《Scourge》


 Death Knell

    An ominous ring bellows from the bronze bell in the public square. A steam-powered carriage hauls behind it a wagon filled with bodies wrapped in a large tarp, protecting them from the ever-constant rainfall. Atop the church steeple sits a crow. Its beady eyes glance around the square like a spectator for the bleak scenery. As lightning crackles behind it, the crow flies off into the dark skies above the city.


    A man in a black suit with a red tie and black top hat enters the grocer. The shelves that were once always fully stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables were now mostly devoid of any food. The man in the suit grabs a few of the remaining foods he can and sets them on the front counter. A portly man wearing a red and white striped apron with a five o¡¯ clock shadow clicks on the cash register.


    ¡°Seems quite barren in here George. I just returned from my trip over in Wales. Why¡¯s everything so gloom and doom now?¡± The man in the suit says.


    The portly man glares at the man in the suit, tapping one last key on the register. A weary ding rings from the register.


    ¡°Jason¡­ Did you notice anything when you returned? Anything at all on your journey back here to Belvedere?¡± George asks.


    Jason taps his chin. Then a light bulb goes off in his mind.


    ¡°Ah now that you mention it! There were some wagons hauling what I think were¡­ People? And many shops had shuttered their doors. A lack of any people out and about too. Bobbies were more frequently patrolling. Uhm¡­ Posters I never bothered to get a closer look at. Oh, and I saw a strange pair of folks in black attire with these unusual masks on their face. Was there an accident? More rebels perhaps? A major attack on Her Majesty?¡±


    George sighs as Jason looks to the price displayed on the register and puts the money down on the counter.


    ¡°No, Jason. For fuck¡¯s sake it¡¯s a goddamned epidemic!¡±


    ¡°Aye?¡±


    ¡°You heard me. Nary a week ago, reports were cropping up of folks comin¡¯ down with some kind of illness. Started as but a few people in some boroughs. Next thing we know, that number starts climbing higher and higher by the day. Police shut down those areas with the most infected. Quarantined the poor bastards.¡±


    George takes the money and bags the foods. Jason grabs the bag. His expression shows one of great concern and panic starts settling in.


    ¡°Dear God¡­ It all makes sense now. Shite! I need to get back to my home!¡±


    Jason bolts out of the store. George shakes his head and sighs, taking a seat in the chair hidden behind the counter to read a book.


    Two pairs of black boots trod through a puddle on the sidewalk. A shivering man in a black poncho seeking shelter from the rain under an awning hides his face with a black cotton bandana pulled up over his mouth and nose gazes at the passing duo.


    A black gloved hand raps on the door. As the doors open, the man with the sullen brown eyes simply nods and motions for the strangers to enter.


    ¡°Come quickly. This way.¡± He says in a panicked tone.


    The sullen-eyed man leads the strangers to his living room. On the floor is an elderly woman convulsing and undulating. She¡¯s covered up with a red-and-white checkered blanket. A pale white pillow lies where her head is resting.


    ¡°Please¡­ Me grams just started actin¡¯ up like this. I called for a bobby and he said he would call for help. You two¡­ Must be the help, yes?¡±


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    The strangers wore midnight black robes with lighter black leather gloves and boots. The taller one had on a black hat with a buckle. Around his waist was a brown utility belt with several pouches, three syringes held in slots and a holstered knife. He also had an oak cane adorned with an onyx crow. The other one had a hood on. She brandished a serrated blade and held a brown leather doctors¡¯ bag. Both of the strangers wore black beaked masks stuffed with various herbs. They looked to each other and nod.


    ¡°Step aside sir.¡± The woman spoke.


    As the sullen-eyed man stepped aside, the two cloaked figures approached the elderly woman. The man kneels down to examine her. He presses two fingers to her neck despite her strained movements.


    ¡°Marianne. Please pin the woman¡¯s arms down for me, will you?¡± He says.


    ¡°Certainly, Peter.¡± She responds.


    Marianne approaches and gets on her knees over the woman, grabbing her wrists and pins her to the floor. Peter pulls out a small glass filled with a deep purple concoction. A tiny hole on the lid. He then grabs a syringe to fill it with the liquid, flicks the tip of the needle and jabs it into the convulsing woman¡¯s neck vein with precision.


    The woman¡¯s joints start to slow until her entire body goes still. Her eyes shut. Marianne lets go and stands up. Peter remains at her side as he puts the jar and syringe away. The sullen-eyed man inches closer with his hands cupped together.


    ¡°Wha¡­ What did you do?¡± He asks.


    Marianne looks to him, crossing her arms.


    ¡°Peter dosed her with a serum. ¡®Rainmaker.¡¯ It¡¯s still experimental but we¡¯ve had some success in evicting the plague from victims. It all depends on how their body handles it¡­ As of its current state, it¡¯s a coin toss if it will succeed.¡± Marianne explains.


    ¡°A c-coin toss? So, you¡¯re unsure if it will even help her?!¡±


    ¡°Sir please calm down. This epidemic is spreading fast. The symptoms exhibited by victims of the sickness point to a few different potential known diseases. Rainmaker is the only currently known medicine concocted that can treat these specific diseases.¡±


    Peter stands up to face the sullen-eyed man.


    ¡°Researches from the Institute are still working hard in their research to narrow down just what exactly is not only causing this spreading illness but to narrow it down-¡°


    Peter stops talking to glance down at the elderly woman who starts convulsing once more. Her movements are even more erratic than before. Pained groans escape her chapped lips. Marianne shakes her head.


    ¡°Well bollocks. I¡¯m sorry sir but¡­ I¡¯m afraid she¡¯s a lost cause. Marianne if you will. And sir¡­ You may want to look away.¡±


    Marianne pulls out her serrated blade and kneels down next to the woman. The sullen-eyed man looks in horror.


    ¡°What are you¡­?¡± He pauses.


    Marianne pulls out a cloth and covers the woman¡¯s mouth before gently slitting her throat with the blade. Blood pools from the neck and onto the floor. The man falls to his knees. He¡¯s in utter disbelief.


    ¡°Another one¡­ Shame.¡± Peter says.


    Marianne and Peter go to pick the body up and haul it out of the home. They lay it down on the sidewalk. The sullen-eyed man stands at the door, watching the two doctors silently pray while standing over the body. He presses a hand to his head, shaking it. Tears are streaking down his cheeks.


    A few minutes of silence pass until a carriage passing by hauling a wagon stops in front of the home. Two men in raincoats step out, seeing the body and going to pick it up. They toss the body up into the wagon, shoving it back enough to where it won¡¯t fall out. Peter and Marianne nod silently to them. They nod back before hopping into the carriage. It starts heading off down the street.


    ¡°Why¡­ Why did you have to do that?¡± The sullen-eyed man sobs.


    Peter and Marianne turn to the man. Peter¡¯s arms are behind his back. Marianne¡¯s hands are cupped together in front of her.


    ¡°This plague is airborne as far as we know. If an infected is not cured, they pose a threat just by breathing. So, we silence them. Only then are they no longer a threat, and their body can be hauled off to be burned in a safe location.¡± Peter explains.


    ¡°Sorry sir. But this is for your safety and the safety of the public. She was not compatible with the serum. The infection was far too severe. Just¡­ Be happy she¡¯s in a better place now. We should be off then.¡± Marianne adds.


    Peter tips his hat. Marianne nods. The two doctors depart from the vicinity. Meanwhile, the sullen-eyed man is left speechless. He wipes his eyes and slams the door on his way back inside.

 The Doctors

    The LIM or London Institution of Medicine, most commonly known as the Institute, is the city¡¯s premiere center of medical education, employment and research. Formed in 1666 after the Great Plague of London, the Institute has been dedicated to educating and training the future of doctors and nurses within not only London but the entire United Kingdom.


    A special division of the Institute was created to deal with outbreaks and house calls. The Black Doctors are professionals deployed into cities and towns usually in pairs or even trios. While general doctors, surgeons and nurses are confined to hospitals and offices, the Black Doctors are a mobile division. Equipped with various tools of the trade and expertise in various medicinal skills, only the finest of the field can take on this role.


    With the coming of a new plague, the Institute has deployed all of it¡¯s Black Doctors out into London. They work around the clock checking every citizen to see if any symptoms appear. Harrow and Redbridge were the first boroughs with reported cases, soon spreading to neighboring Ealing and Newham. Police have quarantined these boroughs. Right now, with the populations of the boroughs either stuck inside or evacuated, they¡¯ve been serving as ¡°dumping grounds¡± for the infected. Places to burn the bodies to cleanse their systems of the sickness to help prevent further spread.


    A steam carriage hauling a wagon arrives in Redbridge. Fully masked men in black suits completely covering their bodies begin taking bodies out of the wagon and placing them into designated dumping grounds marked with yellow tape. Once the bodies are set, the two men climb into the back of the carriage to pull out a flamethrower. The taller man holds the shaft containing the fuel tube and the firing handle. The other man takes the tank and holsters it on the taller man¡¯s shoulders. He holds the heavy tank in place, turning the fuel valve to warm up the thrower. After a couple minutes pass, the taller man aims the shaft out and cranks the firing handle. Bright red flames roar from the nozzle. The corpses begin slowly burning.


    Off in the distance, two bobbies with masks watch just outside the perimeter of the quarantine zone. These zones are marked by bright red signs with a black ¡®X¡¯ on them placed on both sides of the street as well as concrete barricades leaving only enough room for carriages to pass by.


    ¡°Get a load of that. Another haul¡­¡± The rotund officer says.


    The slender officer lifts his mask to puff on a cigarette. He nods.


    ¡°Aye. Fourth one today. Gettin¡¯ worse by the day it seems.¡±


    A puff of smoke escapes his chapped lips. Smoke billows from the pile of charred corpses as the flames cease. The rotund officer shakes his head.


    ¡°When do you think this will end? How long do those folks have to stay stuck inside? I mean for fucks sake they got doctors fetching groceries for the poor bastards.¡± He grits his teeth.


    ¡°No clue lad. Not our problem. We just stay ¡®ere an¡¯ make sure passersby aren¡¯t gettin¡¯ in or out. For their own good.¡± The slender officer murmurs.


    ¡°I swear mum must be right. This could be the second coming after all¡­¡±


    The men in suits stow the flamethrower back into the carriage. They dust their hands off and hop back into the carriage, departing the square to leave the quarantine zone. The officers watch in silence. This is just another average day for them.


    Rain patters against the large office windows. A stern-faced woman sits at a desk smoking a cigarette. Her light brown hair is tied up into a bun. She wears black-rimmed glasses, a white dress shirt and black pencil skirt with black high heels. Her cheekbones stand out next to the beauty mark under her dark red lips. A series of knocks raps on the office door. Her teal eyes glance towards the door.


    ¡°You may enter.¡± She speaks.


    Two plague doctors wearing hats enter the office. One pulls out a folder piece of paper from within his trench coat.


    ¡°Ah. It¡¯s you two. Ready to hand in the weekly report?¡±


    They both nod. The doctor with the paper steps forward and places the paper on the desk. The woman adjusts her glasses to examine the contents of the paper.


    ¡°Miss Weston I must be honest. Things are¡­ Looking quite bleak compared to the mid-week report we handed in.¡± He says.


    Weston wears a concerned expression as her eyes study the writings of the doctor. She then looks at the two. The other doctor just remains silent with their hands cupped together. She breathes a sigh.


    ¡°I can see that. You two examined five-thousand one hundred and seventy-two patients in total this week. Says here only three-thousand four-hundred and two were cured. Meaning¡­ The rest were executed, yes?¡±


    The doctor nods.


    ¡°Compared to our initial visits, it seems more and more people are not accepting the Rainmaker serum. We believe this is due to the severity of the many symptoms co-existing within the plague. Rainmaker treats the less severe cases. But those who were diagnosed with a more virulent case were deemed ¡°unfit¡± to the purification. Unfortunately, this plague affects everyone differently.¡±


    Weston sighs once more and tosses the paper down onto the desk. She crosses her arms and leans back in the chair. The legs squeak on the hardwood floorboard.


    ¡°I see. The lab coats are working to alter Rainmaker thanks to the patient data we¡¯ve collected so far. We¡¯re hoping that the new variant will be able to fight against the symptoms currently immune to Rainmaker. As of right now¡­ We¡¯re unsure when it will be complete. It¡¯s got to be tested first after all.¡±


    ¡°Understood madam.¡±


    ¡°Good work out there. All of you. I¡¯ll have my assistant send this report to the chief medical director once she returns. You¡¯re dismissed for the day. Now go and get some rest.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Come lad. Let us go.¡±


    The two doctors leave the office. Weston turns her chair around and stares out the window at the drab city skyline. She takes another puff of her cigarette.


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    Lightning strikes in the skies. The front door opens up. Peter and Marianne step inside and close the door. Peter takes his hat off and lowers his hood. He reached behind his mask to undo the buckles. He takes the mask off and sets both it and the hat on the rack nearby then proceeds with the gear and gloves.


    ¡°Ugh. What a day.¡± Peter mutters.


    ¡°You can say that again, dear.¡± Marianne replies.


    She takes her belt off to set it aside, following with her mask then the gloves. She then undoes the bun to let her hair down.


    Peter has short auburn hair, blue eyes and a freshly-trimmed goatee with slight graying on a small patch just under his lips. He stands at six foot one. Marianne has shoulder-length midnight black hair with flared bangs just covering her eyebrows, hazel eyes, dark red lips and black painted fingernails. She stands at five foot seven. Both of them wear onyx rings on their fourth fingers.


