Scp-639 Novels & Stories

The creature didn't scream; it hissed, its orange core flaring as it tried to stabilize. "That’s for Phuwin, you glowing bastard!" Somito roared, bringing the mace down again and again until the orange light flickered and died, leaving only a pile of cooling, amber slush on the floor. "You really need to work on your stealth, old man," Zilo said, rushing to the terminal and his fingers flying across the keys. "Okay, I’ve got the bypass. Cell 402. Restricted access. It says... 'Subject: Pilot. Status: Integration Complete.'"

Citadel — Level Six Alexander and Elias burst out of the stairwell onto Level Six — and were met with silence. Not normal silence. Dead silence. Alexander tightened his grip on his knife. “This level… feels wrong.” Elias scanned the corridor — his eyes glowing faint amber, the faint bond tugging him downward. “She’s close. One level below.” Sable ran a quick scan with her wrist device. “Hold up, hold up — something’s not right. Level Six is usually swarming with guards.” Alexander exhaled sharply. “So where are they?” A voice answered from above.

The Siberian wind howled outside the facility, screaming like a ghost mourning the resurrection within. Inside, heat hissed through the vents, fighting off the bitter cold as the lights flickered above Scarlett, Sebastian, and Damien. They moved as onebsilent, precise, deadly. Scarlett’s gloved hand tightened around the biometric scanner as they passed the second firewall gate. Beyond it lay the underground lab that birthed something never meant to exist. Something that bore her face. “Thermal readings show movement ahead,” Damien said, watching the pulsing screen on his tablet. “She’s awake. And she’s not alone.”

She didn’t flinch—just spoke flatly. “Samuel. Don’t hover.” “Not hovering,” he muttered, spinning a screwdriver between his fingers. “Just... observing the sorceress at work.” Miriam rolled her eyes, pushing up her glasses. “You’re making the air tense.” He smirked faintly but stayed anyway. She found the file she was looking for. Timestamp: 9:47 p.m. Hallway 6A. Right at the entrance to House Six’s dorms. She slowed the footage. The grainy black-and-white flickered across her screen. David Huntsman, Adonis, and several of their lackeys moved with military-like coordination—silent, focused.

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 feel like I will never escape from the cage I spent so many years of my childhood in. The dream of my first time in the laboratory haunts my mind, a constant reminder that I am the Dark Alpha’s pet, Experiment 399. I subconsciously ran my fingers down the back of my leg, feeling the permanent engraved scar of 399, and then felt the scar over my lower abdomen. Closing my eyes, I let out a whimpered sigh. The buzzing of my phone breaks into my thoughts and I see its Benji calling. I swipe it open, and press the speaker before resting it on top of the small stool I keep near the side of the tub. “Hello?”

Delta-Six was supposed to be dead. We'd watched his vitals flatline, saw the report, grieved in our own detached way. And now, his digital trail had crawled into my system like a virus. Cameron showed me the string of data, and at the tail end was a message buried beneath layers of encryption. "They're waking up. Not enemies. Not yet. Be ready. - D6." It wasn't possible. But it was.

Ariana beside him. They entered. The chamber lights activated automatically. And then— they saw it. Not a body. Not a grave. Something worse. A preserved record. Glass enclosure. Inside— documents. Photographs. Medical reports. And one image placed at the center. A child. Young. No older than six. Standing rigidly in a clinical room. Eyes empty. Not emotionless. Conditioned. Victor stopped. Something in his chest tightened. Ariana felt it too. “This is the first attempt,” the Council woman said from behind them.

It was pure, unadulterated terror. June burst into the engine room, her face covered in soot and blood. She was dragging Case by his collar. Case was clutching a tablet that was sparking in his hands. "The shields didn't stop it!" June yelled, her voice jumping an octave. "Something just walked through the perimeter pulse like it was a summer breeze. Lydia, we have to move! Now!" "It’s Julian," Case gasped, staring at his screen. "But it’s not... it’s not his biometric signature. It’s older. It’s the Alpha."

"Then let me through the wall!" June grabbed the Assistants tie. She didn't use strength. She used her hunger. She began to pull his light into her silver eyes. "Wait! Wait!" the Assistant screamed. "The password isn't a word! It's a memory! It's the thing the Architect forgot!" He pressed a key on his keyboard. A small door opened in the center of the Assistants chest. Inside was a dusty photograph. June snatched it. It was a picture of a woman. She wasn't a computer program. She was holding a baby in a hospital. On the back it said: Property of Gregory University Medical Research—Project: Human Soul.