Scp-661 Novels & Stories

“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.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you had feelings for the girl.” Six’s gaze narrowed. “But you do know me, or at least what I am.” “One of the true sociopaths of our little ragtag group.” “You aren’t one?” I asked. I’d assumed they were all a variety of psychotic. “Oh no, darling, I am. Six here just happens to be one of the most emotionless of us all. A great actor if he was able to woo you before he abducted you.” The cadence of his voice was almost lyrical. Smooth and transitioning, an almost feminine quality. Much different from Six’s monotone, masculine one, and somewhat out of place for a killer.

“There's something not right about the boy. Why doesn't anyone know who he is? Why does he call himself Six, for heaven's sake?” My dad asked. “Ellie could find out for you,” Noah smirked. I choked on a pea. “I'm sorry, what? ” Yes! She could prove that you're worried for nothing!" Violet said excitedly. My dad scowled. ”I don't like the idea of her getting close to him.” Thank you, Daddy, for never failing me! “Come on, dad? What does she have to lose?” Noah asked. “She's sitting right here, and she doesn't like the idea either!” I commented. “She doesn't seem to have a choice since she is probably on his watch list now anyway." Noah smiled.

He turned to the secondary report. Melina Voss. Age 20. Current address: [city, third district]. No criminal record. No supernatural registry. Father: Cain Voss, deceased. Cause of death: motor vehicle accident, four years prior. Mother: Clara Voss, currently hospitalized. Admitted six weeks ago. Diagnosis: classified under human medical records privacy, but insurance cross-reference indicates specialized treatment facility with supernatural-origin illness consultation services on staff. Aiden read that last line twice. He turned the page.

His failure wouldn't be tolerated. Fury rushed through me. I never should’ve trusted those incompetent fuckers when it came to keeping my property secured. So, help him if I didn’t like the answer to the question that I was about to ask. “What about Subject 671-R?” I asked as I began to pace in an effort to keep myself as calm as possible right now. “Both Subject 671-R and Subject 671-R2 were among the rescued prisoners,” he said carefully, not wanting to piss me off any further but was a futile attempt.

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.

The hospital room was no longer a sanctuary of white linens and sterile silence; it had become the Zero-Point of a biological invasion. As the "Real" Elara sat upright, her spine popping with the rhythmic crackle of a reconfiguring skeleton, the golden light in her eyes spilled out like liquid mercury. She wasn't just a girl waking from a coma; she was a Living Server, a biological vessel hosting the condensed essence of the Primal Six.

“Alright.” As they took the left corridor, the hum of old machinery returned—an unnatural sound, too rhythmic to be background noise. Damien's hand instinctively rested on his weapon. Aurora moved closer, tense but composed. Then, they found it. A large, circular vault door stood at the end of the hallway, with a biometric scanner and rusted keypad. The sign above read: SUBJECT NULL – RESTRICTED. LEVEL 6 CLEARANCE REQUIRED. Damien’s heart pounded. “We’re here.”

The heat was unbearable, the stale air thick with dust. "You are one minute away," Cyber informed me. “There is one more turn before the vault.” “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled under my breath. “Try crawling through five inches of dirt and sweat, then get back to me.” The vibration of my bracelet confirmed I was close. I reached the final turn and spotted the metallic tile Cyber had mentioned. The adhesive wallpaper concealed the opening, but I quickly peeled it back, revealing the screws holding the tile in place. “Agent 64, I am going to disable the cameras in the room for three minutes. Deactivate the locks of the vault and Grab the diamonds,” Cyber said.