    ¡°Ugh. What a day.¡±


    Marianne punches him in the shoulder with a snicker.


    ¡°Hey. You told me to.¡±


    ¡°It was funny the first few times but it¡¯s gotten a bit old by now.¡±


    ¡°And yet¡­ I still got a chuckle out of you.¡±


    Marianne waves him off and walks towards the kitchen. Peter gets comfortable on the couch in the living room.


    ¡°Shall I get started on dinner then?¡± Marianne calls out.


    ¡°Please do.¡± Peter replies loudly.


    Peter grabs the newspaper to read while Marianne starts prepping in the kitchen. He glazes the headlines. With the plague going around much of the news has been devoted to covering it lately. He folds back to the cover story to read:


    Plague continues to spread across London. Perhaps The Second Coming?


    The government has been working around the clock to treat the sudden rise of a new endemic. It¡¯s official name, ¡°The Crows Plague¡±, being named after the sightings of crows circling the skies of the boroughs where the plague was first caught and now quarantined, has stricken fear into the population. Many have closed shop and entire districts have fallen silent in fear of the plague. So far, it¡¯s estimated that between 30,000 to 32,000 residents have been infected according to reports from the London Institution of Medicine. Her Majesty¡¯s Royal Police have completely locked down the city. Only with appropriate permission or proper papers will citizens be allowed in or out of London.


    There has been no word from Her Majesty but she is slated to make an appearance to the public alongside the prime minister at the City Hall tomorrow afternoon to address the current endemic and further plans to combat its constant spread. Also slated for a public appearance will be the headmistress of the London Institution of Medicine this Friday in the evening at the institute building. The public is encouraged to attend these gatherings even with ongoing fears of the plague.


    Peter raises an eyebrow. He sets the paper down and gets up to walk over into the kitchen. Marianne is standing at the oven as water inside a pot boils. She turns to face him. He rests a hand on the counter next to them.


    ¡°Did you read the paper at all?¡± Peter asks.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had a chance to. Why?¡± Marianne shrugs.


    ¡°Tomorrow and Friday. There¡¯s going to be two big public appearances. One from Her Majesty and the prime minister tomorrow. Friday¡­ It¡¯ll be our boss.¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡±


    ¡°Mm. We¡¯re off tomorrow so the timing couldn¡¯t be more perfect for that. As for Friday, well¡­ It¡¯s towards the evening so our shift should be over by that time. We can attend both events. I am quite curious.¡±


    ¡°As am I. Alright. I say we go. Worst-case scenario we end up in overtime on Friday.¡±


    ¡°Fine by me. We have two boroughs to investigate Friday and they¡¯re not terribly far away from the Institute.¡±


    ¡°Then let us make sure we get plenty of sleep tomorrow night to ensure we still have the energy.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Now, while you¡¯re making dinner, I desire a shower.¡±


    ¡°Plenty of time. Should be about a half-hour or so.¡±


    Peter gently kisses Marianne on the lips then takes off. She watches him leave, crossing her arms and leans against the counter patiently waiting for the water to boil.


    A young man with disheveled brown hair approaches the front door to his apartment following a set of knocks. He opens it. His eyes light up.


    ¡°S-sir. You¡¯re back. Please. Come in. I-I think you need to look at her again.¡± He stammers.


    The burly doctor enters holding a doctor¡¯s bag. He¡¯s alone. He follows the man silently. Turning the corner in the living room a young woman around the same age as the man with messy long blonde hair sits in a chair in the corner covered up with a white blanket. She coughs, noticing the two of them.


    ¡°It¡¯s been two days. A-and she still seems sick. Please¡­ Examine her once more!¡± The man begs.


    Reaching for a syringe, the doctor approaches the young woman. She can¡¯t see his eyes past the hazy glass on the beaked mask. He examines her closely. First by checking her pulse then spreading the skin around her bloodshot left eye for a full view. The pupil rolls around. She¡¯s visibly nervous, coughing up again. The doctor grabs her arm and readies the syringe.


    ¡°Still showing symptoms from the past examination. Bloodshot eyes. Coughing. Judging by the bucket nearby, vomiting. Shakes. Is your body still feeling weak?¡± He asks.


    The woman nods, biting down on her tongue as the needle slits through the skin on her arms. Blood fills the syringe tube. He reaches for a small glass container in the bag to put the blood into. He shakes the container around. The man anxiously paces back and forth off in the distance.


    ¡°I¡¯ve kept my distance. W-well??¡± He asks.


    Shaking his head, the doctor shoves the container into the bag. He then reaches into his coat and pulls out a sharp blade.


    ¡°Rainmaker has failed to purge the infection from your body. Unfortunately, despite your rather calmer nature, the window for completion on the next variant is still unsure. You are at risk of further spreading the infection and it¡¯s only a matter of time before you succumb to the plague. Therefore, you must be silenced.¡±


    The doctor speaks as he plunges the blade straight into the woman¡¯s chest. The man gasps and falls completely silent. He withdraws the blade and stands up. The woman¡¯s head tilts to the left, taking one last look at the man before her eyes close completely. He turns around and approaches the man. He backs up towards the wall as the doctor closes in on him.


    ¡°My beloved¡­ W-why?? And w-what are you¡­?¡±


    The doctor takes a second syringe from his belt and jabs it into the man¡¯s neck to pull a blood sample. The blood appears somewhat dark. Almost resembling the infected blood of the woman.


    ¡°Silence. You too are at risk of spreading the infection. Your blood is tainted with the plague. Your intercourse with the woman has spread it into your system. How tragic¡­ That neither of you knew until her symptoms had started to show. Now you, must be silenced.¡±


    The doctor takes his blade and plunges it into the man¡¯s chest. His nails scratch the wallpaper as he slides down to the floor once the blade is removed. He looks over to the woman, trying to reach out.


    ¡°Do not fear death, young man. Now you two will be reunited in a better place. For the safety of the public¡­ It had to be done.¡± The doctor speaks.


    ¡°J¡­ Jana¡­¡± The man whispers.


    His arm goes limp. His body slumps to the right. The man and woman now both lie dead in their own home. The doctor shakes his head, returns to the living room and grabs his bag. He makes his way for the door.


    Before leaving, he pulls out a notepad and pen to write a note. As the door closes, the paper sits folded in the mail slot. He walks down the flight of stairs down to ground level and leaves the premises onto his next stop.

 The Lingering Blight

    Most of London remained unaffected by the plague as strict precautions and safeguards were in place regarding the spreading infections. Steam carriages drove along the roads. Pedestrians wandered the sidewalks. The skies were cloudy but not a drop of rain. A gentle wind blew. All seemed calm and normal here compared to the boroughs located near quarantine zones. This bustling city block in Hackney was home to one of the most famous cafes in the city: Sweeneys. Red and white striped awnings hung above the shop windows. A big rustic sign displayed the caf¨¦¡¯s name in bright red. Four sets of tables with chairs were placed just outside for dining. Peter and Marianne sat at one of these tables in casual attire. Peter wore a dusty brown, black fur-collared jacket and blue jeans with black dress shoes. Marianne had on a slim-fit, long purple dress with a black coat on and black thigh-high boots.


    ¡°Been quite some time since we¡¯d been out like this. Don¡¯t you agree? Just the two of us. Tea. And hot soup.¡± Peter says.


    ¡°Indeed. Bit chilly though innit?¡± Marianne replies.


    Peter takes his spoon and swallows a portion of the soup. He smacks his lips.


    ¡°I find the breeze to be calming. We¡¯re not quite out of Fall just yet so it hasn¡¯t gotten too chilly.¡±


    ¡°Cold has never bothered you. In the ten years we¡¯ve spent together, not once have I ever heard you complain about it.¡±


    ¡°Darling, I worked in a mill right out of high school remember? My blood and bones adapted to the cold in a jiffy.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­ I swear you must have a million stories from your time at the mill. Is it even still around?¡±


    ¡°Sure is. Over in Enfield. Still running to this day. Wonder if the old coot I worked with all those years ago is still there...?¡±


    Marianne just sipped some of her tea. Across the street in the center of the square there was a commotion brewing. The two glanced over at the square. A young couple was shouting at an older man with his hands pressed together as if he was praying. They couldn¡¯t hear over all the carriages passing by.


    A bobby strolling by stops to investigate the scene. The young couple are keeping their distance from the older man as they talk to the officer. Peter raises an eyebrow. The officer raises his nightstick to wave the man off, who is eagerly plodding closer to the three of them. Now he appears to be telling the main to remain in place. Passersby look on.


    ¡°Hm? What could the commotion be all about? Bit hard to hear them.¡± Peter asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± Marianne adds.


    The two return to their tea and soup for a few minutes before more indescribable shouting is heard once again. They glance over. A pair of Black Doctors is following the young couple who point over to the older man. He starts pleading as the doctors approach and begin speaking to him. One of the doctors starts drawing blood from the man¡¯s arm. They speak to the other doctor. Immediately, the man is apprehended by the two doctors and now being led away from the area, waving for pedestrians to clear the way. The mans cries are loud. Marianne¡¯s eyes widen. Peter is rubbing his chin.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be. That man¡¯s blood must be tainted.¡± He murmurs.


    ¡°Wonder what led up to the confrontation. There is a store on that block so maybe they were inside and he started coughing or appeared sickly. Something happened to set off that young couple either way.¡±


    ¡°Good on them for reporting the infected man then. However, that situation only enhances the biggest fear I harbor for the plague.¡±


    ¡°You mean how symptoms vary in terms of showing up?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Peter and Marianne get up to start walking having finished their tea and soup. Peter clears his throat and continues to speak;


    ¡°We¡¯ve heard accounts from those who¡¯ve reported victims. Some who catch the plague it¡¯s nearly instant. Others sometimes have taken upwards of a few days to show symptoms. And we already know that the hybrid influx of various symptoms separates the plague from your common colds and flus. It¡¯s quite worrying. Seems more and more victims are cropping up who¡¯s symptoms aren¡¯t immediate¡­¡±


    Marianne sighs, sticking her hands into the pockets of her coat.


    ¡°You are right. Honey we are but doctors though. All we can do is treat the infected. The Institute is hard at work developing the second variant of Rainmaker and ensuring quarantine procedures. All we can do is hope and pray this plague can be isolated before it gets worse.¡± She confesses.


    ¡°I know. I know. Now¡­ Let us shelve this plague talk for now. We have to catch a trolley to city hall. The speech will be starting soon.¡±


    ¡°Ah! Yes of course!¡±


    Southwark. Home to the London City Hall. Crowds of people eagerly wait outside behind iron barriers where the police keep the people sanctioned off from the front area of the building. Many are seated on the stone steps while the rest stand outside the barricades and above the exteriors open chamber. In the main lobby, a tubby man in a tanned suit with bronze-rimmed glasses, a black bowler cap and a fuzzy mustache waits patiently. Next to him is a slender man in a gray suit with short brown hair holding sheets of paper. The steel elevator doors open up, drawing their attention.


    ¡°There you are your majesty! All the preparations are set for your public appearance. Security perimeters are established and the crowd is eagerly waiting for you.¡± The tubby man says.


    The woman nods to him. Two burly men in black suits follow alongside her as she and them are led to the front doors. A roar erupts from the crowds when the doors open up. A podium is set up. Several bobbies surround the open grounds. The decorated woman radiates natural beauty with a chiseled face, striking ocean blue eyes, crimson lips, diamond-encrusted necklace and diamond droplet earrings. She has coffee brown hair tied into elegant side buns with gold clips. Atop her head is a gilded eight-point crown with four squares embedded with red jewels and four angelic figures embedded with diamonds. She wears a long, elegant black laced dress hugging her hourglass figure, black covered high heels, black laced gloves and a white fur coat covering her exposed shoulders.


    ¡°Ahem! Attention everyone! Your beloved and respected mayor, Winfield Paterson here! In light of recent events, the attention of the government has been brought to its full attention! Here today I am proud to welcome the beautiful leader of our nation today! Your Majesty¡­ Queen Victoria!¡± Paterson speaks.


    Another thunderous roar of applause erupts from the crowds. Paterson steps back from the podium, motioning for Victoria to step forward. She nods, approaching the podium. She clears her throat. Everyone in the crowds wait with bated breath. The queen begins to speak;


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    ¡°Greetings, citizens of London. Due to the restrictive protection Westminster is under, I had to travel here personally to address you all. I understand that the general public is fearful right now. Our fair city has been under attack by this recent plague endemic. Our citizens, economy, and overall public health has been greatly affected by the spreading infection. The government is collaborating with the London Institution of Medicine to help eradicate this plague that has become a blight to our fair citizens. Worry not¡­ For this joint effort is progressing smoothly. We are dictating new rules and regulations to ensure the safety of every citizen. Many have already suffered from this dreadful sickness. Over two centuries ago, London was subjected to a devastating plague that rocked the very foundation of our city. We wish not for history to repeat itself. We as a society have advanced since then. Advancements in medicine and technology will ensure that we continue to thrive. This plague will not bring us to our knees as it once did¡­¡±


    Men with filed view cameras mounted on tripods were taking pictures of Queen Victoria. Journalists were frantically jotting down each and every word she spoke to later write her speech into the papers to release tomorrow. Peter and Marianne sat amongst the crowd on the stone steps just below where Queen Victoria and Paterson stood.


    ¡°As one should expect from Her Majesty. She is very calm and collected about this whole matter.¡± Peter murmurs.


    Marianne simply nods. She¡¯s much too invested into the queen¡¯s words to make her own response.


