Scp-555 Novels & Stories

Every Syndicate protocol drilled into her screamed one word: Capture. She ran a check of her internal psychological defenses. Proxy-917 was intact: the Asset (Julian) had successfully lured her into a trap, utilizing Commander DeWitt's pressure to force her surrender. Her next move was to execute Silence and Resistance Protocol (SRP)—reveal nothing, endure all attempts at extraction, and wait for an external Syndicate response.

The penthouse had turned into a waiting room again. But this time, they weren't waiting for a baby or a verdict or a stock price. They were waiting for a ghost to speak. Aurora sat in the study. The screens on the wall were dark, except for one. It showed a secure feed from a lab in Quantico. Not a live video—that wasn't allowed—but a status dashboard Agent Rivera had granted them access to. CASE ID: 2004-VALE-HAMPTONS.

“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.”

Five years of humiliation and five years of being less than a person… Had I even been like a human to them? “You two! Check that side!” Voices echoed from the yard. They were closing in. I snapped back to myself and tore down the mountain path as fast as my legs would carry me. Back in the city, I flagged down the first cab I could find and went straight home, to the place Melissa and I once called home. My steps froze when I pushed open the study door, it was filled with monitors, all displaying live feeds of the estate. Every room, every path, and even the stable that I’d slept in for five years, were displaying right in the middle of the screen.

"Internal hull breach detected in Sector 3. Security enforcers deployed." ​"They're too late," Vivian whispered, her blue eyes scanning the overhead cable trays with hyper-speed precision. Her golden finger knowledge of pre-war logistics immediately identified the primary data conduits. "The central neural mainframe is directly beneath the auxiliary reactor on the fifth deck. Julian, clear the elevator shaft!" ​Before the first squad of mechanized Directorship enforcers could even round the corner of the companionway, Julian breached the threshold.

Her hands trembled as she stopped on a document marked: “Transfer Request — Bailey [Redacted] Original Facility: Kensington Biological Research” Beneath that, handwritten: “Subject authorized by L.S. Turner. Emergency override protocol. Must not be awakened until memory sequence clears.” Bailey stepped back from the desk, stunned. L.S. Turner. Lyla. She whispered the name aloud—and the lights above her flickered. Then everything went dark.

By sunrise, Serena was perched on her apartment rooftop, legs crossed, sketchpad in hand, gazing out at the skyline. But she wasn't drawing; she was waiting. Sure enough, Damien appeared just before eight. He looked worn out, hollow. Dust coated his black coat as if he had walked through something burning. She remained silent until he sat down across from her. "What the hell is Phase Five?" she demanded. Damien met her eyes. "It's what happens when control fails. When the subject deviates beyond recovery. It's the nuclear option." "They're coming after me?" she asked, her voice eerily calm.

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.

"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."

They were trapped—not by their mother, but by the very thing they had spent their lives trying to master. "We have to get out of here," Pim said, lunging for the service elevator. "It's dead!" Chalida shouted, hammering the buttons. "Everything's dead!" The screens in the room suddenly went dark, and the lights dimmed to a flickering, ghostly blue. A voice—mechanical, synthesized, yet strangely familiar—echoed through the penthouse speakers. "Target identified," the voice said. "Phase two: Elimination." Pim looked at the countdown on her phone. 00:00:01. The lights went out completely.