Scp-163 Novels & Stories

"Say your code. Now!" The emotional conflict shattered me. If I said the code, I gave the world to the monsters. If I didn't, I watched my son die on a monitor. I looked at the baby’s face, so peaceful in sleep, and the "Hidden Tycoon" within me died, replaced by something much older and more primal. "Seraphina Vance," I choked out. "Vocal ID 11-Omega-Four." The pedestals turned green. "Biometric Handshake Confirmed. Accessing Vaults..."

“From where?” Sophie didn’t answer. But Elias did. His voice barely a whisper. “I’m not the first.” Julian stood in front of the projected files, arms crossed. The evidence was clear. Crane’s prototype sequence didn’t begin with Elias. It began years earlier—with an unnamed Subject 03, stored offline, never activated beyond training. Somehow, **its trauma—**its fail-safe code—survived the transfer. Julian turned to Sophie. “How dangerous is it?”

he bowed and left. I fixed the ear pod, colour drained from my face immediately the screen lit up, A whimpering Cassie was tied to a chair, blindfolded, with a gun pointing directly at her forehead. “Scroll up doll” a cold voice spoke from the pods, my heart sank deeper into my chest, tears poked my eyes. I pushed it back, with a swipe I scrolled, my heart began racing widely, it was the matron, a red dot was pointed straight at her forehead, a sniper.

Beneath it another hand had written: "It remembers." The same phrase. Sera froze. She had seen those words before. In another report. Dr. Rowan. "The blood remembers." Her breathing slowed. Why did everyone keep writing the same thing? She reached the final page of the folder. Unlike the others. It wasn't typed. It was handwritten. Messy. Hurried. As though the writer expected someone to interrupt. > If Subject H-01 escapes, terminate the project immediately. > Never attempt replication. > Never expose compatible bloodlines.

The obsidian mirrors of its eyes didn't reflect the room; they reflected a streaming scroll of violet code. [ANALYZING_THREAT_PATTERN...] [TARGET: ALPHA_01] [WEAKNESS_IDENTIFIED: EMOTIONAL_LATENCY] "He can't hear you, Xander!" I screamed, my fingers flying through a translucent, golden HUD that was flickering with red warning signs. "The Maintainers haven't just possessed him; they’ve moved his consciousness into a Deep-Storage Partition. Everything he is—his loyalty, his memories—it’s all in Read-Only Mode. He’s being piloted by a combat-script that has ten thousand years of predator-data behind it!"

The other was a tall man with the permanent scowl of someone who'd once been a bureaucrat and now had to carry a gun. The woman introduced herself as Marta Sánchez, formerly Control Acquisition Division. The man, DeWitt, didn’t give a first name. Marta pulled a tarp off a metal cart. What lay beneath looked like a human brain, roughly basketball-sized, mounted on a mess of tentacles and chitinous limbs. It had no eyes, but ridges across its central mass pulsed faintly, as if registering light. "Meet the enemy," Marta said. "This is a dead one. We think. Don’t poke it."

We made our way further towards the trap when we heard a voice, it was a female voice and mind you it was the most beautiful voice I've heard, even in her scared state....she started blabbing about how she doesn't taste sweet or how the gods won't accept her flesh, the most funny one was her sayings no one will buy her organs as they won't work without her, she thought we were carnivores, she must have really been scared, my parents and sister fell into a fit of laughter but I just managed a smile, the soul must have been scared and I was the one

Not a Reaper, not a drone…but a black sphere, shimmering, humming low like a death song. It pulsed once. A voice echoed through the chamber: "Unauthorized presence. Resurrection protocol denied. Backup override initiated." "It's trying to wipe her," I said. Null screamed. "No! If she's erased, the root dies. And all of us with it!" The sphere opened. Needles of light. A soft hum of deletion. Subject 13 stepped forward. For the first time, his voice rang strong. "I won't let you touch her." He pressed his palm to the bone chair.

“My name is Sabatine Stalker. I am head of security for Anton Rogers. The power has been deliberately cut. This is a coordinated attack to cause panic. If you panic, you die. If you follow my instructions, you live.” He pulled a small, high-lumen tactical flashlight from his pocket, not turning it on yet. “I am going to turn on a light. Do not look directly at it. Do not move. I am identifying a secure location. When I give the command, you will move, slowly and in order. Anyone who runs will be considered hostile.”

“Trying to control something that doesn’t want to be controlled.” Adrian stared at him for a long moment. “That makes two of you.” That night, Evelyn couldn’t sleep. The mark pulsed too steadily, like a metronome counting toward something inevitable. She opened the folder again, tracing the name R. Draven with her finger. Below it, a half-faded note: Subject exhibited secondary resonance. Suggest containment before phase two. Her phone buzzed. Unknown Number: Containment failed before. It will again. Her fingers tightened. Who are you? she typed.