    ¡°¡­ As the ruling queen of this nation, we will do anything and everything we have to face this crisis together with the London Institution of Medicine. Our allies across the borders and overseas are sending help to assist us during this endemic. We are not alone in this crisis. I do not wish to see my nation slowly crumble under the weight of yet another outbreak that my great-great ancestors had to overcome. People of London¡­ Your safety and the safety of this nation are of the utmost importance. Remain calm and please stay safe. Employ the regulations dictated to prevent the spreading of the plague and report anyone who you think may be infected. I thank you all for your time. I, Queen Victoria, decree that the Crow¡¯s Plague will be eradicated no matter what.¡±


    The crowds applaud vigorously. Some in the audience are silent, holding in their fears or anger. Queen Victoria waves to the people and heads back inside city hall. Paterson delivers some closings words before officially finalizing the gathering. The people were free to leave now. Bobbies guided the people off as the crowds dispersed. Peter and Marianne followed suit.


    Queen Victoria was escorted back inside the building where she waits for the people to clear out. She walks out the back doors to her pristine, silver-plated steam carriage adorned with gilded accents. Victoria lets out a sigh once she takes a seat in the back. The burly men sit opposite of her. In the drivers¡¯ seat sits an older gentleman with a white top hat, white suit with a black tie and a gray handlebar mustache. He turns to see Victoria and her bodyguards sat comfortably. He nods and starts the carriage up. The steam machine starts moving.


    ¡°Your Majesty. I imagine the public appearance went well?¡± He asks.


    ¡°To my surprise, it did. Here I thought the public would be up in arms over this endemic.¡± Victoria replies.


    She grabs a long black cigarette holder left on the seat next to her and the box of matches near it. Flicking a matchstick, she lights the cigarette and puffs.


    ¡°Understandable. Tis¡¯ a truly abhorrent situation we find ourselves in. ¡®Reckon our collaboration with the Institute can work together to shut this mess down before it gets out of hand?¡±


    ¡°I have the utmost faith in the Institute. After the Great Plague two centuries ago, the Institute was formed on the basis of restructuring the nation¡¯s health and medicine to accommodate the rampant threats of future outbreaks. Now more then ever¡­ They must pool all their resources and knowledge into finding a cure and containing this plague¡­¡±


    The gentleman nods. He remains silent to focus on the road.


    Rain patters on the vacant streets of Redbridge. The shutters on shops remain closed. Doors are locked. Barrels sat underneath rafters in alleys continue to burn. A woman peers outside her second story window at the plants in the potter just beneath the windowsill. Some carriages have been left abandoned. Remnants of trash litter the streets having been untouched by the lack of street cleaners since the borough became quarantined.


    In one of these dank alleys tucked away in a corner behind a barber shop is a burning barrel and a tent made of patchwork fabric. An anorexic man with messy light brown hair in tattered clothes sticks his neck out to peer around.


    ¡°Aye. No sign of those masked freaks still. I think we¡¯re in the clear mate.¡± He speaks.


    The sturdy bald man in grimy overalls bunking with him breathes a sigh of relief. He scratches his head and sits up. Inside the tent are two makeshift beds and potato sack pillows stuffed with rags. A stack of dirty magazines lay between the beds.


    ¡°Good. Looks like we¡¯re in the clear. Seems they ain¡¯t findin¡¯ us anytime soon Charlie.¡± The bald man states.


    Charlie sits back down on his bed. He reaches for the half-eaten banana and takes a bite.


    ¡°Say Hardy. What¡¯cha think happened to the rest like us?¡±


    ¡°My guess? Rounded up like cattle by the bobbies n¡¯ doctors and hauled off somewhere to be locked away.¡±


    ¡°Ya¡¯ think so? Me thinks that¡¯s what happened to Zach.¡±


    ¡°Mm. Word is the plague is airborne. Know what I think? It¡¯s those damned sewer rats. It¡¯s the  fuckin¡¯ Great Plague all over again. And here we sit in the wild west.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Since us homeless folk ain¡¯t medicated¡­ Government don¡¯t give two shits about us. The average, hard-working men and stay-at-home women are priority. Ain¡¯t gonna¡¯ let us poor folk be livin¡¯ in the streets while a plague is spreadin¡¯ like wildfire.¡±


    ¡°Right. Right¡­ Shit. We¡¯s runnin¡¯ outta¡¯ food again. It¡¯s gettin¡¯ late. Maybe you oughta¡¯ go scavenge while it¡¯s hopefully safe?¡±


    ¡°Wait till early morning. Little daylight will help before the damned patrols are out.¡±


    A bright light emanates from the lantern held by a wandering Black Doctor. He overhears muffled voices coming from down the nearby alley. He notices the firelight reflecting off the brick walls. He walks down the alley past a couple overstuffed trash bins and some broken down cardboard boxes. Rounding the corner, he finds the barrel with wood burning inside alongside the patchwork tent. The doctor kneels down and pulls open one of the flaps.


    Charlie and Hardy immediately shut up upon seeing the masked doctor. The soulless glass eyes and intimidating beak strike fear into the two of them.


    ¡°Oi. What do you two think you¡¯re doing? Why aren¡¯t you at the asylum?¡± The doctor asks.


    Charlie and Hardy look at each other. They look at the doctor.


    ¡°We¡¯ve always been ¡®ere doc. Ain¡¯t got a clue what¡¯cha mean.¡± Charlie responds.


    The doctor shakes his head. He sets his lantern down and reaches for the serrated blade he keeps sheathed at his side.


    ¡°Damned fools. Your lot was evacuated and sent off to the asylum once the outbreaks started. Without homes, you all are basically walking plague factories. At this rate you¡¯re too far gone for treatment even if the symptoms haven¡¯t started showing. Out of the tent now and I won¡¯t repeat myself.¡±


    The doctor steps away, motioning for the men to follow him. He keeps a grip on the hilt of his blade.


    Charlie is quivering. Hardy grits his teeth. He clenches his fist watching Charlie step out with his hands raised. Hardy follows but plans something. The two stood side-by-side as the doctor pulls out his blade, rubbing the serrated steel with his leather-gloved hand.


    ¡°Now unfortunately this means you two are a threat to public safety¡­¡±


    A rapid swipe at Charlie¡¯s neck. The serrated blade tears the skinny man¡¯s throat open, spewing blood as he falls to the cold, cobblestone ground. The doctor flings off some blood from the blade, wiping it with his glove. Hardy looks on in horror. His last nerve snaps. With the doctor readying for another kill, Hardy decks the doctor in the face with pure brute strength. The doctor falls back against the nearest wall. Hardy then grabs the doctor¡¯s head and slams it against the wall before tossing him down to the ground. A shrill grunt escapes the doctors¡¯ muffled lips. Hardy scoffs and spits on the doctor. He kneels down and takes the serrated blade. One last look at Charlie with a sniffle and tears being held back, Hardy kicks the doctor in the stomach and runs off into the darkness of the rain-soaked streets.


    The doctor coughs. He refuses to take his mask off, instead coughing up some blood into the beak, staining the plants and herbs stuffed inside of it. He slowly gets back up to his feet. The realization of both his blade and the homeless man missing sinks in, driving him up the wall.


    ¡°Fuck! Bloody bastard robbed me an¡¯ took off¡­ I¡¯ll find you and tear your damn throat open.¡± The doctor scoffs.


    He clenches his fist and storms off. Charlie¡¯s corpse is left to rot next to the burning barrel with the rain sending his blood into the cracks within the cobblestone.

 Prison

    Peter and Marianne are tasked with a specific, shorter job this day; To perform a routine inspection of the inhabitants of the Bethlem Royal Hospital. Situated in the borough of Bromley, the hospital served as a psychiatric facility for the clinically insane of London.


    Dressed up in their usual work attire, the two doctors were greeted by a nurse in the lobby. The young blonde lady in the pasty white knee-length uniform with white heels bowed to the doctors. She held a clipboard in her left hand. On her white nurse¡¯s cap bore a black snake wrapped around a pole inside a red six-pointed star. Otherwise known as the Star of Life and the Rod of Asclepius.


    ¡°So glad you¡¯re here. My name is Lorene. Is this your first time here?¡± The nurse asks.


    Peter and Marianne both shake their heads.


    ¡°Ah. A-anyway follow me please. Allow me to show you around.¡±


    The nurse gingerly leads on. With the hospital containing four wings for patients, Lorene starts with the east wing. The doctors just glanced around at the sights while Lorene explained how the hospital operates and is currently dealing with the plague. The eerie moans and cries of patients locked inside their rooms sends shivers down Marianne¡¯s spine. Even Peter winces at the sounds and nearly jumps when a man slams his head against the thin glass window on his door.


    Heading into the north ward, the layout seems to be the same as the last wing. At the entrances are front desks with offices and break rooms nearby. Each wing has a dedicated patient lobby, and the hallways are lined with rooms for the patients. Lorene explains how the entire first floor is strictly for the patients while the doctors and the director all have offices upstairs. Staff works around the clock with night time being much calmer since patients tend to be less restless once the sun sets.


    ¡°This is all fine and dandy ma¡¯am¡­ But you should know why we¡¯re really here.¡± Peter speaks up.


    Lorene stops in place. A nervous chuckle escapes her lips. She turns to face him and Marianne with a frail smile.


    ¡°Oh I-I¡¯m so sorry. I uh, I don¡¯t know actually. Whoever received the memo must¡¯ve taken off somewhere. I was just told by the head nurse to wait for you two.¡± She replies.


    ¡°The homeless. Where are you keeping the homeless at?¡± Marianne asks.


    ¡°Oh dear! Apologies! O-of course you¡¯re here for them. They¡¯re uh¡­ They¡¯re in the east wing. F-follow me please.¡± Lorene answers.


    Wiping the sweat from her brow, Lorene takes the doctors into the central corridor that leads to every wing and the upstairs. She brings them to the east wing. Upon entering, the atmosphere is grimmer and depressing. Dozens upon dozens of men, women and even children in dirty, tattered clothes populate the rooms. Not a single resident is outside the rooms. Every nurse checking in on the patients is wearing a mask and extra layers of clothing to cover up every inch of skin. A brunette nurse passes by the three with bags under her eyes appearing drained of energy.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been overwhelmed with the arrival of these poor residents. By orders from the director himself, we had to transfer all the patients to the other wings so these people could be packed into the rooms. Due to potential exposure of the plague, they¡¯re forced to stay inside the rooms. We have to bring them what little food and water we can supply. I-I guess that you¡¯re here to examine these people.¡± Lorene says.


    Peter and Marianne approach the first of many rooms. Marianne motions for Lorene to stay back after she unlocks the door. She nods and obeys. Peter sighs.


    ¡°What a truly awful sight. Six filthy people crammed into a single room like birds in a cage.¡± He says.


    ¡°I took a gander at the room opposite of this one. An entire family. If any of these ¡®clean¡¯ people are exposed to plague-bearers it¡¯s safe to assume they may already be infected.¡± Marianne adds.


    ¡°Regardless we must examine these street rats.¡±


    The children stare at Marianne with perturbed looks as if she was a monster from their nightmares. She kneels down to meet them at eye-level while Peter examines the adults. They figured the drill and start offering their arms for blood samples. Marianne gathers the children with gestures and hand movements.


    ¡°W-who are you?¡± A little boy asks.


    ¡°You look scary¡­¡± A little girl adds.


    Marianne shakes her head.


    ¡°Hello there. Do not fret. I¡¯m simply a doctor here to check you all for the bad thing that¡¯s going around town. We¡¯re just here to make sure you¡¯re safe. That¡¯s all.¡± She speaks.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Marianne pulls out a syringe. Flicking the needle causes the children to jolt. They start trembling.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. One-by-one I need you all to hold out your arms to me. I will be checking your blood. The needle looks scary, I know. If you just relax¡­ Take deep breaths¡­ And look away¡­ Everything will be fine. I promise.¡±


    Her calm tone felt a bit reassuring to the children. A boy approaches first with his arm out.


    ¡°I-I¡¯ll go first. Okay? Then you all go next.¡± The dirty brown-haired boy spoke.


    Marianne held his wrist and gently stuck the needle into his arm, drawing some blood. She pulls out glass vials from her utility pack. The boy fidgets some. Marianne also pulls out bandages. She places one on the spot where she drew the blood. The boy rubs the spot.


    ¡°It hurts¡­¡± He whines.


    Marianne looks at him. She softly runs her gloved hand through his hair.


    ¡°I know. It will hurt for a spell. Give it time to heal and wane. Soon you won¡¯t even feel it.¡± She says.


    The boy nods and steps away. A blonde-haired girl steps up next.


    ¡°They¡¯re all clear. Thank goodness.¡± Marianne breathes deeply.


    Peter stashes the vials into his bag. He nods. The two wave to the children and adults before proceeding across the hallway to check the next group of people. Five to be exact. Four adults and a child. Lorene comes over after locking up the previous group to unlock the door for the next.


    The two doctors proceed to gather the blood samples and analyze them individually. Infected blood normally takes about a minute to show discoloration. One of the vials appears darker than the rest. The blood from the lone small child. A little boy with messy black hair. Marianne feels her heart sink. Peter sighs and shakes his head.


    ¡°Damn it¡­¡± Marianne mutters.


    Lorene looks concerned. She has to keep her distance though.


    ¡°What uh¡­ What¡¯s wrong?¡± She asks.


    Peter looks over to the frail nurse. He walks over to her and speaks in a quiet tone;


    ¡°The child. He¡¯s infected.¡±


    Lorene¡¯s expression changes to one of despair. She starts panicking.


