Scp-298 Novels & Stories

Avery stared directly into his grey irises, attempting to extract a single watt of human resonance from the tyrant before her. Yet those pupils held no guilt—only an unyielding, absolute certainty. "That constitutes my own department's liability." She violently broke his grip, driving her fist back into his chest. "Speak! Where is she?" 杰西卡靠在走廊墙上，双臂抱胸，饶有兴味地看着。 "Kessler, how much longer does your network intend to execute this theater? Her biological source was extracted from the sector three years ago under your direct authorization. Even my department lacks the coordinates of her current cell. You treat every asset on this board as a disposable piece—"

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—”

I stopped in front of the first one. A girl. No older than ten. My eyes. But softer. Unaware. Unbroken. Lucien whispered, “Can they be saved?” “I don’t know.” “Will they be like you?” “No,” I said. “They’ll be better.” We found the control room buried deep below. Monitors blinked. Life signs stable. Neural connections active. And in the center—an AI construct shaped like a woman. My mother’s voice. The Architect. “If you’re seeing this, IV-9, then you made the wrong choice.”

The voice”her own voice, yet stripped of all warmth”had drifted from the darkness, but the source remained hidden behind the wall of canisters. She moved the light forward. In the canister nearest to her, a young woman slept”or was suspended”in a clear, viscous fluid. Her features were identical to Cattleya’s, down to the small, crescent-shaped birthmark on the left collarbone. The tag bolted to the base of the glass read: Subject: 402 - Termination Protocol: Failed. "I’m not¦ I’m not a copy," Cattleya whispered, her voice cracking. The sound was swallowed by the vast, oppressive silence of the vault.

He had a habit of turning his pen slowly between his fingers that several people in the room found irritating. He was doing it now. "The report," Sera said. A woman across the table, mid forties, analyst by function if not by title, opened her own file. "Three months ago," she began, "our monitoring systems registered an anomalous energy signature. Localised. Brief. Consistent with a dormant light source being involuntarily activated." She paused. "The signature lasted approximately forty seconds before collapsing back below the threshold." "Location," Sera said.

Like seeing someone from a dream you forgot. Its head tilted slowly. Studying me. The scientist smiled. “Prototype Zero.” A pause. “Meet Ariana.” Silence. Then— the thing spoke. Its voice sounded distorted. Broken. Mechanical. Human. All at once. “…Subject… Nine.” My blood turned cold. Subject Nine. Me. How did it know that? Damien stepped forward instantly. “You don’t come near her.” Prototype Zero looked at him. Then back at me. Its expression changed slightly.

Like something had crawled out and skittered into the main intake vents. Anji stepped into the center of the room. The static he’d been fighting all day peaked here, a screeching crescendo that forced him to his knees. He gripped his head, his vision turning to jagged slices of red light. Through the blur, he saw a flickering projection against the far wall—the terminal logs, left running since Sutherland’s demise. Gen-Zero Experiment: Neural Syphon. Target: Sustenance via consciousness transfer. Current Host Status: Parasitic.

“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.

“But once you start, there’s no reversing it.” Mom laughed softly under her breath. Broken “There hasn’t been a reverse button for a very long time.” The house lights flickered violently. Then every screen in the kitchen lit up again. WARNING: TERMINATION THREAT DETECTED. The voice returned immediately “Preservation protocols activated.” The stranger’s face hardened. “It knows.” Mom grabbed the drive with shaking hands. “Where’s the core?” “Basement server room.” Tomás looked at me instantly. “You stay here.” “No.”

Somewhere high above, Maddox bellowed: "Security breach in Sublevel Nine. Contain the asset." Asset. That was all she was to them but to me, she was everything. The final door required biometric access. I grasped the guard I'd released a second ago and pressed his palm on the reader. The lock closed. It was colder in here and darker. Monitors lined all four walls, with images of brains and heat maps. She lay on a metal table now—bound down, wires on her temples and an IV delivering who-knew-what into her veins.