Scp-547 Novels & Stories

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.”

Subject designated for Memory Protocol 7 and civilian integration due to psychological instability concerns and Incident 17-B. *NOTE: Subject's genetic modifications remain active and transmissible to offspring. Monitoring to continue indefinitely. Re-acquisition may be necessary in future containment scenarios.* They didn't care if I had love or kids they wanted weapons. "Incident 17-B," I repeated aloud, searching the document for references to what this might have been. Several pages later, I found it, a heavily redacted entry with only fragments visible:

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.

“They’ve been using them as experimental subjects. Testing dimensional manipulation techniques. Learning how to break bindings by breaking these wolves first.” Vera’s family was there. Her daughter looked maybe sixteen, unconscious but alive. Her mate was older, scarred from obvious torture. Three others—presumably Beta family members—in similar condition. “Can we free them?” I asked. “Yes. But the moment I do, alarms will trigger. Every Collective member in this facility will know we’re here.” Celeste’s hands hovered over the controls. “We’ll have maybe five minutes to get out before they lock down the dimension.” “Then we move fast.” Ghost positioned himself at the door. “Do it.”

Cunningham from Happy Days. Namara rose from her desk, her features a hard mask. “What do you want?” “I have come on official business, not for you.” Azriel stuck his nose in the air. The secretary folded her arms across her chest. “I’m listening.” “Where is Hades?” My stomach dropped. Calling for the Demon King hadn’t been part of the plan. “He’s out on important business,” she snapped. “Now, tell me why you’ve come or leave.” “The Fifth Faction is losing souls faster than the natural rate of reincarnation.” He stalked toward her desk with his hands on his hips. “Interestingly, all the missing inmates are wolf shifters. I want you to show me what has happened.”

"When we get back, you'll go straight to the basement and stay there like a good little prisoner. Don't even think about coming out until Christopher recovers." Dr. Harding looked at me with pity and said in a low voice, "It seems it's simply your fate to spend the final seven days of your life in the basement." No one heard Dr. Harding's words except for me, lying on the floor. The moment we arrived back at the house, Eliza couldn't wait to hand me over to the butler, Jeremy Bowen. "Lock Sutton in the basement. Don't let him out until Christopher has recovered," she ordered icily.

I moved toward the nearest compartment. The panel opened immediately when I touched it. Inside rested a stack of thin folders. Real paper. Not digital storage. Paper. The sight felt strangely shocking. Everything inside Sublevel Zero revolved around technology. This did not. I removed the first folder carefully. The cover contained no name. Only a designation. SUBJECT 04. My pulse quickened. I opened it. Most pages had deteriorated. Others were partially erased. Yet enough remained to read. Psychological evaluations. Behavioral observations.

"The Arbiter should have caught this. The AI was programmed to detect any unauthorized physical or digital intrusion within seconds. Why didn't the alarm trigger at the source the moment the magnetic clamp made contact?" "Because," Elena whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled up the access log, "the parasitic device is using a signature that the Arbiter recognizes as 'Authorized'. It’s using a Vance-Vanderwall executive override code. A code that was supposed to have been purged during the merger. A code that shouldn't exist anymore."

"It was a Lure. The Scrap-Lords weren't the real threat." Suddenly, every data-cell in the Origin Tower turned a Blinding, Sterile White. A voice—cold, digital, and infinitely more powerful than the White Wolf—echoed through the minds of everyone in the Sovereign Valley. "Sovereign-Subject 1.0 identified. Error detected in 'Biological-Integration'. Initiating 'Remote-Recall' of the Alpha-Soul." Elara’s body suddenly went rigid. Her golden eyes turned a terrifying, blank white. "Julian... help..." she gasped.

"Foolish girl. Did you think Yvonne was still strong enough to resist me? She invited me in, and now she's mine forever." I watch from somewhere deep inside my own mind as my body moves without permission. Magic erupts from my hands, a wall of green flame that slams into Thelma and sends her flying across the room. She hits the wall hard enough to crack concrete. "No!" The scream tears from Xavier's throat as he rushes to her side. James Mitchell's hands move across the console behind me. "Final protocol activated," his broken voice announces. "A hybrid bomb will detonate in five minutes. Genetic viruses will transform all supernatural creatures within one hundred miles into controllable hyb