    ¡°No. Dear God no¡­¡± She sobs.


    ¡°Shh. This is to be expected. No way everyone here is disease-free. We won¡¯t know for sure if it¡¯s Crow¡¯s Plague or not until we test it. For now, we must escort the child out and into quarantine. Where is your quarantine zone located?¡±


    ¡°I-in the basement. Room opposite of the morgue. All the sick transfers were taken there. B-but I have a question.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t those who have the plague be a danger to those who just have smaller illnesses like the common cold or flu?¡±


    Peter was taken aback by Lorene¡¯s question. In actuality, it would put them at risk. But with how the plague was spreading so fast, options are vastly limited.


    ¡°In theory¡­ Yes. Unfortunately, there isn¡¯t much we can do right now. Crow¡¯s Plague seems to operate as a hybrid of other existing diseases. It¡¯s unpredictable and dangerous in its own right. And with how rapid it¡¯s spreading¡­ Our priority is treating it first and foremost.¡±


    Peter rejoins Marianne. The two lead the little boy out and close the door to the room. Lorene watches as the doctors lead the boy away.


    The basement of Bethlem serves as transportation for patients who pass away and a storage unit both for supplies and the dead. Across from the morgue is a room with no label. Peter peers inside the dimly lit room to see several people inside. Most are just sitting against the wall or large crates.


    ¡°I¡­ I have to go in there?¡± The boy asks.


    He tugs on Marianne¡¯s wrist. She kneels down and pats the boy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Yes. You do. You¡¯re sick dear. For the safety of others, you need to go in there for now. Peter if you will¡­¡± She says.


    Peter nods and unlocks the doors. He opens one door. Coughs and hacks echo around them as Marianne leads the boy inside. A small group of children gathered in a corner particularly notices the new arrival. Only a few of the adults even care to glance. The boy lets go of Marianne¡¯s hand.


    ¡°We have to go now. I... I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Marianne leaves the room. She turns around to see the boy glaring at her with sullen eyes. Marianne turns away as Peter shuts the door and locks it. He rubs her back.


    ¡°You okay, love?¡± He asks.


    Marianne shakes her head. She clenches her fists.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just go. We have others to examine¡­¡±


    Peter follows behind Marianne as the two make way for the stairway.


    After he finishes marking off names on the paper, the gray-haired doctor with black-rimmed glasses lowers the clipboard. He puts the pen behind his right ear. He breathes a deep sigh, gripping the temple of his nose.


    ¡°Thirty-three infected¡­ Jesus. I had a gut feeling at least half of the homeless refugees would be carrying diseases. How many do you think have the plague?¡± The doctor asks.


    Peter and Marianne look at each then then back to the doctor.


    ¡°Unsure until the lab results are finished. It¡¯s safe to assume many of them already were diseased prior to the breakout of Crow¡¯s Plague. Regardless, they must remain in quarantine. We will do our best to treat everyone once the results are finished.¡± Peter explains.


    ¡°I understand. Thank you for coming and performing your examinations. Thankfully it seems none of the nurses are infected. As far as we know anyway.¡±


    ¡°The plague is vicious. Keep all eyes and ears peeled for anyone that may show symptoms.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Have a blessed day.¡±


    Peter and Marianne nod. The two head out the front doors, leaving Bethlem Royal Hospital for now. But they will soon return. For now, they had somewhere else to be once their shift was over; The Institute.

 Believe

    A blonde man in a deep blue suit wears a bright smile on his face as he walks down the street. He approaches one of the entrances into Brent where a police barricade has been set up. The man feels the tip of a nightstick poke his chest. His eyes shoot open. Two bobbies wearing face-masks stand at the barricade.


    ¡°Sorry sir. This borough is under quarantine. ¡®Fraid we can¡¯t let ya¡¯ in.¡± The mustached officer says.


    The man¡¯s joy washes away. He narrows his eyes past the officers to see the empty streets beyond. He clenches his fists.


    ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this? I live here! I was away for a few days with m¡¯lady and I come back only to be banned from going to my own home?!¡± The man scowls.


    ¡°Multiple confirmed cases of the plague had been confirmed within Brent. The Institute ordered for quarantining of Brent. Apologies.¡±


    ¡°What?? B-but I live there!¡±


    ¡°Sir I¡¯m afraid until the plague is contained, you are forbidden from entering the borough. I suggest you go stay with your woman in the meantime.¡±


    ¡°Officer¡­ All my stuff is in my house! I¡¯m a goddamned writer! I need my materials or I won¡¯t get paid!¡±


    ¡°Relax. There¡¯s a telephone box down the street. Contact the Institute. They¡¯ll send a doctor to retrieve your belongings.¡±


    The man grits his teeth. Without saying another word, he storms down the street. On the corner sits a black telephone box with a white door. The man steps inside. He pulls out a single coin and places it in the slot. He cranks the handle to power up the machine then browses the number book until he locates the Institute. With a single finger, he clicks the numbers on the rotary dial while holding the receiver and stands against the earpiece. A series of rings goes through. Then a feminine voice speaks through the static;


    ¡°This is the London Institution of Medicine. If this is an emergency I¡¯ll transfer you to the emergency line. Otherwise, how may we be of assistance with you today?¡±


    ¡°Oi! I¡¯m a resident of Brent who just got back from a¡­ vacation. And my writing supplies are inside the house. I need them. Now send a bloody fucking doctor here at the eastside entrance on Winger Street!¡±


    ¡°Retrieval of personal goods? Understood sir. We¡¯ll dispatch a doctor to your location. Please wait and be patient for their arrival. Was there anything else?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Have a nice day. And please be safe.¡±


    The man slams the receiver back onto the switch hook. He sighs, stepping out of the booth to return to the entrance where the bobbies stood guarding. Crossing his arms, he just leans against a wall and pouts.


    ¡°Stop! Let me go this instance you leather-coated bloke!¡±


    A black-haired woman calls out, struggling to break free as a Black Doctor carries her, wrists bound by cuffs. Her husband, a blonde-haired man with a mustache and their black-haired son watch from the doorstep. The woman is forcibly thrown into a carriage as it takes off with her inside after the doctor slaps the driver¡¯s window. He returns to the man and boy. Her cries are muffled by the carriage¡¯s crankshaft mechanical engine.


    ¡°Inside. Both of you. Now!¡± The doctor shouts.


    The man grabs his son¡¯s shoulder and leads him inside. They are joined by the doctor who shuts the door behind him. The boy hides behind his father.


    ¡°What now?? You just took my wife from me! She cooks. Cleans. Watches our son. I have to work down at the foundry.¡±


    The doctor pulls out a sheet of paper from inside his coat and hands it to the man. He scans its contents.


    ¡°Barking and Dagenham is now under quarantine. Multiple confirmed cases of the plague in these parts. Your wife included. Under orders by the Institute, the infected are to be withdrawn from a quarantine zone. You and your son are restricted from leaving the confines of your home until the quarantine is lifted. You will be temporarily out of work and the school is closed so studies must be done within these walls. The Barker household is on the list to receive government aid for the time being. Be grateful you and your son did not contract the plague.¡± The doctor explains.


    Barker clutches his hair, pulling some out of his head. His son looks up at him.


    ¡°S-so there¡¯s no school anymore?¡± He asks.


    Barker just nods. The doctor also nods.


    ¡°This is unfathomable¡­¡± Barker sighs.


    He scratches his head. The doctor backs up some, his hand on the doorknob.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I assure you this is for your own safety. Your wife is still full of life and energy so it¡¯s possible the plague hasn¡¯t completely spread through her system. If she is compatible with Rainmaker, then we can eradicate the plague. If she is not compatible¡­ Then she will not be returning. Good day to you both. And good luck. Expect a visit soon for a scheduled checkup.¡±


    With that, the doctor leaves the house. Barker locks the front door. He looks to his son with worry in his eyes.


    ¡°The man with the beak¡­ H-he said mom might not return?¡± The boy says.


    Barker goes to his son, kneels down and embraces him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just pray she¡¯ll make it through. Okay?¡± Barker murmurs.


    ¡°Okay, father¡­¡±


    The steam carriage travels down into a tunnel leading to an underground lot near a structure with but a single window and door labeled: ¡®QUARANTINE¡¯.


    Biting her tongue, the woman¡¯s hands tremble. Red marks on her palms and forehead from slamming against the interior windows and doors. The passenger side door opens. A masked man in a black uniform motions for her to step out. She begrudgingly shuffles over and steps out of the carriage. She looks around at the underground complex.


    ¡°Where are we? Where are you taking me??¡± She asks in a panicked tone.


    Her fears grow as a lean Black Doctor steps out of the complex. They approach the woman and the carriage driver. They wave the driver off then get closer to the woman, reaching a hand up to gently grab her chin and inspect her face.


    ¡°My. Aren¡¯t you a beaut? Come with me, ma¡¯am.¡± The doctor speaks in a deep, masculine tone.


    Hesitant, the woman silently nods. She swallows hard. The carriage begins to take off as she is led into the complex. Through a dimly-lit hallway, they arrive at an elevator. The doctor pulls the latch on the floor, the small yellow arrow pointing at the letter ¡®B¡¯.


    Reaching the designated floor, the woman is led down a hallway filled with individual rooms. The doctor finds an empty room. He pulls out a ring chock full of various keys to unlock the room. He then undoes the cuffs, grabs the woman¡¯s arm and shoves her into the room. She falls to her knees. Before she can even get up to leave, the door is closed on her. The doctor then locks the door.


    ¡°You asshole! Let me out of here this instance! I¡¯m not some prisoner damn it!!¡± The woman slams her fists on the window.


    ¡°Sorry dame. Afraid I can¡¯t. You¡¯re in here until you get treated with Rainmaker. Should it rid your bones and blood of the plague¡­ You¡¯ll be released. If you¡¯re beyond saving well¡­ Going to have to put you down like a sick dog.¡± The doctor explains.


    The woman¡¯s eyes widen. She shakes her head.


    ¡°P-put d-down??¡±


    ¡°Relax. Seems like the plague hasn¡¯t kicked you down. May be alright. May not be. Someone should treat you soon. Until then. You have a chair and a bed. Let¡¯s hope your days aren¡¯t numbered.¡±


    The woman pounds on the window as she watches the doctor leave. Her teeth grinding.


    ¡°Your fucking cure better work on me! I will not leave my family without a mother and wife!¡±


    Her words carry no weight here. She finds herself out of breath from all the fussing. All she can do is lie down on the bed and await her visitor.


    While not drawing nearly as large of a crowd, the Institute saw a mass of people gathered in the courtyard just outside the front entrance to the main building. The London Institution of Medicine was divided into three structures all connected on a single property. The tall, center building was the main headquarters full of offices including the one for the headmistress herself. The right two-story building housed the research labs and medical facilities. And the wide leftmost building standing several stories high was home to classrooms and dorms for students studying there. Altogether, the Institute held a high position in serving as both a medical school and state-of-the-art facility for advancing the fields of medicine.


    All eyes were on the individual walking out of the main building. Headmistress Weston stands firmly with the attention completely on her now. She holds a clipboard with two pieces of paper. In the audience, Peter and Marianne sit glaring at the woman. Weston clears her throat.


    ¡°Do not expect a long-winding speech with lots of colorful wordplay from me today ladies and gentlemen. I am simply here to deliver updates regarding how our institution is dealing with the Crow¡¯s Plague in conjunction to our partnership shared with the London city government. Numbers of victims succumbing to the plague are increasing by the day. As you all know, our Black Doctor division has been treating the populace ever since the outbreak first occurred. It¡¯s a terrifying revelation and position we find ourselves in. To hopefully ease some of your fears, our scientists are working on a new variant of the antiviral serum, Rainmaker. Thanks to studies from reports of the victims and their symptoms, Rainmaker¡¯s new variant should effectively combat the plague to a much better degree. We¡¯re in the final stage of development as we speak. After initial testing, we¡¯ll tweak what we need to then start equipping our doctors with the updated Rainmaker. For those victims fortunate enough to have not been taken from us, hopefully they can be treated and have the plague eradicated from their systems¡­¡± Weston spoke.


    Some people were taking notes. Journalists and news reporters were scribbling down her words. There was a feeling of hope resonating from Weston¡¯s words to not only the common folk, but also the various doctors in the audience including Peter and Marianne.


    ¡°¡­ Our fair city had already been ravaged once by a great plague. While an endemic is not easy to deal with¡­ Especially one who¡¯s source is still unknown at this time¡­ We are in a new age of advancing medicine and technology. The Institute will combat the plague with everything at its disposal. You, the people of London, must believe in us. Believe¡­ That life will return to normal once this blight on our city comes to an eventual end.¡±


    People start clapping. Soon the entire crowd was clapping, even some cheers and whistles came out. Weston smiles and nods.


    ¡°Thank you. Continue to believe in our fight. Times are bleak right now but there is hope. I, headmistress Paige Weston, promise that the Crow¡¯s Plague will not last much longer. Once the new Rainmaker variant is done and more people can be cured, can we work to halt the spreading of the sickness. Make sure to continue to follow safety guidelines and protocols dictated by the government. Report any and all infected individuals. Doctors will gladly assist anyone in need of aid. And¡­ May this plague meet a swift end. Thank you once again.¡±


    Headmistress Weston bows for the crowd as they cheer. She heads inside and the people begin to disperse from the courtyard. Peter and Marianne don¡¯t speak a word. In their minds they¡¯re thinking of several things Weston had said. What she didn''t say. They hold hands as they leave to head for the nearest trolley to take them back to their borough.

