Warning:
AU
OOCNESS
Surgery in small detail
I do NOT own SCP Containment Breach
Flames will be used to roast sausages
X.X
Ring-a-ring o' roses,
A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down
The Plague Doctor smiled softly behind his mask as the old lyrics played back in his head. That little nursery rhyme the children use to sing on the filthy streets of London when the Great Pestilence was at its worse. Oh, the little innocent smile on their faces each time they held hands and would dance in a little circle before falling flat on their backs.
The smiles, however, would always vanish each time he passed by. Replaced with a blank, sullen look as their eyes followed him until he disappeared amongst the crowd of people. And then that little song would pick up again.
The nursery rhyme itself was...soothing. It brought him a strange sense of comfort every time he thought about it. During a surgery, he would repeat the lyrics silently in his head. It had actually become a habit of his. Apart from humming some old church hymns.
He ran his long, milky-white fingers delicately down the edge of the scalpel he held in his hand. Splayed out on the operating table in front of him was the latest victim of the disease. A middle-aged man with a western dialect in them. His light green eyes-glassy and hollow, still captured that last moment of fear before he finally succumbed to his cure. Thus would prompt him to begin phase 2.
The Doctor deftly sliced open the orange jumpsuit before placing the scalpel down and picking up a pair of old, rusty scissors and trimming down the white shirt carefully. For a moment he remembered the days where he walked around London with his hat fixtured on his head; medical bag in one hand and wooden cane tapping the cobblestone street. His spectacles resting perfectly on his mask.
No sound was made as the blade of the scalpel swiftly sliced open the deceased inmate's chest. The Doctor then flayed the man's chest wide open; exposing the rib cage and internal organs.
He loathes them.
The eyes watching him from behind the glass window that protected them. Observing and recording every move he made. It was a nuisance for him. He found it hard to concentrate on his work whenever he had humans watching him as though he was a circus attraction. But he doesn't sense the disease in any of them. So he concluded that they must be doctors as well. He silently wondered if they enjoy watching him "cure" the victims of the disease.
Hours soon past, and the Doctor finishes up sewing his newest puppet. In a manner of minutes this once lifeless corpse would reanimate into a mindless, walking zombie.
The Doctor then leaves the freshly stitched up corpse and returned to the shadows of his cell. Bag of tools safely hidden with his black robes. He yearned to see the sun again. To feel its warmth against his pale skin. For decades he wallowed in darkness of his cell. Playing the "nice" pet for everyone around him. Though they are aware of what he is capable of, they don't know just how menacing he truly is.
The Doctor had yearned for his freedom so much. Along with some of the other SCPs he's managed to become "well acquainted" with. Friends was such a strong word to use in this facility. SCP-999 thinks everyone is his friend. Poor idiot. He was a sad site to see. A loud noise was heard and the power suddenly went out. A red light switched on as a panicked voice spoke through the intercom.
"SCP-682's containment has been breached. I repeat, SCP-682's containment has been breached."
A loud roar was heard in the distance and various alarms went off. SCP-049's cell door suddenly slid open on its own and a sinister grin stretched itself across his face. He repeated the last verse of the nursery rhyme to himself. Except he changed it slightly.
And they all fall down.