Secret Yellowstone Webcam Novels & Stories

I opened it, the screen’s glow harsh in the dark room. There were no news reports of the Moretti explosion. No mention of the Sovereign. The world was quiet—too quiet. I navigated to a hidden server, one Lucian had told me about in the Nursery. It was a backchannel for the Blackwood Elders. I entered the bypass code, my fingers trembling. The screen flickered, and a single video file appeared. I clicked play.

Oliver We're in a rented house in Atherton. Twenty-two minutes from Holroyd's place by the back roads. Saint and I are at the long oak table in the dining room with three laptops between us and a pot of coffee that's been refilled twice. I have eight feeds open. Eight body cameras. Eight voice channels. Kir, Dom, Butcher, Max, Jozef, Tariq, Ray, Oba. Chana's feed is also up. She's at the safehouse in San Mateo with her setup, talking to me through a separate channel because we’re not running everything through one node, not on a hit this big.

Sierra Evan’s fingers danced over his keyboard, bringing up footage from all the angles we had. The screens proliferated across his laptop, a dozen views of our property from the previous night. “There,” he said, freezing one feed. “2:43 a.m.”

“W-Who are you? I don’t know you! Security? Security! Throw these lunatics out now!” Judging by Cassandra’s reaction, everybody realized something was up. Jumping to action, Wesley pounced on me. Ready for him, I yelled, “We are live. Touch me, and I’ll defend myself with the law.” Wesley slammed to a stop and glared at me with an ashen look. Snapping out of her thoughts, Cassandra ended the livestream frantically. With millions watching, she had streamed for nearly twenty-four hours. The feed went dark. Her response was a clear sign to all that she had something to hide.

Celeste… Goddess, I miss her- “Yes Beta?” “Our team of thirteen spotted a herd out east, but there's a problem.” Knowing damn well I didn’t want to wait, Laker pulled out our specialized opt camera. He pulled up a few pictures and before he handed it to me, he sighed. “I’ve already got people working on it but I wasn’t sure how you’d want to go about it-” Taking the camera, I looked towards the pictures and froze. “Holy fucking shit.” *

Sienna POV — Wyoming The cameras went dark all at once. Not a glitch. Not a power failure. A deliberate silence. Every telecam feed across the wall blinked to black—Montana, South Dakota, Obsidian Ridge—cut clean in the same breath. The warded house fell into a hush that felt too intentional to be a coincidence. Celeste felt it before anyone spoke. The frost on the window was his. Not winter. Not Wyoming. Him. Thomas Calder.

“You don’t have to tell him anything. He can see us.” My head swiped up instantly and I searched around for cameras but found none. “How is he able to see us?” I whispered to Sly, almost shoving my body into his. “Are there hidden cameras?” I got ignored again. We stopped right outside a door then Sly typed in a code. The door opened and he stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. “Have a lovely evening Ms. Shirley.”

This place could be concealing secrets that threatened the whole world. "You've got this," she murmured internally, walking up to the door. In the van, parked around the corner, three blocks away, James, Hawk, and Kelvin watched the view from the tiny camera hidden in Angie's watch. "Looking good," Hawk said. "Audio and video feed are clear." James just grunted in reply, his jaw muscles tight with nerves. "Let's hope it stays that way." Angie flashed her best rich-person smile. "Hi. I'm Sarah Blackwood. I have an appointment with Mr Chen?"

Alex corrects. "I found something else," Echo interrupts. His voice is different. Hesitant. "In the root directory of his private server. But you won't like it." "What?" Alex asks, stepping closer to the screen. A new window pops up. It’s not a document. It’s a live video feed. My breath catches in my throat. The feed is labeled Harlan_Office_CAM04. It shows a sleek, grey office. Behind a massive mahogany desk sits a man. Silver hair. Immaculate suit.

The crypt was a furnace of wax and cunt-heat. I woke tied to the crimson chaise, wrists and ankles raw from silk rope now soaked with sweat and my own slick. The candle holder had burned low, flames licking black candles down to stubs, and dripping wax like cum onto the stone. Five cameras—four Bolex and one digital—blinked red, live, and feeding 73,912 viewers on the dark web. Title pulsing: “JOURNALIST’S CUNT: CONFESSION & CONQUEST – LIVE”.