 A Brewing Plot

    Heavy footsteps descending stairs echoed through the dark tunnel. The only source of light was a gasoline lantern being held by the mysterious figure. They reach the bottom and pull out a set of keys to unlock the door in front of them.


    A thousand rats scurried and scampered about inside their massive glass prison. The Black Doctor pulls a lever on the wall. Electricity runs through the many wires to illuminate the wall lamps. They turned the lantern off and set it down. Glass prison aside, the room also contained a table with beakers and cups, a single chair, a shelf containing various bottles of liquids, some small iron cages, buckets full of meat and grains, and an extra doctor¡¯s outfit hanging from the wall.


    The doctor grabs one of the buckets to feed the rats. They open a hatch on the ceiling of the glass prison and start scooping food out with their hand to drop into the mass of rats. All of the rats hone in on the food.


    ¡°Eat up, children.¡± They speak in a deep tone.


    He closes the hatch and sets the bucket down. In the table drawer is a clipboard. He pulls it out to check the notes.


    ¡°Hmm. Ah, right. Brent¡­ Barking and Dagenham¡­ Two more. I¡¯ll have to go hunt down the vermin here soon.¡±


    After writing some more notes, he tosses the clipboard back into the drawer, shutting it. He grabs one of the cages then goes to the glass prison. On the side is another hatch. He opens it to grab some rats one-by-one, stuffing them into the cage. Once at least six are in there, he closes the hatch. With a group of rats on hand, he heads out of the room and locks the door behind him.


    The gray bed sheets moved like waves in the ocean. Heavy breathing emanated from underneath. A single hand pokes out, grasping the mattress. The movements intensified. Marianne shuffles the sheet off of her while her hips sway. Peter¡¯s hands grasp her thighs. Their bodies sweating profusely with every thrust. She grabs her bare breasts as Peter squeezes her skin. He grits his teeth. She bites her lower lip with a loud moan escaping. He gasps. She bends down, pressing her hands to his hairy chest and kissing him.


    Marianne shuffles off of Peter and lies down next to him. He turns to face her. Her black hair is messy and unkempt. Their naked bodies are drenched in sweat. They just smile.


    ¡°Been some time since you last rode me like that, love.¡± Peter smirks.


    ¡°Apologies. We¡¯ve been quite occupied as of late. But¡­ I¡¯d lie if I said I wasn¡¯t craving your touch to an excessive degree.¡± Marianne replies with a lick of her lips.


    ¡°Fair. Seems we¡¯ve hardly ever had time to enjoy each other¡¯s company in the privacy of our own home. After dinner we just lie in bed until our bodies shut down.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s going to be that way for a while I fear.¡±


    ¡°Of course. You know, Marianne¡­ We should feel grateful.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°We make for an exceptional team. Not only did we major in the same field, but our cooperation is unmatched. The chairwoman would never split us apart during work. Especially now when so many people need examining every single day.¡±


    ¡°Hm. How different would our lives be had we not taken an interest in medicine together? Graduated from the Institute together?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we still would be together. After all, we did start mingling in high school. Private schools kept us apart by our genders but that didn¡¯t stop our eyes from meeting that fateful day in the caf¨¦ on Sansbury Street.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so. I meant more by if either one of us hadn¡¯t pursued medicine. We wouldn¡¯t have spent our days in the Institute taking classes together. Meeting up after class and spending time together before curfew.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Well I¡¯m not sure. My mind is elsewhere to comprehend that alternate history. Now¡­ We should get some sleep.¡±


    ¡°Right. Goodnight, dear.¡±


    ¡°Goodnight, love.¡±


    The two kiss and drift off to sleep.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ You¡­ Dare¡­ Step closer! I won¡¯t let you take my son you wretched thugs! I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re doctors!¡±


    A spiteful, black-haired man wields a knife while a boy sharing the same hair color cowers in the corner of the room. Peter shakes his head. Marianne holds her hands out, palms wide open.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Please sir. You¡¯re already at risk of catching the plague. Your son needs to be evicted at once so he can be treated soon! It¡¯s only but a matter of time before the new serum is-¡°


    ¡°You can¡¯t even cure him here and now?! Like hell I¡¯m letting him go! I¡¯ll take the damned risk! My immune system is great! I¡¯m medicated and perfectly healthy! I-I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be fine! Come back once your damned cure is here!¡±


    Peter puts a hand on Marianne¡¯s shoulder. He inches closer and closer until the tip of the knife is touching his chest. His cold eyes behind the glass sockets glare at the man. He¡¯s trembling in his boots. The boy looks as if he¡¯s about to cry.


    ¡°Do not be an imbecile, sir. We¡¯re the professionals here. And your child is a health risk. Evicting him and transferring him to the Institute is a priority. If you do not step aside¡­ Then you will force my hand.¡±


    The man¡¯s angered expression fades to terror. He shakes his head.


    ¡°No! Please, just¡­ Let us go! I won¡¯t let him go until that cure is ready!¡±


    Marianne steps next to Peter. She unsheathes her serrated blade and holds it out directly to the man¡¯s chest. The boy gets further away. His father turns his head to see his son moving away. Sweat is beading his forehead.


    ¡°Son. Come on. Y-you¡¯ll be fine. I promise, these people won¡¯t take you away-¡°


    With swiftness like a hawk, Marianne slashes the man¡¯s throat open. He falls to the floor, gagging on his own blood. Peter walks over the body into the room where the teary-eyed boy cowered. He kneels to meet the boy¡¯s eyes with a hand held out. The boy, feeling confused and scared, peers over at his dead father then to Peter.


    ¡°Come. Child. Do not be afraid. We¡¯ll protect you. He was only going to get in our way.¡± Peter murmurs.


    Despite hesitation, the boy silently nods and takes his hand. Marianne writes in her notepad after covering up the man¡¯s body. Peter escorts the boy out of the house. Marianne leaves a piece of paper in the door as a reminder for the body to be picked up. The two doctors take the boy¡¯s hands and begin walking away. Their hearts felt heavy.


    Lanterns lit the stone walls and pillars with a warm, orange glow. A lone individual descends the stairs leading into the open room. He holds a paper rolled up in his grasp. Sitting at a table, a hooded man is writing on paper with a quill dipped in ink. Rows of candles lighting his view. He glances up to see the individual passing by. He sets the quill down and clears his throat.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir. State your business.¡± He says.


    The man with the paper pulls his hood down, revealing his bald head. A single scar across his right eye.


    ¡°Oh. It¡¯s you. Carry on then. The headmaster is in his office.¡±


    The scarred man nods and continues walking. He ascends the few steps. His footsteps echo in the empty hallway leading to a set of three doors. He approaches the right door, turning the knob and opening it. Inside the office is a bookshelf, a single chair in front of the desk, a mechanical clock on the wall, a lamp hanging from the ceiling and a single painting of the London skyline. At the desk sits a man in a black top hat wearing a black suit with a white tie. The desk has an hourglass, a stack of papers, ink pot and quill. He¡¯s reading a black book. His eyes narrow in on the scarred man entering his personal space.


    ¡°Mister Magrath. I see you¡¯ve returned. Come. Have a seat.¡± He says with a friendly gesture towards the empty chair facing him.


    Magrath nods. He sits down then unfolds the paper.


    ¡°Chairman Corbeld.¡± Magrath says.


    ¡°Do you bring good tidings? Inform me.¡±


    ¡°The plague continues to spread. Many are locked inside their homes or barred from entering their own boroughs, resorting to a spike in hotel reservations. Bethlam continues to receive homeless residents. It won¡¯t be long before they¡¯re full and the homeless will be sent elsewhere for quarantine.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. It¡¯s getting that bad, eh?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Would you like my prediction as to where they will be going once Bethlam is full?¡±


    ¡°Go on¡­¡±


    ¡°There are countless empty buildings. Abandoned businesses and factories. The government may take swift action and start having the police move the homeless to these places. Away from the public and contained safely somewhere they can be monitored at all times. Until the Institute¡¯s revolutionary new Rainmaker variant is released, many will continue to be culled by the Black Doctors to maintain order and safety.¡±


    Corbeld leans back in his chair. The legs squeak as he crosses one leg over the other. He taps his chin.


    ¡°I see. But you are missing a crucial detail my friend.¡± Corbeld notes.


    ¡°And what is that?¡±


    ¡°As you may know, I work with the Institute. Rainmaker is being utilized on the general public first and foremost. The working class. They matter. They work, pay taxes, purchase goods, and keep the gears of society turning. The homeless are but a blight on this city. Only but the last priority on the Institute¡¯s list. Meaning they will continue to suffer from the plague while those contributing to society are treated and cured. See what I mean?¡±


    ¡°I do. This is¡­ What we want, no?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Much of the city remains safe for now. But the plague will only continue to spread like the virus contaminating one¡¯s own immune system. As long as it doesn¡¯t get¡­ ¡®Too¡¯ out of control, then our goal will be met.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Of course. Our agents are on the move as we speak. In just a few days, I¡¯m sure another batch of boroughs will be hit by the plague.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it will. Rainmaker is still in the works. They¡¯re working hard on perfecting the serum to treat the infected. But as we know, perfection takes time. Every test needs recording. Every failure needs correction. Everything is on the line here. The Institute will release the new Rainmaker variant to it¡¯s Black Doctors once the time is right. Until then¡­ Our goal remains.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well, what should I do in the meantime?¡±


    ¡°What you always do. Keep your place. Record. And maintain a low profile. Each report is crucial in understanding the current state of things. Now¡­ You are dismissed, Magrath.¡±


    ¡°Understood, Corbeld.¡±


    Magrath stands up. He hands the parchment to Corbeld. The two shake hands. Corbeld¡¯s crooked smile remains in Magrath¡¯s mind as he leaves the office.

 Rats

    Lying on a stiff bed, the contained woman softly weeps to herself. She was all alone in the room. Separated from her family. Then the door knob turns. She glances up through misty eyes to see a Black Doctor enter the room. They have a slender figure and seems to be around her height. In their hand is a satchel.


    ¡°Miss? Hello there.¡± The doctor speaks in a soft tone.


    The woman wipes her eyes, her guard lowering from the more welcoming feminine voice. She swings her legs off of the bedside. The doctor takes a seat next to her. Inside the satchel, she takes out a single vial of a deep purple liquid and a syringe. She presses a gloved hand on top of the woman¡¯s own hand.


    ¡°W-what is that?¡± The woman asks.


    ¡°Well¡­ This is the latest batch of the new Rainmaker variant. We are to test it on subjects such as yourself who resisted the current Rainmaker. You and the others pose a danger to the populace so we¡¯re keeping you all here. It¡¯s for the good of the people we get this Rainmaker variant perfect to fight the plague. I¡¯ll need you to hold still now, okay?¡±


    The woman starts weeping again. The doctor stops. She sets the syringe down and looks to the woman.


    ¡°Miss. Please. You don¡¯t have to cry.¡± She says.


    Tears streak down the woman¡¯s cheeks. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°You people tear me away from my home. Lock me up. Now I¡¯m being tested on?? I¡¯m doomed¡­¡± The woman sobs.


    ¡°Calm down, please. I know¡­ I know this is hard. Whoever brought you here must¡¯ve terrified you. We¡¯re¡­ Not exactly welcoming. How about¡­ I give you, my name?¡±


    The woman looks to the doctor and wipes her eyes. She just nods.


    ¡°I¡¯m Zelma. And what about you? What is your name miss?¡± The doctor says.


    She hesitates to answer for a moment. Then her lips open;


    ¡°C¡­ Carrie.¡± Her voice trembles.


    The doctor gently rubs her shoulder to ease her fear.


    ¡°Carrie. A lovely name. I assure you dear¡­ Us doctors all care for the safety of the people. This is a scary time for everyone. Once we can perfect Rainmaker¡­ We¡¯ll be able to cure everyone of this heinous plague. So¡­ All I can say is try to remain optimistic. The plague hasn¡¯t taken you yet. How are you feeling by the way?¡± Zelma asks.


    ¡°Fine. I think? I have a terrible headache and my body aches.¡± Carrie coughs. ¡°O-oh and that too.¡±


    Zelma nods. She then pulls out a leather strap. She carefully wraps it around Carrie¡¯s forearm to tighten the circulation of blood in her veins and isolate the designated area for the syringe.


    ¡°I see. The plague affects everyone a little bit differently. Weak immune systems are the most vulnerable, leading to death within a day or two of infection. Stronger systems such as yours must be seem to combat its virulent nature. Now¡­ Hold still for me Carrie. Okay?¡±


    ¡°S-sure.¡±


    Zelma takes the syringe to dip the needle into the vial, filling it up with the liquid. She flicks the tip of the needle, brings it over to Carrie¡¯s arm and slowly jabs it into her forearm with precision. Carrie squirms slightly. The purple liquid feeds into her veins. A second passes once the syringe is empty and Zelma pulls it out. Carrie breathes a sigh of relief. Zelma grabs a bandage to wrap around the bleeding spot left in the woman¡¯s arm. She gives a gentle pat once it¡¯s sealed.


    ¡°There we go. Not so bad, right?¡± Zelma asks.


    Carrie is trying to match a face to the voice. She¡¯s imagining bright eyes and a warm smile beneath the intimidating beaked mask. It brings her some ease. She nods, even managing a grin. Zelma nods.


