Time passed faster than I would have liked.
By the time the Mind Protection Earrings were completed and distributed among high-clearance personnel, another full year had slipped by. Their effects were flawless—layered memetic resistance, psychic shielding, reality-interference dampening, and a subtle feedback loop that warned the wearer before their mind was compromised.
No madness.
No possession.
No silent corruption.
For once, we were ahead of the curve.
That was when the universe decided to remind us that being prepared didn't mean being safe.
SCP-049 appeared.
Not quietly.
Not subtly.
But wrong.
Our global surveillance satellite—an unholy fusion of alien optics, anomalous computation matrices, and mundane military hardware—flagged him almost immediately. A tall humanoid figure in archaic clothing, traveling on foot, avoiding populated areas while displaying an unusual fixation on isolated settlements.
No passport records.
No heat signature anomalies.
No aging.
And most importantly—
Centuries too early.
The first known appearances of the Plague Doctor weren't supposed to happen for a very long time. The fact that he was walking the world now meant one thing:
Causality was already bending.
Which meant ignoring him was not an option.
Tracking SCP-049 was almost insultingly easy.
He avoided crowds but observed them. He lingered near the sick, the dying, the mentally unstable—always just outside perception, always watching. His behavioral pattern lit up every anomaly filter we had.
Once confirmed, containment became a matter of logistics rather than force.
I authorized a controlled encounter.
No weapons drawn.
No aggression.
Just… conversation.
When Foundation agents finally approached him, he didn't resist. He didn't flee. He turned calmly, tilted his masked head, and regarded them like a physician interrupted mid-diagnosis.
"You are not afflicted," he said pleasantly. "Yet you reek of purpose. How refreshing."
Negotiations were… delicate.
SCP-049 was intelligent. Highly intelligent. And deeply convinced of his mission. He spoke of the Pestilence with reverence and disgust in equal measure, lamenting how the world had failed to recognize the sickness consuming it.
I didn't contradict him.
Instead, I offered him something better.
Research facilities.
Subjects.
Freedom to study—within limits.
And then, quietly, the alternative.
Containment by force.
Permanent isolation.
Or termination.
He understood immediately.
"I prefer cooperation," he replied after a long pause. "I find cages… unproductive."
Transport to Site-19 was executed under maximum precaution. Reality anchors active. Cognitive hazard dampeners engaged. Personnel equipped with Mind Protection Earrings at all times.
SCP-049 did not struggle.
As he was escorted into containment, he turned toward me—though I hadn't spoken aloud.
"You are not sick," he said. "But you stand very close to something that is."
I smiled behind my mask.
"Welcome to the Foundation, Doctor."
The doors sealed shut.
We had secured one of the most dangerous anomalous entities in existence—early, contained, and… potentially useful.
But deep down, I knew one thing for certain.
The Pestilence wasn't the real threat.
It was what SCP-049 might do once he realized how interesting this era truly was.