Scp-267 Novels & Stories

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.

Agnes whispered under her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. A sudden, blood-red file unlocked at the top of the queue: > **CLASSIFIED RECORD: OPERATION NIGHTFALL** > AUTHORIZATION: ARCHON MALAKOR / GRAND WOLF ASSEMBLY > EXECUTOR: MORRIGAN VANCE (STEP-MOTHER) > ORDER DETAILS: TOTAL INCINERATION / ASSET SEIZURE > Agnes’s breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes scanned the decrypted blueprint attached to the file—a highly complex, ancient Relic schematic stamped with her late mother’s personal crest: **The Apex Relic.**

Dylan knew something was wrong the moment his phone buzzed in his pocket. He had just stepped out of a shareholder video call when the device vibrated against his thigh with a ping that set his instincts on high alert. He pulled it out and saw a message—not from Rachel, not from Grace, and not from any of his staff. It was from one of his private surveillance agents positioned near the coffee shop. **“Unidentified female—possible supernatural. Engaged brief interaction with subject Dockham. Leaving scene now.”**

I almost lost control today in her apartment and if she saw the brutality I was capable of when I had no control Dea would fear me till the day she drew her last breath. "That complicates things. I'm sure we can find a way to scare him. We could always use the little bloodsucker. I'm sure he and Lilith wouldn't mind some fresh, hot blood," Quade chuckled at his morbid idea and, even I had to admit, it was a good plan, "you do remember who they are?" "I remember," I admitted, "I've worked with each one of the council members individually to have slight memories of them so Sydney wasn't around all the time."

The white-yellow ceiling lights suddenly turned red, making me feel uncomfortable in the stall. "ALERT! PLEASE STAY WHERE YOU ARE. AN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN IS TAKING PLACE. SUBJECT MM2077 HAS ESCAPED FROM HIS CELL."

The cabin shook as something massive slammed into it—splintering the wall behind them. “We go now,” Holt growled. But then a voice cried out from the woods. Not feral. Not Circle. Just broken. “E-113!” Evelyn froze. She stepped into the doorway. And saw him—a limping young man, maybe twenty, arms soaked in blood. One eye missing. Collar still fused to his neck. “Don’t shoot,” he begged. “I’m not like them. I remember you. From the Center.” She stared. “Subject K-027,” he said, choking back a sob. “You used to read to us. You were the only one who didn't scream when the lights came on. Please…”

“Alright.” As they took the left corridor, the hum of old machinery returned—an unnatural sound, too rhythmic to be background noise. Damien's hand instinctively rested on his weapon. Aurora moved closer, tense but composed. Then, they found it. A large, circular vault door stood at the end of the hallway, with a biometric scanner and rusted keypad. The sign above read: SUBJECT NULL – RESTRICTED. LEVEL 6 CLEARANCE REQUIRED. Damien’s heart pounded. “We’re here.”

I had to maintain the feral act until the moment came to drop it. So I threw myself against the cage bars with renewed fury, roaring and snarling like the alarms had triggered some primitive fear response. The vampires barely glanced at me - just another caged animal reacting to loud noises. "Protocol Seven," the third vampire announced, checking his weapon. "Secure all assets, prepare for extraction if necessary." "What about the specimen?" the blonde asked, gesturing toward my cage. Marcus hefted the metal rod like a weapon. "Orders are to terminate if rescue seems likely. Can't let werewolf intelligence networks get their hands on what we've learned about consciousness suppression."

No name. Just a velvet box with a thumb drive inside. She stared at it. And slowly—slowly—inserted it into her laptop. A video began to play. Fuzzy at first. Then clear. It was a man’s voice: “Asset 02-27-B. Subject shows exceptional memory retention and elevated spatial reasoning. We recommend placement under secondary family cover until Phase Three.” A woman’s voice interrupted. “She’s too young.” “But if we don’t move her now, they’ll find her. Claire already suspects.”

Bigfoot, Loch Ness monster; were they all wondering around these halls, just waiting to snap her up for a midnight snack? “Many," he said with a careless shrug. "I'm not sure of the exact number, but the Coven is the court for our world. There are hundreds here at any time.” “Of course," she mumbled bitterly. It only made sense for her to land in the Grand Central Station of the immortal world. Fabulous. "Paoli is a vampire, I'm apparently half-demon, and you claim you're 'complicated'," she counted them off. She put finger quotes around the word 'complicated'; a testament to how infuriated she felt since she never air quoted.