    ¡°If it will make you feel better¡­ I¡¯ll make sure to come check on you tomorrow. I need to see if this Rainmaker variant is having any effect compared to the current variant. I will warn you now. This isn¡¯t complete yet. Still in the testing stage. But you and the others¡¯ cooperation will help us in getting it perfect.¡± Zelma explains.


    ¡°I¡­ O-okay.¡±


    ¡°So, symptoms may still stick around. Maybe not. Getting a sample of your blood after twenty-four hours once Rainmaker has settled into your system will help me determine its effectiveness. Does that¡­ Make sense?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It does. I think?¡±


    ¡°Good. You¡¯re a strong woman, Carrie. Hopefully we¡¯ll be able to get you out of here and back to your family. You¡¯re just one of so many who unfortunately caught the plague. We¡¯re overwhelmed beyond belief so please be patient.¡±


    Zelma packs up her things into the satchel and heads for the door. She turns around to wave a hand at Carrie.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you again, okay?¡± She says.


    Carrie nods and waves back. Zelma leaves the room, locking the door behind her. Carrie is still in distress but feels a little better after engaging with the friendly doctor. She lays back down to try and get some rest.


    A group of rats slink around trash cans and trash bags while they maneuver through the alleyway. They move like an orchestrated squad of soldiers locked into formation. The rats then split off towards various places. One slips through a basement window cracked slightly open. Another scurries across an empty road without being caught by any people as it runs up a pipe on the side of a blacksmith and crawls into an air vent on the roof.


    The wandering rat slides in-between two trash cans. Its beady eyes look around to find a place in the alley to head towards. Before it can dart away, a boot steps on its tail. The rat begins to panic. A bobby looks on in disgust at the vermin. He lifts his other boot and brings it down to squish the rat. Its guts spill out of its bloody corpse. Horrified by its size, he runs off to find a street cleaner to dispose of the creature.


    Inside of a townhouse, a black-haired man reads the newspaper while a blonde woman knits away. He lowers the paper and looks to his wife.


    ¡°Oi¡¯ honey. I just remembered¡­ I needa¡¯ sell that box o¡¯ junk downstairs. Mind grabbin¡¯ it for me? My feet ¡®re killin¡¯ me from work.¡± He asks.


    She sighs, setting her needles and fabric down next to her.


    ¡°Oh fine.¡± She replies.


    The woman gets up to walk to the basement door. She bends down to lift it up off the ground. She descends the stairs and pulls a chain on the ceiling to light up the basement. Her eyes glance around until she spots a gangly rat sniffing around a couple dead bugs on the floor not far from the box of junk. A blood-curdling scream erupts from her.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Upstairs, the man jumps in his spot on the couch. He throws the newspaper down and runs towards the basement door. He quickly steps down to find his wife cowering in the corner holding a broken broomstick.


    ¡°What the hell are ye¡¯ screamin¡¯ at?!¡± He shouts.


    ¡°R-r-rat!!!¡± The woman stammers.


    He looks over to where the broomstick is pointed at. The rat is nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Where??¡±


    ¡°I-it ran and hid behind t-those boxes! I-I-I saw it n-near the junk b-box you wanted!¡±


    The man carefully steps closer to the area where the rat was. For a brief second, he sees the rat dart past him to another corner behind more boxes. He feels panic set in and runs over to his wife. His hand reaches out and grabs hers.


    ¡°We needa¡¯ leave now! C¡¯mon!¡± He says.


    The two head up the stairs and shut the basement door. He takes her outside of the house and down the block to a telephone box. He steps inside and quickly turns the dial. His hand trembles as he holds the receiver.


    ¡°London Street Department. Bennett speaking.¡±


    ¡°We need an exterminator down ¡®ere on Fourty-Two Easting Street! Gots¡¯ us a rat in our basement!¡±


    ¡°Understood. We¡¯ll send an exterminator to your location. Stay out of the house. This goes for anyone else in your residence.¡±


    ¡°Me an¡¯ my wife are down the block. We¡¯ll wait here!¡±


    The man puts the receiver back on its rack. He steps out of the box to his wife shaking in her boots. He puts an arm around her to comfort her.


    ¡°Rats? In Newham? Aw hell¡­ Make sure they are taken care of as soon as possible! Have your men scour every bloody nook and cranny of the fucking borough! Those vile vermin harbor the plague! See to it at once!¡±


    The stern-looking gentleman with a curled auburn mustache and chestnut bowler hat slams the receiver down on the hooks. He wipes the sweat from his brow. The door to his office opens up. Corbeld steps inside with an eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Everything okay, sir Walsh? I overheard something about rats?¡±


    Walsh shakes his head. He leans back in his chair, palms over his face.


    ¡°You overheard correctly. Newham is next to a quarantine zone so odds are they must¡¯ve found their way over to Newham. Damned vermin¡­ I¡¯m led to believe they¡¯re to blame for the Crow¡¯s Plague.¡±


    Corbeld takes a seat in front of the man. He cups his hands together.


    ¡°Oh? And why is that?¡± He asks.


    ¡°Think about it. Rats were involved in the Great Plague back in sixteen-sixty-five and six. They¡¯ve always been disease-spreading vermin. While the city¡¯s poorer conditions were also to blame¡­ nonetheless the pests aided in spreading their filth. And lest we not forget the Black Death that ravaged all of Europe¡­¡± Walsh murmured.


    ¡°Right. Right¡­ Yes, this is indeed a problem. Perhaps the sudden infestation of rats is what started the plague.¡±


    ¡°Yet we do not know where they came from. The police are still investigating shipments from foreign nations and so forth. They must¡¯ve come from somewhere. London has been a clean city ever since that damned Great Plague shifted the governments entire focus to reworking our infrastructure, safety standards and sanitation.¡±


    Corbeld simply nodded.


    ¡°And what of you, Corbeld? Are you in agreement with me?¡±


    ¡°Of course, sir. Whether accidental or intentional, the Crow¡¯s Plague started somewhere here. Surely, we¡¯ll purge this filth from our fair city in due time. We just need to act fast. That goes double for the Institute and their development of Rainmaker to cure the infected.¡±


    ¡°Good to know. Shelving that aside for now¡­ Why did you need to see me?¡±


    Corbeld pulls out a file tucked away inside his overcoat and sets it on the desk. Walsh takes a look at its contents.


    ¡°A report from Bethlam¡¯s owner. The hospital has reached max capacity and can no longer take in the homeless. He is requesting that Parliament opens up new areas to store homeless residents of quarantine zones. This is a serious matter, Walsh. As Secretary of State and a dear friend of mine, I thought I¡¯d bring this to your attention first and foremost.¡±


    Walsh glances through the report. He sighs and sets the paper down.


    ¡°Shit. Already? I¡¯m always holed up inside so I¡¯m unaware of just how bad things have gotten out there. I live but a few blocks from work and never leave the district.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. My advice? Take this to Parliament and fast. With Bethlam barring entry, further homeless will have nowhere to go. That also means those who are infected could be contaminating others around them. And lest we not be forced to¡­. Result to the ¡®last resort.¡¯ You know what I mean.¡±


    Walsh swallows hard. He takes the folder then stands up.


    ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll see to it that this gets approved. The police will be working overtime rounding up the homeless. They need to be taken elsewhere away from the populace. The Institute is already housing working-class citizens with the plague so we can forget about asking them.¡± Walsh says as he heads for the door.


    ¡°Understood. You go and do that Walsh. I¡¯ll be taking my leave as well. I am quite the busy man after all. Got places to be, you know?¡±


    ¡°Yes yes. Go on then Corbeld.¡±


    Corbeld nods to Walsh who holds the door open. The two leave the office then go their separate ways. Corbeld smirks on his way out of the building.


    Night falls on London. Bobbies are scrambling to evacuate residents from Newham after a pair of residents were found dead in their home and several rats were spotted in the home¡¯s kitchen. People with suitcases, bags, backpacks and purses leave their homes. Business owners force customers out to shut their stores down. The two resident factories cease production and the local mail delivery service halts all services. Bobbies set up checkpoints at the borders leading in and out of Newham. Citizens stand lined up in the blistering cold as they are led out of the borough. Black Doctors stand at their steam carriages checking citizens individually for any signs of the plague.


    Exterminators are a branch of the city¡¯s Street Department. Due to the potential risks in dealing with and handling any form of pests and vermin, exterminators wear fully-protective mustard yellow leather suits and a sealed mask. They¡¯re equipped with lethal electrical traps. These engineering marvels are designed like bear traps lined with a big handle for carrying, copper wires and a basket for storing bait hooked up to a fuse box that is remotely triggered by a handheld switch connected to the fuse box, sending ten-thousand volts through the wires to zap anything within the trap. Alongside these traps, exterminators also carry pouches full of various forms of bait and a steel rod with pincers. Once the pests are killed, exterminators will bring in a sealed steel cage from their steam carriages to store the corpses into using the rod tool after deactivating the trap. With that, the exterminator has fulfilled their job.


    Peter and Marianne cover up the corpses of the deceased residents, storing their contaminated blood samples into Peter¡¯s bag. A steel cage filled with dead rats sits in a corner of the kitchen next to a folded-up trap. The exterminator heads into the living room where Peter and Marianne are stationed.


    ¡°I¡¯m packing up. I¡¯ll leave the victims to you two.¡± He says.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Peter responds.


    The exterminator grabs the cage and trap. He nods to the doctors before he heads out of the house. Marianne looks to Peter. He looks back. They both nod to each other. Together, they toss the bodies over their shoulders to bring them outside. The exterminator hops into his steam carriage and drives off. Peter and Marianne set the bodies down into the wagon hooked up to their carriage. Before they set off, a third doctor is walking in their direction also carrying a body on their shoulders. They set the body down alongside the other two.


    ¡°Where¡¯d this one come from?¡± Marianne asks.


    ¡°Aye. They was just down the block. Found em¡¯ laying in a pool of their own stomach bile and an empty bottle o¡¯ pills on their nightstand. Poor bastard must¡¯ve been sick and got paranoid so he overdosed.¡± The doctor speaks in a sonorous, masculine tone.


    ¡°Oh. Damn¡­¡±


    ¡°You already gots¡¯ a wagon so I figured I¡¯d bring em¡¯ to ya¡¯. Appreciate it. My shift is about over so I¡¯m headed off.¡±


    The doctor waves then walks off in the opposite direction from whence he came from. Marianne goes to shut the front door to the house after leaving a piece of paper in the doorway. Peter starts up the carriage. Marianne hops into the passenger seat.


    ¡°What a fucking day. Off we go then I suppose.¡± Peter mutters.


    Marianne leans her head back. Peter drives the carriage out of the borough. The two are silent during the lengthy drive to Redbridge. A crew of men with flamethrowers wave to the doctors as they pull up to the disposal site. They step out to haul the bodies off the cart and into the sectioned-off area marked with yellow tape strapped to steel poles. Three more added to an already large heap of bodies. The couple watches from afar as the men scorch the bodies. Smoke rises from the site into the gray skies above.

 Degredation

    Unease fills the minds of much of the populace. With more boroughs becoming quarantined as the days since the outbreak of Crow¡¯s Plague go on, some have taken to protesting outside of both the London Institution of Medicine, 10 Downing Street and Buckingham Palace. Angry and paranoid citizens hold hand-painted wooden signs and continuously shout; Demanding for the plague to be cured and for the release of friends and family currently contained within the facility.


    Eliot Keating is the current prime minister of the United Kingdom. A tall, dashing gentleman in his prime years. He has permed short black hair and a defined jawline. He sports a black suit with a single golden pin on his breast pocket embedded with the Royal Coat of Arms. His eyes peer through the curtains inside of the queen¡¯s office, looking down at the small crowd protesting.


    ¡°Ridiculous. I understand that these are trying times¡­ But to resort to protests demanding action. As if we aren¡¯t already trying to deal with the ramifications this damned plague has brought unto our fair city.¡± Eliot says.


    Queen Victoria sits at her desk glazing through various papers. She sighs and neatly stacks the papers then tucks them into their respective folders.


    ¡°Calm yourself, Eliot. They simply do not understand. People are impatient. The Institute is nearly complete with its new Rainmaker variant.¡± Victoria states.


    Eliot turns to face her. He coughs to clear his throat.


    ¡°Your Majesty I do not mean to sound harsh but¡­ Have you noticed? At all?¡±


    ¡°Noticed what?¡±


    ¡°The plague. While relatively tame at the start¡­ Lately it¡¯s been spreading more virulently. Even with all of our efforts to contain it, the rate at which people are becoming infected is rising. It¡¯s¡­ Gravely concerning.¡±


    Victoria just blinked. She sets the folders aside and stands up.


    ¡°Do not think of me blind simply because I am retained to my royal duties, Eliot. I¡¯m fully aware of the concerning rate in which the plague is spreading. The Institute¡¯s Black Doctor division is working overtime and yet¡­ More victims are cropping up. Do ¡®you¡¯ know what I think?¡±


    Victoria steps away from her desk to approach Eliot. Her eyes get closer. Her gaze even giving him chills. All he does is shrug.


    ¡°Something nefarious is at work.¡± She states coldly.


    ¡°O-oh? Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty?¡±


    Victoria begins pacing the floor with her hands behind her back. Her heels click against the polished wooden floors. Eliot looks on at her with curiosity.


    ¡°Two centuries have passed since the Great Plague of London. Advancements in science and medicine have made great strides since then. Every endemic, pandemic or epidemic has a catalyst. Crow¡¯s Plague started as just another minute outbreak but quickly grew in proportion. Now, even as our advanced methods combat it¡­ Why is it only getting worse? Surely containing it to but a few boroughs with minimal outreach beyond is entirely possible and it was going well initially. So why? Why are our efforts only middling?¡±


    Eliot ponders her words for a moment. Then it clicks in his head.


