Scp-449 Novels & Stories

Emily was doomed. She was aware of the fact with a quiet acceptance, and surprisingly enough, it left her with no fear. The man who'd grabbed her when she managed to get into the room with Amber was named Brian. He was the one she'd followed here, to her place of doom.

Project Halo had to be in there somewhere. In one hand, she carried a memory scanner. In the other, her fear. But she didn’t hesitate. Because this was no longer about answers. It was about reclaiming control. She found the mainframe beneath the biometric chamber. Silver wires stretched from the walls like veins, pulsing softly. Ophelia plugged in the device and began scanning the database. Names flew across the screen. Carl Maddox. Subject 04. Immune to psychic abilities. Recruited at age 7 after maternal sacrifice.

The creature didn't scream; it hissed, its orange core flaring as it tried to stabilize. "That’s for Phuwin, you glowing bastard!" Somito roared, bringing the mace down again and again until the orange light flickered and died, leaving only a pile of cooling, amber slush on the floor. "You really need to work on your stealth, old man," Zilo said, rushing to the terminal and his fingers flying across the keys. "Okay, I’ve got the bypass. Cell 402. Restricted access. It says... 'Subject: Pilot. Status: Integration Complete.'"

His eyes were empty. I walked past the second cell. Empty, except for a chair in the center of the room with leather straps. I checked the clipboards hanging next to each door. Subject 892. Reconditioning Complete. Subject 411. In Process. I walked faster, my breath misting in the cold air. Then I saw it. Room 404. The clipboard was older than the others. The paper was yellowed. Subject: Elena Thorne. Status: Permanent Resident. Notes: Memory wipe successful (1998). Personality graft stable. Do not engage in discussions of the past.

Outside, the birds fell silent. A figure stood in our garden, between the rosemary and the struggling carrots. It was neither male nor female, clad in a robe of shifting, neutral grey. Its face was pleasant but forgettable, and it held a slate of smooth, dark stone in one hand. In the other, a stylus of white light hovered, ready to take notes. “Designates: Sze and Kairi,” it said. Its voice was calm, measured, and utterly devoid of inflection. “I am Assessor Seven. I am here to evaluate Incident Report 4492-Alpha and the ongoing status of your localized anomaly.”

Jason whispered. Eric moved to one of the sealed pods, wiping off the frost-covered nameplate. Sonia’s breath caught. Daniel Woods. “No way,” Echo gasped. But the pod was empty. She staggered back, heart thundering. “They kept him here.” “Which means he got out,” Eric said. Echo pulled up the files from a terminal. “They archived him as ‘Lost Subject 4D-X2’… but look at this. He hacked their system from the inside before escaping. Left a trail buried in dummy protocols.”

Not fear of him, but fear for him. Lucian let Allen drop to the floor. Allen crumpled, gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat. "You're right," Lucian said, his voice shaking with restrained violence. "Death is too simple for someone like him." Lucian looked at the recording device Allen had dropped. He crushed it under his boot with a sickening crunch. He then looked at the security camera in the corner of the aisle. "Aris," Lucian said into his wrist-comms. "Initiate Protocol 'Ghost-Light.' Sector Nine, Lower Archives. We have a cadet suffering from a 'psychotic break' due to neuro-stabilizer exposure. He’s becoming a danger to himself and the project."

He was planning a cycle of biological slavery that would never end. "Dante," Ivy screamed, her voice echoing in the sterile room. "Help me! Please!" The intercom went silent. The violet light died, replaced by a harsh, flashing red. SECURITY BREACH. SECTOR FOUR. LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. Outside in the hallway, the sound of gunfire erupted—the muffled thud-thud-thud of suppressed weapons. Ivy ran to the door, pounding on the reinforced metal. "Open it! Open the door!"

I feel like I will never escape from the cage I spent so many years of my childhood in. The dream of my first time in the laboratory haunts my mind, a constant reminder that I am the Dark Alpha’s pet, Experiment 399. I subconsciously ran my fingers down the back of my leg, feeling the permanent engraved scar of 399, and then felt the scar over my lower abdomen. Closing my eyes, I let out a whimpered sigh. The buzzing of my phone breaks into my thoughts and I see its Benji calling. I swipe it open, and press the speaker before resting it on top of the small stool I keep near the side of the tub. “Hello?”

“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.”