Scp-417 Novels & Stories

Something that didn't belong in a "Real World." A **Titan** stepped out of the shadows. It was thirty feet tall, its body made of rusted iron and pulsing violet tubes. It had the face of a man, but the eyes were giant searchlights. On its chest, a large silver logo was etched into the metal: **AETHEL-GROUP: ASSET RECOVERY**. "Subject 01 and Donor 04," the Titan’s voice boomed, sounding like a thousand speakers blowing out at once. "You have exceeded your 'Independence' quota. Please remain still while your 'Conflict Data' is harvested."

Luckily, these four were also new recruits who went down like dominoes getting hit by a pickup truck. The moment Jo turned back around, noting that they were at the exit for the twenty-eight floor, her IAC crackled, and then, a new voice was in her head. “Scott? Son? Are you really here?” “Dad!” Scott shouted, both aloud and through the IAC. “Yes. Do you know what floor you’re on?” “Scott, I really think you should leave. I don’t see how you can do this. We are surrounded by a few hundred Vampires at the moment, and Cassidy said it’s just you and Jo. You’ll never make it.”

“It’s not over.” Outside, thunder rolled across the city. The rain returned, heavier than before — as if the storm itself had been waiting for this moment. And far above the ruins of District Twelve, unseen eyes watched the feed from a distant command room. A voice spoke, calm and cold. “Phase Four confirmed. Subjects are active. Proceed with containment.”

I placed his small hand against my chest “, you feel like mine.” He didn’t speak. But he didn’t pull away either. Meanwhile... Beneath Manhattan, in a bunker that reeked of power and rot, Maurice lit a cigar and smiled at the flickering screens. Thermal feeds. Four signatures. Three adults. One infant. “That’s them?” he asked. “Yes, sir,” the tech replied. “We confirmed Ethan, Sophia, Subject A-17... and the child.” Maurice’s grin widened. “A little family,” he muttered. “All tucked in.”

The trapdoor creaked open, revealing a stone stairwell descending into darkness. Sang-woo lit a lantern from the desk and climbed down. The walls below were lined with screens. Surveillance monitors. Not just of the estate. But in Yuri’s old school dorm. Devin’s safehouse in Moscow. Koji’s apartment in Tokyo. Their father had been watching everything. Even Azrael. Sang-woo’s fingers hovered over the dusty keyboard. Files. Recordings. Messages Vector had logged but never sent. He clicked open a file titled: N•17 — Stasis Protocol.

Subject designated for Memory Protocol 7 and civilian integration due to psychological instability concerns and Incident 17-B. *NOTE: Subject's genetic modifications remain active and transmissible to offspring. Monitoring to continue indefinitely. Re-acquisition may be necessary in future containment scenarios.* They didn't care if I had love or kids they wanted weapons. "Incident 17-B," I repeated aloud, searching the document for references to what this might have been. Several pages later, I found it, a heavily redacted entry with only fragments visible:

“They erased every trace of his existence. Every file. Every photo. But not this. This was buried, not deleted.” The screen in front of her flickered, then steadied. A video began to play. Her breath caught. It was a man with dark hair streaked with silver and eyes unmistakably hers. Laugh lines, strong jaw, that familiar crease between his brows when he frowned. A voice spoke over the footage, clinical and cold. “Subject: Dr. Marcus Harper. Former Chief Systems Architect, Crescent Initiative. Status: Terminated. Protocol: Specter Override failed. Subject not recovered.”

asked Joseph after the introductions. “I’m not sure, maybe. Would you mind if I try?” Trisha behaved like a princess, all silk and honey. “Not at all,” Ann replied. She aimed her phone cam at the couch and giggled, showing me the screen. The SLS had detected two humanoid shapes sitting on the couch, two more standing behind it and two smaller ones, standing by the left side of the couch. It was like a family portrait in stick figures. “It can!” I cried, excited. “Lizzie, would you please raise your hand?”

"This is the Vanguard Directive. All passengers and crew of Freight 404, step away from the carriages immediately. We are searching for an unregistered temporal anomaly. Non-compliance will be met with terminal force." Anaya gripped the gunmetal cylinder tightly against her chest. The hunters were at the door, and the countdown was still ticking.

“The Pure Omega strain has successfully bonded with the host marrow. Inquisitor Vane has ordered immediate brain-scrubbing and harvest.” *** “He didn’t get to harvest Subject 109,” Rin noted, stepping closer to read the screen over Julian’s shoulder. “No,” Julian continued, scrolling down the encrypted text. “Dr. Aris faked the subject’s termination report. He smuggled the infant out of the apex facility inside a medical waste crate, dropping him in the lower drainage sectors of District Four.” A short, breathless scoff escaped my lips. I looked down at my hands. The silver mark on my forearm pulsed in exact harmony with the diagnostic terminal.