    ¡°You¡¯re onto something here. I suggest you have the secret service look into this matter. We should conduct an investigation at once.¡± He says.


    ¡°I concur. In fact, I¡¯ve already spoken of this to the chief. He¡¯s deployed agents to look into every department of the city including inspections and interrogations. If there is an invisible enemy among us¡­ They will be found.¡±


    Crows encircle a local park in Hounslow. Peter and Marianne pass by two bobbies guarding one of the entrances. The couple stroll through the park where a group of five people are scattered about the center of the park¡¯s walkway near a fountain. According to the report they were given, these people showed signs of illness from coughing to sickly pale skin to bloodshot eyes. This on top of two confirmed cases of the plague have already slated the borough for quarantine.


    Expressions of the miscreants ranged from pained to angry upon seeing the doctors approaching. Their attention was fixated on the visitors.


    ¡°You are all aware that this borough is scheduled for quarantine, right? It¡¯s time to go.¡± Peter states.


    Marianne remains by his side. One of the people, a balding man with a nasty glare, snivels at the doctors. He spits on the ground.


    ¡°We ain¡¯t goin¡¯ nowhere, shit stain. Leave us alone.¡± He sneers.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s not an option, sir. Police have the park surrounded. People are being evacuated. You¡¯re clearly sick. I see it in your eyes. You and the rest of this lot.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°Fuck off! We¡¯s just gots the sniffles! That¡¯s all!¡±


    ¡°Oh? Then line up. All of you. We¡¯ll examine you and see if your blood is contaminated with the plague.¡±


    The people shy away from Peter¡¯s demand. But the bald man decides to pull out a knife.


    ¡°Like hell I¡¯ll do that¡­ You¡¯re not authority figures. You won¡¯t lay a finger on us regular folk.¡±


    The bald man rushes at Peter with the knife. With swift reflexes, Peter grabs the man by the wrist. He struggles to move. Peter twists the man¡¯s wrist. It cracks and he grunts in pain. The knife drops from his grip. Marianne approaches him and pulls out her serrated blade. He sweats. Marianne swings the blade down, severing the mans hand off. He cries in agony, falling to his knees. Blood streams out from his open wound. Peter steps past him while Marianne kneels next to him, brings the blade to his throat and cuts it open. Peter pulls out a syringe and beckons for the others to approach.


    ¡°Resistance is not an option. Attempting to harm us will result in punishment. Now¡­ Who is up first?¡± He asks.


    They watch in horror as the bald man¡¯s lifeless corpse is taken away by Marianne. A hooded elderly woman silently nods and approaches Peter. He nods.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. You¡¯re all leaving one way or another¡­¡±


    After settling the problem and examining everyone, Peter and Marianne take a seat at one of the benches. A gentle rain falls on the park. The blood leftover from the bald man slowly starts washing away. Peter sighs. Marianne pats him on the shoulder.


    ¡°I swear these people are getting more and more unruly. Never thought we¡¯d have to execute someone before even examining them. That was a first.¡± Peter says.


    ¡°Tragic, isn¡¯t it? Mass hysteria spreads just like the plague. More people are becoming ignorant. I understand that not every sign of illness immediately means it¡¯s the plague but¡­ These examinations will determine if it is the plague or not. Is it so wrong for simply doing our job?¡± Marianne mutters.


    ¡°Do not let your mind cloud with those thoughts. Regardless of how the public feels towards us, we have a job to do. It¡¯s only a matter of time before Rainmaker is finished and ready to dispense.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. Let us take this moment of reprieve while we have it. The day is not over yet even as the sun begins to set.¡±


    Peter and Marianne just gaze up at the flock of crows in the sky.


    Sobbing and weeping can be heard all throughout the crowd as they¡¯re led into an empty warehouse. A couple of angry men start beating on a bobby. They shout obscenities with each punch. Two bobbies run over to pull the men off of the injured officer. They¡¯re cuffed and shoved against the wall, bruising their cheeks. A woman cries out for one of them but it¡¯s drowned in the sea of voices.


    ¡°Shut the hell up and keep moving!¡± A bobby hisses.


    He smacks the back of a man with his nightstick at the end of the line of people. Inside the warehouse, cargo containers start to fill up with the homeless people. Two Black Doctors watch on silently. Women and children are separated from the men as the warehouse is divided into two sections. What used to be a storage center for these containers to be taken to the docks for boats has now become a haven for the homeless populations from neighboring boroughs. Fathers watch with cloudy eyes as their relatives, wives and children are taken away from them. One-by-one the men step into the containers.


    The two bobbies outside who subdued the violent men toss them into the back of the light blue police carriage. One of them goes to start it up while the other heads inside to speak to the doctors on standby.


    ¡°Oi! You two!¡± He shouts to them.


    Their gazes turn to the officer and they nod.


    ¡°Start examining these animals then you can go, okay? Any of ¡®em start showing signs of the plague or their blood is contaminated, lock them up away from the others. Last thing we need is more infected spreading the damned disease.¡±


    One of the doctors holds up his palm.


    ¡°We know sir. Don¡¯t get your britches in a twist now.¡± The doctor speaks.


    ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯m off to haul those cucks to the station. Good luck.¡±


    The bobby turns and leaves. An uneasy feeling creeps over the doctors. They double check their satchels to make sure they have all their equipment and tools for examinations. They nod to each other and split off to their respective sides of the warehouse to begin working. A fight breaks out between three men who¡¯re arguing over the morality of their situation. One man claims this is necessary. Another despises being split from his two children. The third tries to break them up but gets smacked across the chin which angers him. The doctor, whom is tasked with examining these men, approaches. Before one of them can throw another punch, his wrist is grabbed by the doctor. Bystanders watch in fear of escalation.


    ¡°Get your fucking hands off of me, cuck!¡± He growls.


    The doctor reaches into his coat and draws a large knife and holds it up to the man¡¯s chin. He freezes up while the other two men pause, their eyes opening wide.


    ¡°Cease this squabble at once. Line up for examination now. Do not comply and you will be punished.¡± The doctor says.


    Gulping, the three men all nod simultaneously. The doctor releases his grip. All of the men in the container comply with the doctor¡¯s demand. He sheathes the knife then preps his tools. Glass jars. Syringes. Bandages.


    From the other side of the warehouse a horrendous scream echoes throughout the building. Two women lie on the cold, concrete floor bleeding profusely. The other doctor gets to her feet, holding her bloody knife out. The women all start backing up.


    ¡°Do. Not. Attack. Me.¡± She hisses. ¡°I warned them and they were punished. Do not follow in their path you wretched, filthy bints. Now please¡­ Get into an orderly formation so that I may examine you all after I dispose of these two. The children will follow afterwards.¡±


    She glances over to the children, some of whom are crying. Her heart sinks into her stomach. The women comply with her order. She sighs and sheathes the knife.


    ¡°Bunch of animals, you lot are¡­¡±


    All of the women watch as the bodies are dragged off towards the back of the warehouse. Some of the men catch a glance. A grim reminder of the price they¡¯ll pay if they don¡¯t listen to the doctors.

 Rainmaker

    The lock on the door clicks. Carrie glances over to the door. It opens and standing in the doorway is the same doctor that¡¯s been seeing her. Carrie could tell it was Zelma by her shorter stature and slender figure.


    ¡°O-oh it¡¯s you again.¡± Carrie says. ¡°I-it¡¯s embarrassing to say but I¡­ Only after seeing you twice, I¡¯m recognizing you now underneath all of that garb.¡±


    Zelma chuckles. She walks over to Carrie and takes a seat on the bed next to her.


    ¡°I¡¯m flattered. It¡¯s good to see you in somewhat high spirits.¡± Zelma replies.


    ¡°I¡¯ve just been worried you¡­ May be assigned elsewhere and I wouldn¡¯t get to see you again.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you need not to fret my dear. Tending to you all here is my domain. Speaking of which¡­¡±


    Zelma reaches into her satchel and pulls out a syringe alongside a leather strap.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to draw blood to see if Rainmaker is having any effect on you. How are you feeling by the way?¡±


    Carrie is about to speak but then coughs. She shakes it off and smiles.


    ¡°Aside from a slight cough and some dizziness¡­ I feel fine overall. My body doesn¡¯t ache as much. I¡¯m not throwing up.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I see. Very good. May I have your arm then?¡±


    Carrie nods and extends her arm. Zelma then takes Carrie¡¯s arm and wraps leather straps around it. Carrie bites her tongue. Zelma takes an empty syringe and brings the tip of the needle to her vein and gently slits it into her skin. Blood fills up the syringe. Zelma pulls the needle out and swiftly grabs some bandages to wrap around the arm.


    Zelma releases the blood into a vial and examines it closely. Carrie puts her palms together. She silently prays in her mind.


    ¡°Oh? Your blood. It¡¯s¡­ Different.¡± Zelma murmurs.


    ¡°H-huh?¡±


    ¡°It¡­ Works. Rainmaker works¡­ Your body must be recovering from the aftereffects. That would explain your current symptoms. Carrie¡­ I think we¡¯ve cured your Crow¡¯s Plague.¡±


    Director Weston examines the reports on her desk. Three scientists in gray lab coats stand in front of her desk each looking at her with anticipation in what her next words will be. She glances up at them and adjusts her glasses.


    ¡°So, Rainmaker¡¯s new variant is a success then¡­ Thank God. Start preparing vials for shipping I want every single Black Doctor supplied as soon as possible. Keep the test subjects isolated for another forty-eight hours to study for side-effects. I¡¯ll need to make some calls. Let¡¯s get to work people.¡± Weston says.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am!¡± The scientists say in unison.


    One-by-one the scientists funnel out of the office. Weston leans back in her chair. She breathes a sigh of relief. She takes a cigar out of the side drawer of her desk and lights it up. A puff of smoke exhales between her dark red lips.


    After a brief smoke break, Weston dials on her rotary phone. She starts by calling the mayor of London. He is thrilled to hear of Rainmakers results. She next calls 10 Downing Street and asks for Eliot Keating. The prime minister speaks with a pleasant tone in hearing of the good news and promises to meet in-person for further details. After that she dials one last number. A raspy voice picks up;


    ¡°Director? Well, I was not expecting a call from you at this time.¡± Corbeld answers.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll be pleased to hear that the new Rainmaker variant is a success. Most of our test subjects¡¯ results had come back positive for expulsion of Crow¡¯s Plague from their systems. I recently met with the lead researchers involved with the process.¡±


    ¡°Oh? ¡®Most¡¯ you say?¡±


    ¡°A couple of them had infections far too severe to treat in time. The plague had already claimed them before Rainmaker could combat it in time. But everyone else seems to be fine. I¡¯d be happy to show you the reports myself if you have some time.¡±


    ¡°Gladly. I¡¯ll be on my way soon. I¡¯m attending to some errands right now.¡±


    ¡°I will see you then.¡±


    Weston hangs up.


    Corbeld stands outside in the rain under an awning. He lights a cigarette to smoke in the meantime. The streets of Bexley are barren with the occasional passing civilian or two. Not even any carriages or wagons roll by where he stands.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    A man in a black trench coat wearing a black hat and a dusty gray cloth covering most of his face approaches. He stands next to Corbeld and gives him a passing glance.


    ¡°Well? Do you have it?¡± Corbeld asks.


    The man reaches into his coat and hands Corbeld a small vial filled halfway with a deep purple liquid. Corbeld slyly slips it into his jacket pocket.


    ¡°That¡¯s the new variant. Snagged a sample before I clocked out of my shift. As you asked.¡± The man murmurs.


    ¡°Much appreciated. So, it actually works, hm?¡±


    ¡°Aye. That it does. I¡¯m not obliged to ask what your intentions are with the sample so I won¡¯t pry into your reasons for obtaining this.¡±


    ¡°Good. Here.¡±


    Corbeld hands the man a wad of cash. The man quickly pockets it.


    ¡°I really shouldn¡¯t be doing this but¡­ I won¡¯t say no to a little bonus. Heh.¡± He snickers.


    Corbeld just nods. He puffs his cigarette before he puts it out on the wet concrete sidewalk. He shoves his hands into his pockets.


    ¡°Consider your task accomplished. This exchange never happened.¡± Corbeld says.


    The men part ways from each other. Corbeld hops into his steam carriage parked in a nearby alley. He drives to his home in Westminster. Secluding himself into the study, he takes the vial of liquid out of his pocket and sets it on the desk. Inside his desk is a bronze spyglass etched with golden stripes. He flicks the desk lamp on to examine the liquid closer. Its purple hue reflects off the light alongside the glass of the vial it¡¯s held in.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned. It¡¯s nearly identical. The hue of this new variant is a bit darker than the original. But to the untrained eye it may as well be the same.¡± Corbeld mutters to himself. ¡°In a matter of days¡­ Every Black Doctor in the damned city will be carrying this.¡±


    Corbeld puts the spyglass down. He continues to gleam the liquid, turning the vial back and forth. The viscosity of the liquid is thin. It could be compared to that of hard liquor.


    ¡°This only means we need to further cull the herd before it¡¯s too late. I¡¯ll have to check on the rat breeding. For now, though¡­ I¡¯ll go ahead and keep this stashed away so any visitors don¡¯t see it. Suppose I should head off to go see Miss Weston then.¡±


    Corbeld puts the vial inside his desk drawer alongside the spyglass. He takes a swig of whiskey from the glass on his desk and gets up to leave the house.


