Scp-298 Novels & Stories

His eyes were rolled back in his head, and he was chanting a sequence of numbers in a language I didn't recognize. ​"What is he doing?" I whispered, my heart hammering. ​"He's not chanting," Dr. Hestia said, emerging from the shadows with a look of pure horror. "He's receiving. Someone has bypassed your scramble, Nora. Someone is uploading a new protocol directly into their neural links." ​On the wall, the numbers Leo was reciting began to appear in blood-red text. ​PROTOCOL: KRONOS. TARGET: 0-1.

logic beneath the sanitization. A voice echoed from the white walls—the same harmonious, terrifying chord from before. "Alpha-Regent Silas Blackwood. You are identified as a Primary Contaminant. Your rejection of the Sovereign unit created the initial entropy. You are a chaotic variable that cannot exist in the Second Phase. Please remain still for decommissioning."

Sable’s POV The helicopter sliced through the night sky like a black blade. I sat in the rear seat, eyes fixed on the monitor in front of me — a single flashing symbol: the serpent insignia of the Order, flickering like a heartbeat. “Data core transfer at ninety-eight percent,” the technician said nervously beside me. His hands shook as he worked. “We salvaged everything from the facility before the explosion, ma’am. The genetic archives, the experiment files, and—”

Outside, the birds fell silent. A figure stood in our garden, between the rosemary and the struggling carrots. It was neither male nor female, clad in a robe of shifting, neutral grey. Its face was pleasant but forgettable, and it held a slate of smooth, dark stone in one hand. In the other, a stylus of white light hovered, ready to take notes. “Designates: Sze and Kairi,” it said. Its voice was calm, measured, and utterly devoid of inflection. “I am Assessor Seven. I am here to evaluate Incident Report 4492-Alpha and the ongoing status of your localized anomaly.”

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 kept myself busy in the kitchen, deliberately making loud noises as I arranged the glasses to vent my frustration. Skyden was busy unpacking large boxes in the living room, ignoring me as if I weren't even there. Whenever we passed each other, I'd deliberately bump into his shoulder hard, and he'd just snort under his breath. Amid that "cold war," I caught sight of an elegant black brochure lying on the marble table: Echelon Nine Living Manual. I read it slowly while standing at the kitchen counter, skimming past the section about the fitness center and spa until my eyes locked onto one rule printed in gold ink: every Wednesday at 11:00 PM, the basement area is closed to the public.

Resting at the absolute bottom of the bundle was a physical logbook from the private highway surveillance company that monitored the northern border lines on the exact night of the storm seven years ago . Written in crisp, typewritten black ink blocks was a classified incident entry that completely shattered the remaining silence of the room: INCIDENT ID: 902-NORTHERN RIDGE CONSPIRACY Target variant identified: Penelope (Orphan). Client directive issued by Alishia of Northern Ridge: Intercept target outside the willow tree. Deploy neurotoxin squad to execute permanent clearance.

"My threat perception is going haywire. Something is watching us. And it’s not human." Haley, who was currently typing furiously on her pink laptop while walking backward, suddenly stopped. "Uh, guys? I’m picking up biological signatures. Two of them. Massive ones. But... the heat signatures are weird. They’re indistinguishable from the background cold." "That’s because they don't have body heat," Olivia said calmly, not breaking her stride. "They are the Gravekeepers. Chimera Subject 09. A perfect fusion of deep-sea gigantism and lupine aggression."

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.

A hidden directory titled 'Project 99% Mother. Kael’s digital pulse stuttered. The file was a stratigraphic map of every woman the Council had ever used as an anchor. It wasn't a list of heroes. It was a ledger of casualties. He swiped through the names, and the horror of it rippled through the city’s grid, causing the Grand Hall’s lights to strobe a sickly, necrotic violet. Unit 1: Brain death at forty percent petrification. Unit 3: Systemic marrow collapse. Unit 8: Neural extraction failed.