaked open, revealing a stone stairwell descending into darkness. Sang-woo lit a lantern from the desk and climbed down. The walls below were lined with screens. Surveillance monitors. Not just of the estate. But in Yuri’s old school dorm. Devin’s safehouse in Moscow. Koji’s apartment in Tokyo. Their father had been watching everything. Even Azrael. Sang-woo’s fingers hovered over the dusty keyboard. Files. Recordings. Messages Vector had logged but never sent. He clicked open a file titled: N•17 — Stasis Protocol.

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."

Scarlett clicked open the full file. The terminal whirred softly. A new document appeared. Transfer Notes Confidential Her eyes scanned the text. Subject Seven demonstrates exceptional early cognitive response and adaptive emotional resilience. The maternal guardian insists transfer is necessary for long-term protection. Protection. Her breath caught. Protection from what? Dominic leaned closer. "There's another page." Scarlett opened it. A recorded voice file blinked on the screen. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The date was fifteen years old. Her trembling finger pressed play.

"The 'Holding' protocol has expired. Repossessing raw materials." "Raw materials?" I yelled, the Red Blood surging back to life. I felt the violet spark Silas had left in me ignite, creating a strange, swirling energy that felt like a storm in my veins. "We aren't materials! We’re the ones who survived your 'Graveyard'!" The Null turned its green lens toward me. "Subject 01-A. Identified as: **High-Value Bio-Mass**. Synthesis of Red Blood detected. Recovery of the 'Prime Frequency' is mandatory."

Something in-between. I follow the sound through the ruins, down into a lower tunnel that miraculously survived the blast. It’s dark, wet, and cold, the walls humming faintly with residual power. At the end of the passage, a door stands slightly ajar. I push it open. Inside is a small containment chamber, flickering with emergency lights. In the center — a single cryo-pod, cracked but intact. The label glows faintly: Subject 014. My heart stutters.

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.

The room was silent. Only the faint hum of Zelios' electrical lights broke the stillness. Sera stood motionless before her desk, her eyes resting on the scattered files she had spent hours reading. Reports lay open one over another, their yellowed pages filled with decades of observations, failed experiments, blood analyses, and names that should have remained buried. Project Crimson Hunger. Crimson Blood. Subject H-01. Husen. She slowly reached for the final report and closed it. The soft thud echoed through the room. For several long moments, she simply stared at the worn cover.

The rear door, unable to fully close in the rush, swung wildly with the vehicle's violent acceleration. Avery launched herself forward. Like a mother driven mad, she threw herself onto the rear step of the speeding van. Physical pain seemed to have been severed entirely by maternal instinct. Her ten fingers dug into the narrow gap of the door, barely half an inch wide. Inside the cargo hold, a scar-faced man hunched over the communicator grabbed his radio. "—Yes, Mr. D. The direct derivative sample of Subject 047 has been secured. No damage to the specimen." *047.*

“First, I need you to compile a list. Use the predictive algorithms we developed—cross-reference medical anomalies, unexplained phenomena reports, and energy spike readings from the last 48 hours within the contamination plume. I want a list of every potential candidate within a five-hundred-mile radius.” Amy nodded, already mentally cataloging the tasks. “Priority parameters?” “Youth, isolation, and any history of… unusual luck or coincidence. They may not even know what they are yet. Then, dispatch retrieval teams. Standard protocol: observe, assess, and if confirmed, acquire. Quietly. I want them here, in this facility, for their own protection and our study.” She gave a sharp nod. “Under

PROTOCOL 0X13 – PERSONNEL CAPTURE INITIATED Target: SERA DUVALL Status: LIVE Marcus (to himself): “You want to unlock her, Lucien? Let’s see if you can protect her once she’s open.” The screen flashed red. The hunters were coming. Amber HQ – Sera’s Quarters – 08:02 EST The room was dim, quiet, save for the hum of encrypted sensors hidden in the walls. Sera sat barefoot on the edge of her bed, Elise’s last journal open in her lap. Lucien stood in the doorway, watching her.