Scp-297 Novels & Stories

It was beautiful, serene, and according to Petra’s sweeps, completely off-grid. Alma stood on the balcony with a steaming cup of coffee, staring into the sunrise. She was trying to feel peace. She couldn’t. There was something gnawing at her, a whisper beneath her skin. A presence. A danger they hadn’t yet uncovered. Inside, Petra sat at a table strewn with documents salvaged from the Prague vault. Pages of bioengineering notes, Seraph insignia, and one black envelope marked with a red sigil Alma didn’t recognize.

No goodbye. Just shadows. --- Back at the safe house, I gave the note to Mira. She read it, and went pale. “What is it?” I asked. “She’s right,” Mira said. “We missed something. There’s a second system.” “Where?” “In the old medical wing. Sector 9. Abandoned for years.” “Then we go,” I said. “No,” Mira said. “*You* go. I have to stay here and cover you.” I hesitated. “Alright. But if I’m not back—”

"Elara! What have you done to your father!" Vivian was at the top of the stairs, her face contorted with rage. She held a small, black remote—the "Reset" trigger. "Don't bother, Vivian," I said, not even looking at her. "I’ve already 'Encrypted' the local grid. Your remote is just a piece of plastic." Vivian pressed the button. Nothing happened. The red light on the remote blinked once and then died. "You... you’re supposed to be a 'Subject'!" Vivian screamed, her voice cracking. "You’re a 'Delta-Instance'! You’re a vat-grown copy of a six-year-old girl!"

Colton had given him the file—encrypted logs of off-grid sites funded quietly by Echo. The compound was nestled beneath camouflage netting, indistinguishable from the forest around it. Julian broke in through a side access panel with tools forged from memory and years of espionage. Inside, he found labs long since powered down—but not forgotten. Stasis chambers lined the walls, each labeled with names, genetic codes, and the prefix "H-X." Helix subjects. Some chambers were broken. Others were still… occupied. He snapped photos, sent encrypted messages back to Colton and Savannah, and then froze at one file in particular. MIRA: H-X-009. Status: Active. Escaped. Unknown.

His expression is calm, almost disappointed, like I've confirmed something he expected. "Subject Seven," he says, consulting a tablet. "I thought you might be the first to attempt to escape during a security breach. Your psychological profile indicated elevated resourcefulness and risk tolerance." Subject Seven. Not even my name anymore, just a number in his research. "Let me go," I say, trying to project more confidence than I feel. "You have no right to hold me here." "On the contrary, I have every right. And unfortunately, your escape attempt demonstrates exactly why high-security containment is necessary for dimensionally affected individuals."

“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.”

But one stood out in chilling clarity. Unknown ID [Viper] Recipient ID: [REDACTED - Crest Internal Node] Timestamp: 00:43 “She’s digging too close to HYDRA. Remove her before she connects the Montrose chain.” And below that, one single line, just before the message corrupted: Signature: R-7AC03 My brain raced. Milo said it matched someone on Damien’s staff. I needed that full staff list. Every code. Every ID. If I could match that string to a name…

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."

"It’s not just data. There are recordings. From inside the lab. Monroe was documenting everything." "Everything?" Damien asked. "Including footage of you. Or someone who looks like you." Xavier tapped the keyboard, and a screen lit up with surveillance footage. The timestamp was two years ago. A figure, nearly identical to Damien, stood in front of a large glass chamber. Inside, the same child Damien had seen was strapped to a table, monitors beeping steadily around him. The voice was unmistakable: Monroe. "Subject Omega-2 exhibits rapid cognitive development. Imprinting on Alpha has been successful. He refers to him as 'Father.' Psychological bonding seems complete. We move to the behaviora

A siren, low and rhythmic, began to pulse through the floorboards. "Intruder Alert. Maintenance Override Terminated. Biometric purge initiated in sixty seconds." "We have to go, Elara!" Julian grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the central vault. "The stabilizer is in the center pod. If we don't get it now, Victor will vent the oxygen in this entire level." But as we reached the vault, a screen on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't Victor’s face. It was Isabella Thorne, sitting in the back of a black SUV in a rain-slicked Lagos street.