How to Lift the Curse of Unrequited Love (049x035)

6. Black Blood

       A/N: I'm glad more people have been reading this! Uh, anyway I'm not going to be dating chapters anymore, because God knows I'm not going to write for an entire...what? Two months! In all honesty, I don't have much time to write in the first place and I hate to rush my writing. Anywho, be safe in quarantine and enjoy the chapter!~ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

         "AUGH!" SCP-049 yelled in frustration. He couldn't keep taking the anesthetics for his fractured leg, it wasn't healthy, and getting sick was definitely out of the question. Not to mention all of his medical supplies that would help the situation are mostly gone. Though there was a low chance he would get sick in the first place, he wouldn't take the risk of getting so sick that he couldn't cure the pestilence ridden people in this foundation. "At least I don't have to much trouble walking."

         Dr. Sherman wasn't much help either. The plague doctor frowned at the thought of him, he was really much never help. SCP-049 sighed and leaned against the wall in defeat. "I'm too tired..." He muttered. A few moments passed as he slid down the wall, sitting on the floor. SCP-049 closed his eyes, his body gave into the thought of sleep. After a moment he jumped in surprise. "No, I must not be selfish, I need to get better so I can cure others!" SCP-049 whipped his head up and stood. Soon after his body rocked back and forth from the fast movements and imbalance. He fell back on the floor a few seconds later, yelping in pain. "Ugh...Just sleep, only for a few minutes..." He muttered, it wasn't very often he felt tired, but when he did it hit him like a bus. The lights began to fade into darkness. Then everything faded, no matter how hard the doctor tried not to, he was falling asleep. (Dun dun duuunnnnn.) 

         The mask was now just that, a mask. (WoAhhHh.) It had been a while since he'd chosen to get rid of a host, but since there wasn't really a difference between having an amputated body or sitting here, on the floor, he didn't mind, it wasn't like he could feel how uncomfortable it was. Despite Dr. Whitney shuffling around a few papers now and again, all was quiet. All was still. SCP-035 stared at the ceiling. He was bored, again.

         A few minutes of paper shuffling later, a loud crash was accompanied by a shout of pain. SCP-035 listened intently, having nothing else to do. "Oh uh, not again!" Dr. Whitney groaned. "Guards, we need a maintenance worker in here, now!" Footsteps faded as what SCP-035 assumed to be the guards, walked away hastily. It was then that the mask noticed dark ink-like blood running down the walls of his cell. "Huh, didn't know I've been doing that." He thought to himself. A few drops dripped down the glass, on the other side of the glass, where the doctors worked. SCP-035 smiled maliciously in realization. If he played his cards right, and continued to make a mess of everything, he could be the one to start the first proper containment breach in three years. (yAs.)

(Cliffhanger...? Muhahahahahahaaaa! Thanks for reading, bye bye.)

(The animation isn't mine btw-)