Facing the enraged Plague Doctor, Luo Shu remained calm.
"Look, I'm healthy. You shouldn't attack me."
SCP-049 paused, studying him intently. "Correct. You require no treatment. But your kind deceived me!"
"Wait—I didn't deceive you!" Luo Shu spread his hands. "I'm just a D-class. What power do I have to lie to you? The ones who misled you are others. Tell me what happened."
The persuasion ability worked—barely.
Of all SCPs, 049 was one of the few humanoid anomalies capable of reason.
Grudgingly, it explained:
That morning, it had detected the Pestilence on a containment technician.
When confronted, the man denied it outright, triggering 049's rampage.
Venturing into B2, it found more traces of disease—and began "curing" the infected.
One researcher, clearly healthy, insisted the outside world was fine—while 049 felt the Pestilence thick in the air.
"Tell me the truth! What is happening out there?"
Luo Shu's mind raced.
The truth?
22 million infected. 370,000 dead.
If 049 learned this, nothing would stop it from "saving" the world.
Site-19 had gone to extreme lengths to hide the pandemic—even revoking 049's research privileges after the Dr. Hamm incident.
But asymptomatic carriers had slipped through, alerting the doctor.
Now, Luo Shu had to lie convincingly.
"I don't know why you think there's a plague. Yes, humans get sick—but one sick person doesn't mean an epidemic."
049's grip tightened. "Not one! Three today! Do not lie to me!"
Three cases in Site-19?
The Director should consider that a win.
Luo Shu forced a smile. "Look, it's flu season. Minor illnesses spread. But I'm healthy—if there were a real plague, wouldn't more be sick?"
He twisted statistics:
The U.S. had 7% infection, 1.7% mortality—clearly pandemic-level.
But compared to the Black Death 049 remembered, modern medicine made it seem mild.
And in Site-19's controlled environment, three cases felt insignificant.
049 hesitated. "Yet I smell the Pestilence in the air..."
"Then let's go see for ourselves," Luo Shu offered. "If there's no plague, you return to containment. Deal?"
"...Agreed."
Luo Shu glanced at the cameras. "We're coming up. Don't shoot us."
The Director's voice crackled: "Give us time to... clean up."
Code for: Remove all evidence of outbreaks.
As they waited, Luo Shu steered the conversation to medical theory—playing to his bioengineering background.
049, fascinated, lost track of time.
Thirty minutes later: "All clear. Proceed."
The Illusion of Normalcy
B1's central garden was a masterpiece of deception.
Artificial sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling.
Dozens of staff and D-class milled about, pretending normality.
No coughs. No masks. No signs of pandemic.
049 scanned the crowd, beak dipping in confusion.
"Where... are the sick?"
Luo Shu gestured broadly. "See? Just seasonal sniffles. No plague."
The doctor stiffened—then pointed abruptly.
"That one."
A researcher three tables away froze mid-bite, sandwich slipping from his fingers.
Shit.
An asymptomatic carrier they missed.
Before 049 could lunge, Luo Shu blocked its path.
"Wait! He's just allergic to peanuts!"
The researcher seized the cue, clutching his throat dramatically.
049 hesitated. "Allergy...?"
"Not contagious," Luo Shu pressed. "Like your 'cured' patients—they don't spread illness either, right?"
A dangerous gamble.
But 049's own logic trapped it:
If its "cures" stopped the Pestilence, then non-contagious conditions didn't require its intervention.
The doctor lowered its hands.
"...Very well. I shall return."
As it turned away, Luo Shu exhaled.
Too close.