If the blood cocoon trapping Luo Shu had been ordinary blood, it wouldn't have been a problem.
In his anti-meme state (SCP-055), he could've held his breath for 30 seconds—the mask would've forgotten his existence, and the blood would've receded.
But this was no ordinary blood.
Under the original personality's control, the blood was highly corrosive, with a pH of 2.4.
How acidic is that?
For context:
pH 0–14 measures acidity to alkalinity.
Lower pH = stronger acid.
A concrete example:
Stomach acid starts at pH 0.9–1.8 (enough to digest meat and grains).
After eating, it dilutes to pH 3.8.
pH 2.4 is the midpoint—strong enough to dissolve most organic matter.
More viscerally:
When people vomit from indigestion, their stomach acid hits ~pH 2.4, causing:
Burning throat (mucous membranes corroding).
Bitter taste (tissue damage).
Soaking in pH 2.4 blood for 30 seconds?
Skin would peel off.
Eyes would be permanently blinded.
The moment the cocoon formed, Luo Shu felt searing pain—like being doused in boiling acid.
Meanwhile, IR1901 had just regained his sensory deprivation ability (SCP-126) and was bidding farewell to his old life.
He gazed wistfully at MacDonald Law Firm's office—a place he'd worked for years.
He didn't love the job.
But as SCP-126, living in Site-19's containment was worse than death row.
At least prisoners got:
Meal times.
Yard hours.
Human interaction.
Containment?
Buried underground.
No sunlight.
No contact.
No wonder SCPs went insane.
The Possession Mask split into four personalities.
Shy Guy (SCP-096) constantly tried to escape.
The Plague Doctor (SCP-049) obsessed over "pestilence."
Luo Shu understood this—which was why he'd rather be a D-class than a contained anomaly.
Who'd choose a life in the dark?
IR1901 hesitated, mourning the freedom he'd lose—until he remembered:
"Luo Shu's still trapped in SCP-035's Unit!"
With a sigh, his form faded from sight, leaving behind a whisper:
"Goodbye, MacDonald's life…"
Minutes later, a car crash would be reported downstairs—MacDonald's corpse slumped over the wheel, head shattered.
Back in SCP-035's Unit
Luo Shu stood drenched in blood, now behind the glass container.
In desperation, he'd teleported (SCP-173's ability)—escaping the cocoon.
SCP-055's unobservability was leagues above SCP-126's sensory deprivation.
Even standing right beside the mask, it couldn't perceive him.
The blood hands groped blindly, avoiding his space.
The mask seethed.
Twice now, Luo Shu had slipped its grasp.
What kind of Keter-class anomaly loses to a human?!
The whispers intensified, but Luo Shu was unfazed.
While waiting for IR1901, he:
Stripped his acid-eaten clothes.
Washed himself with SCP-261's "water from the stars."
Cleaned his gear.
20 minutes passed.
SCP-055's effect was fading.
IR1901 still hadn't arrived.
Luo Shu's throat mic was corroded, but his IP68-rated tactical terminal survived.
(Note to self: Upgrade terminal to link with IR1901's comms.)
He stared at the countdown timer.
60 seconds until SCP-055 deactivated.
59… 58… 47…
Then—
The Unit door hissed open.
IR1901's voice: "Sorry for the wait. This lock was a bitch."
Outside, alarms blared. Two bio-suited guards lay knocked out.
Simultaneously, Big Beard Jack's roar erupted from the terminal:
"INTRUDER IN SUBLEVEL-5! SCP-035'S DOOR BREACHED! EPSILON-11, MOVE OUT—RALLY IN CENTRAL ATRIUM!"
They still had time.
Luo Shu yelled to the invisible IR1901: "Go!" and bolted for the elevator.
The doors closed—
Then the AI announced:
"Declared weight: 0 kg. Actual weight: 72 kg. Per Security Level-4 Protocol: Elevator operation suspended."