Scp-295 Novels & Stories

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.”**

A beat of silence, filled only by the faint sound of his structured breathing on the other end of the line. “We located a concealed refrigeration unit. Behind a false panel in the master bedroom walk-in. It’s keyed to a biometric lock.” My grip tightened on the phone. The leather of the seat creaked under my other hand. “And?” “We bypassed it. The interior temperature is holding at 3.2 degrees Celsius.” Another pause, the sound of a gloved hand handling something. “We have one vial, partially used. The label reads Thaumatin-9. Syringes and solvent buffers are present.”

“What do you mean?” Marla tapped her keyboard. On the screen appeared a registration document. Not legal. Medical. Anita read it aloud. “‘Subject: SB-001. Genetic viability: confirmed. Psychological profile: compliant with conditioning. Intelligence quotient: stable. Risk level: dormant.’” Nathan blinked. “She’s not a person to them. She’s a project.” Ethan added, “They’ve been monitoring her since she disappeared. And guess where she was for the last six months?” Marla’s voice was grim. “A Rothschild psychiatric facility in Prague. Off the books. Not for treatment. For reprogramming.”

architect—stayed in my mind like a splinter. I sat at the mahogany desk, the one that had once belonged to my father, and began to go through the final digital files Sophie had pulled from Daniel’s encrypted drive. There was a folder at the very bottom, hidden behind a firewall that required a biometric scan. Scan: Accepted. The file opened. It wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about the trust. It was a series of psychiatric reports from the Gilded Grove, dated from before I was sent there. “Patient X: Female. Identical DNA markers to Victoria Vermon. Condition: Acute Psychopathy. Recommendation: Permanent containment in the sub-level wing. Sponsor: Rita Blackwood.”

I needed the names of every person in this system — scout, seed, shadow killer. Because I wasn’t going to survive this place anymore. I was going to end it. “Where’s the master log?” I asked. Kyro wiped blood from his lip. “What?” “The full list. With names. Targets. Assignments. There’s always a main feed. Where is it?” He hesitated, then whispered, “Level Nine. Server vault under the infirmary wing. Locked with biometrics.” “Whose?” He gave me a name I didn’t expect.

when in truth she stole everything. The young woman stood nervously by the door. “Commander… is something wrong?” I looked up slowly. “When was the last time this facility was used?” She hesitated. “This morning.” My jaw tightened. “On who?” “A shifter child from Sector Nine.” Sector Nine. The Garden. Cross was actively breaking children. Still. Today. My voice sharpened. “And where is the child now?” “There.” She pointed to an adjacent door. I opened it. Inside, a little girl, maybe seven, pĺsat on a chair with a blank expression.

Red emergency lights flooded the underground tunnel. Everything looked colder beneath them. More dangerous. The mechanical voice repeated through hidden speakers above: “Containment protocol activated.” “Sector Nine sealed.” Daniel stared upward nervously. “I officially hate underground facilities.” Lyra moved toward a nearby security panel immediately, fingers flying across the damaged interface. “No response.” Oliver stepped beside her. “What does containment protocol actually mean?” Lyra didn’t look away from the screen. “It means Cross believes sensitive assets are compromised.”

The strange symbol on the baby’s forehead had begun glowing. The underground chamber responded. Lights flickered on one by one. Then a screen appeared on the far wall. A single sentence appeared. TARGET ACQUIRED. Seraphina froze. Another line appeared. ORIGINAL TARGET: LUCIEN VIRELLI. Her heart dropped. Victor stared at the screen. “No…” A third line appeared. SECONDARY TARGET: SERAPHINA SERAEL VALE. Then another. TERTIARY TARGET: SUBJECT ZERO-D. Seraphina’s blood ran cold.

“Trying to control something that doesn’t want to be controlled.” Adrian stared at him for a long moment. “That makes two of you.” That night, Evelyn couldn’t sleep. The mark pulsed too steadily, like a metronome counting toward something inevitable. She opened the folder again, tracing the name R. Draven with her finger. Below it, a half-faded note: Subject exhibited secondary resonance. Suggest containment before phase two. Her phone buzzed. Unknown Number: Containment failed before. It will again. Her fingers tightened. Who are you? she typed.

The Spire’s core was just ahead, a pulsating, white-gold heart that radiated a frequency so powerful it made my teeth rattle in my skull. I reached the maintenance hatch—a circular plate of reinforced obsidian. It was locked with a biometric seal. "Vessel 002 detected," a cold, feminine voice echoed in the pipe. "Identity: Zora Vane. Status: Rogue. Biological purge initiated." The liquid around me began to boil.