Steins Gate Watch Order Novels & Stories

No guards between 7:30 and 8. CCTV rotates at 7:45. The western blind spot lasts 22 seconds. Gate sensors reset every 12 hours. He was learning their rhythm. The pulse of the fortress. But he needed eyes on the inside. And that was when it happened. That morning. She walked out. The maid. Early twenties. Thin. Tired. Duffel slung over her shoulder like she was fleeing a life she didn’t belong to. She exited through the side gate, hailed a cab like it was just another day.

My body was instantly recognizing its master, identifying me as his own even as my mind screamed in pure, unadulterated panic. But my deep, paralyzed stares at Alpha Varg were cut sharply when the deep, mechanical groan of the heavy Pack Gates echoed across the compound. A cheap, battered Camry coasted slowly through the expanding iron barrier, its ragged engine spitting out a low, metallic cough. I watched with wide, disoriented eyes, waiting for the elite guards to draw their weapons, waiting for the pack leader to roar and rip the intruder from the cabin. But nobody moved. An absolute, suffocating silence fell over the pool venue as everyone stood still, watching the broken foreign vehicl

“And now they’re knocking. Let’s give them a proper welcome.” Damon exchanged a glance with Matteo, muttering, “Here we go again.” Ten minutes later, we were in the control room. The estate was quiet, deceptively so. Outside, the motion sensors lit up the map like Christmas. “Team One is at the east gate,” a guard reported. “Two snipers on the rooftops. Team Two is flanking through the woods.” “They think they’re clever,” Matteo muttered. “They think I’m unprepared,” I said. “Open the outer gates. Slowly.”

she replied, her voice soft and sweet. That warmth in my chest started to slip away when I saw the gates of the Walters family estate come into view. It was impossible not to be impressed by the sheer scale of it all - the gates were at least twenty feet tall and made of wrought iron, with intricate designs and patterns woven into the metalwork. The security cameras and the intercom system were state-of-the-art, and I knew that there were guards stationed at various points along the perimeter fence, watching our every move. As we approached the gates, I could see the security cameras tracking our progress, scanning our faces to make sure we were authorized to enter. When we finally pulled up

“Lucian of Bloodfang.” There was a pause. Then a shift. Their stances softened. Their weapons lowered immediately. “Open the gate!” the Watchman barked, and the heavy wooden doors groaned as they were dragged apart, revealing the path home. The Watchmen stood with the gatekeeper, blades strapped across their backs, their faces drawn and tired. They stepped forward, squinting through the firelight. “Welcome back, Alpha,” they said, as they bow slightly. I gave a nod. “Any trouble while we were away?”

She is the one that the first forty-seven made possible. The door at the top of the access stairs comes off its hinges at twelve forty-seven. I know it is coming because the monitoring system on the upper levels, which I have maintained throughout, registers the breach of the third ward at twelve thirty-one and the movement through the holding area at twelve forty-two and the discovery of the concealed panel at twelve forty-five, and I have two minutes between the panel opening and the door coming down, which I use to build the shields.

Ophelia would be waiting. The drive was silent except for the hum of the engine and the pounding of my heart. Dante drove with one hand, the other gripping mine so hard it hurt. I didn't pull away. I needed the pain. It kept me grounded. At 11:47, we reached the gate. A single road, a single guard, and beyond it, a sprawling estate that looked like it had been there for centuries. The Order of the Serpent. The architects of everything. The guard didn't speak. He simply opened the gate and waved us through.

"Wear it. Now." The watch on the nightstand gleamed like a polished bone. Titanium. Heavy. Beside it lay a note with jagged, aggressive script: Wear this. I need to know your heart still beats. I sat up, the silk sheets sliding off my naked chest. The bedroom was a goddamn cathedral of glass and cold air. It was bigger than the entire servant quarters of the Blackwood pack. I stared at the watch. My pulse thrummed in my neck, a frantic, uneven beat.

“Yeah, we’re going notebook shopping.” “Okay ma’am, please give me a few seconds.” A loud motorcycle pulled up in front of the gate. I frowned, looking through the beams to try and see who it was. “Someone’s at the gate!” I called after Steve. “Yes, that’s Thomas.” Steven said letting him in with the press of a button. I watched him park his bike outside the gate. He pulled his helmet off, removed his gloves and then ran his hand through his hair as if combing it. He then turned and saw me for the first time.

He reached into the rear cargo bed of the G-Wagon, pulling out a heavy, three-foot solid-steel tactical crowbar and a heavy-duty industrial winch cable rated for ten tons. Zaid leapt out into the knee-deep, freezing runoff water already sweeping down the mountain driveway. The gale-force wind whipped his dark hair against his forehead, soaking his charcoal shirt in seconds, but his movements were terrifyingly precise. He slammed the crowbar into the housing seam of the gate's secondary hydraulic motor, using his full body weight to pop the fried steel casing wide open. Inside the cabin, Betony’s hands were steady on the leather steering wheel. Her long midnight-silk gown was soaked at the he