    Peter and Marianne stand alongside eighteen other Black Doctors in the locker room within the London Institution of Medicine. Two men in lab coats are going down the line handing each doctor a moderately-sized jar containing the new variant of Rainmaker. They¡¯re also taking any remnants of the old variant for safe disposal.


    Peter places the jars into his satchel. As a duo, Peter maintains the storage of their medical equipment while Marianne only carries syringes and her serrated blade. The taller of the two scientists stands to face all of the doctors while the other leaves.


    ¡°Now that you all have been equipped with the new Rainmaker variant¡­ It is your duty as doctors to go out there and treat the infected. Continue your usual duties of course. But now you are prepped for any who carry the Crow¡¯s Plague. Of course, side effects are to be expected. But it was the director¡¯s orders to ship the cure out immediately even after but a single day of testing results. The plague only continues to spread. And it is up to us to treat it and stop the spreading. Any questions?¡±


    None of the doctors raise a hand. They just shake their heads.


    ¡°Excellent! You all are dismissed. And¡­ Good luck out there. More people are becoming paranoid, angry and even violent. Punish any who stand in the ways of your duty.¡±


    The doctors all nod. One-by-one they walk out of the locker room. Peter and Marianne head to their steam carriage. They get inside and fire it up. Puffs of smoke bellow from the single smokestack behind the cab. The engine roars as the carriage takes off out of the parking lot. Marianne leans her head back in the seat.


    ¡°Can¡¯t believe they finally did it¡­ Even if they rushed the distribution.¡± Marianne says. ¡°But I suppose some side effects can¡¯t be any worse than this damned plague slowly killing you.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. Better to be safe then sorry. You hear how many districts are quarantined now? It¡¯s outrageous. Sooner or later, we¡¯ll be visiting those we haven¡¯t been to yet.¡± Peter replies.


    ¡°I am so glad we aren¡¯t the night shifters.¡±


    ¡°You and me both, dear.¡±


    Crow¡¯s Plague remains an enigma as to how it started. Most believe it to be from dirty vermin that fester in the sewers and dark corners of the city streets. Throughout history from the Black Death to the Great Plague of London, rats and mice were considered a serious threat to the safety of health. Many even considered these epidemics ¡°omen¡± from God as punishment for humanity¡¯s sins. Crow¡¯s Plague is even touted as an airborne virus with how rapidly it is spreading.


    Symptoms of Crow¡¯s Plague vary and because of the multitude of symptoms one can possess, it made creating Rainmaker a real challenge. Coughing. Headaches. Violent vomiting. Seizures. Aches. Bloodshot eyes. Weariness. Shaking. Wavering consciousness. Sniffles. It¡¯s as if the plague itself is a hybrid of every known disease and illness combined into one incredibly virulent virus.


    Studies from the London Institution of Medicine show the effects of the plague. It fights the immune system once the blood is infested by killing off white blood cells and infecting red blood cells. As this continues, the plague slowly rots away the internal organs including the brain and heart. Comparable to other lethal diseases, it tears at the insides of the body until it¡¯s unable to persevere. By burning the dead, this effectively stops the remnants inside a corpse from spreading. Hence why Black Doctors dispose of bodies into designated quarantine zones for cremation.


    The new Rainmaker variant went through rigorous tests and trials before the final form was concocted. If a test subject died, there was always a replacement. Those who had not succumbed to the plague and lived to have Rainmaker injected into their system showed full eradication of the plague with a few exceptions who were far too severe. Crow¡¯s Plague is different for everyone depending on their immune system and overall state of health. After several successful patient reports, the coats rushed to inform the director of their good news. Miss Weston soon approved of distribution to the Black Doctors.


    Now the London Institution of Medicine carries the heavy burden of curing the infected and ensuring everyone gets a dose of Rainmaker to avoid contagion. With the plague still ravaging the population, the clock is ticking.

 Exposure

    The council of men sat in a half-circle within the inner sanctum of the underground chamber. Corbeld stands up to step forward and turns to face the other five. His hands are behind his back. He clears his throat.


    ¡°Gentlemen¡­ The reckoning is soon upon us. Rainmaker has finished with it¡¯s second variant and is already being deployed to the Black Doctors. Our time is running thin. The Institute worked faster then expected. But have no fear. Half of London is currently under quarantine and the number of infected continue to rise. The Institute have a lot of work to do. The culling will continue as necessary. Alfred¡­ Rise. And speak.¡±


    Corbeld motions for one of the men to stand up. A balding man with thin gray hair, gray-rimmed glasses and a mustache nods. He stands up.


    ¡°Ahem! The rat breeding has exceeded expectations. My network of agents is already underway in releasing the vermin into certain boroughs where the homeless population has not yet been rounded up. They also plan to sneak some into the holding grounds for those that have been contained. It¡¯ll be easier to spread the plague in those highly congested areas.¡± Alfred speaks.


    The others all nod, muttering to one another.


    ¡°Indeed. As the last ones slated for treatment, the homeless will undoubtedly suffer the most while the general population is receiving treatment with Rainmaker. Now come on¡­ We all know this operation is on a ticking clock. Our lovely city will rejoice in prosperity once we recover from this terrible endemic!¡±


    All of the men cheer then clap. Corbeld smirks.


    A massive operation is undertaking. In several districts of London, ordinary-looking men lurk in the shadows of alleyways and empty structures watching for patrolling bobbies and passing citizens. Clutching steel cages filled with fidgeting rats, they make their ways towards areas where homeless residents tend to reside such as parking lots of abandoned factories or larger alleys just off of streets.


    Without any hesitation, opening the cage slightly allows for rats to slip out onto the ground and scurry away. They move in a way to dispense their rats into multiple different areas to ensure the disease-ridden vermin will reach these populated areas and spread the plague.


    Of course, the risk factor comes into play here. The rats may go wherever they please. But within the confines of the breeding center, those tasked with watching over the rats train them to pick up the dirty, musty scents of those living on the streets near rotting trash and lacking proper hygiene like regular folk. Homes and buildings also generally keep pests out due to their designs not allowing any easy access points. If the average citizen may leave their basement window cracked open, then they risk leaving their own home exposed to vermin slipping in. Modern architecture may be vermin-proof, but older structures had been and even currently are under modifications to update their exteriors to be completely sealed off. So, some folk may unfortunately get pests entering their homes or businesses without their own knowledge.


    Corbeld and the council are completely aware of all of these factors. And yet their goal is set in stone. They remain cloaked in shadows, hidden from the public and keeping their operation a secret from their employers, friends, family, the government and the authorities. As long as nobody exposes them, their operation remains safe and secure.


    Screams cry out. Angry shouts are spat. Panic sets in and rises. The vermin are doing their work so the handlers slip away without a moment¡¯s notice.


    Marianne wraps the woman¡¯s arm up. Peter is in another room holding the man¡¯s arm. He plunges the syringe needle into the Rainmaker vial. The glass tube fills up with the deep purple fluid. The man grits his teeth as the tip of the needle sinks into his skin. Peter sends the liquid into his veins. After removal, he takes bandages to wrap the arm.


    ¡°Now you are to remain isolated for the next forty-eight hours so the cure can settle and cleanse your system. Same will go for your lass. Understood?¡± Peter asks.


    ¡°Y-yes sir. Thank¡­ you.¡± The man says in a frail tone.


    Peter nods. He puts his things away into the satchel and stands up. Marianne waits by the front door as Peter approaches. The two nod at each other then leave the home. They both breathe a sigh of relief while they walk to the next designated house. Glancing across the street, they see another doctor holding a bag enter a house.


    During their shift, the two visit several different residents who¡¯ve previously been diagnosed. They¡¯re also examining the residents to check for any signs of contaminated blood or symptoms of the plague. With the new Rainmaker variant having just released, supplies are limited so they cannot just give it to everyone they visit. Per the regulations designated by chairwoman; Infected citizens are top priority. Following them are those tested positive for infection. Healthy people are left alone and kept distanced from the infected to stop potential contamination. These rules apply to every Black Doctor.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    As the sun was beginning to set, Peter and Marianne arrive at the last home they would visit as their shift was coming to an end. Marianne knocks on the door. Initially there is no response. She raises her hand to knock again but the door creaks open. A woman with grimy, long black hair cloaked in darkness peeks through. Her blue eyes emanate sorrow.


    ¡°Y¡­ yes?¡± She speaks softly.


    ¡°We¡¯re here from the Institute to examine your household. Let us in, ma¡¯am.¡± Marianne replies.


    The woman looks away briefly.


    ¡°Why bother? The stench of death reeks this house. You¡¯re¡­ too late.¡±


    Peter raises an eyebrow. Marianne puts a hand to the door.


    ¡°Just let us in please.¡±


    The woman shies away and opens the door. She¡¯s in a light pink nightgown and clearly hasn¡¯t bathed today. It¡¯s a relatively small house that appears to be in a mess. Unclean dishes stacked in the kitchen sink. An empty glass and plate with but a fraction of a sandwich on the kitchen table. Trash litters the floors. Books are scattered around a shelf and on the desk nearby. Stacks of old newspapers sit next to one of the living room chairs. A cup half-full of tea on the coffee table next to a pack of cigarettes. The woman coughs as she steps aside to let the doctors walk by. The closet was stuffed with what appeared to be old clothes. Besides the closet and bathroom doors being left wide open, the only other door in the house was closed. Peter and Marianne approached it after scanning the rest of the home.


    ¡°Is this your bedroom?¡± Marianne asks.


    The woman with weary eyes just nods. She¡¯s scratching her shoulder. Peter grabs the handle.


    ¡°You¡­ are wasting your time¡­ here.¡± The woman murmurs.


    Marianne sighs while Peter opens the door. Lying on the bed with a lone white blanket overturned was a brown-haired bearded man in his underwear. His eyes were shut. He was motionless. Peter gets closer to check his pulse. Nothing. He presses a hand to his chest. He feels nothing. Marianne crosses her arms.


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ dead.¡± Peter says.


    The woman walks up behind Marianne and slumps against the doorway.


    ¡°I said¡­ you are wasting your time. The plague¡­ took him from me. Three days ago¡­ to be precise.¡± She sulks.


    Marianne and Peter turn to face her. She coughs once more. Her pale hands are shaking. Marianne reaches for a syringe and lays a hand on the woman¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I¡­ am sorry for your loss. Seems we were too late. Now, if I could just-¡°


    As Marianne brings the syringe towards the woman¡¯s arm, she slaps it out of Marianne¡¯s hand. She backs away slowly. Tears begin streaming down her cheeks.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother. Just¡­ don¡¯t. It¡¯s too late for me. I know I¡¯m infected. We ran out of money to afford our medications after¡­ After he had lost his job. I know the signs. The symptoms. The shakes. Coughs. Vomiting. All of it¡­¡±


    Peter scratches the back of his neck. Marianne shakes her head. She goes to grab the syringe off of the crusty floor. She keeps her distance from the woman, reaching a hand out.


    ¡°This must be difficult for you. I know¡­ But we need to examine you. It¡¯s our job. And we can treat you.¡± Marianne explains.


    The woman sobs. She leans against the hallway wall and slides down to the floor. She buries her face in her knees.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone. I don¡¯t care what you can do for me¡­ I have no reason to live anymore. Let the sickness take me¡­ Let it rot me from the inside. I-I just¡­ want to be with him again¡­¡±


    Marianne is at a loss on what to say. She goes and kneels next to the crying woman. She notices the ring the woman wears.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am please¡­ Don¡¯t be like this. You can still live. I¡­ I¡¯m so, so sorry you lost your husband. Really, I am. I would just hate to lose someone we can save like yourself. We¡¯re doctors. We work to save lives. The plague has been devastating for all of us¡­ And we can¡¯t change what¡¯s happened. But we are working to fight it. Let me help you.¡±


    The woman looks up at Marianne. Her mind is clouded with dread and hopelessness. She shakes her head. She then adjusts herself and grabs Marianne¡¯s shoulders to look into her eyes behind the mask.


    ¡°If you want to help me¡­ Then let me reunite with him. Please¡­ That is all I ask of you.¡±


    Peter returns from the bedroom. He looks down at the two of them.


    ¡°Marianne¡­ Maybe we should listen to her. If that is what she wants¡­ Then we should oblige.¡± He says.


    Marianne lets out a deep sigh. She nods and helps the woman up off of the floor. They lead her into the bedroom. She wipes her eyes while looking at the corpse of her husband on the bed then glances to the serrated blade Marianne carries.


    ¡°What¡­ is that for?¡± She asks.


    ¡°O-oh this? Well, before we produced this new Rainmaker variant to help cure the infected¡­ Those with Crow¡¯s Plague who weren¡¯t compatible with the cure would be¡­ Sentenced to death. To reduce them spreading it further.¡±


    ¡°H-how¡­ grisly. Um, i-if you¡¯ll heed my request¡­ I-I would rather not¡­ suffer like this. Take my life. Let me be with my husband. Please.¡±


    Marianne and Peter look to each other then to the woman. They both nod. The woman manages a pained smile. She walks over to the other side of the bed and lays down next to the man. She takes his hand in hers. Marianne draws the blade. She goes over to the woman and places a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°Are you sure this is what you want? We can still treat you.¡± She asks.


    The woman shakes her head, still retaining that smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure. Thank you¡­ So much.¡±


    Marianne nods. She brings the blade to the woman¡¯s throat. A single tear falls from her eye, closing them. Marianne then slits her jugular. She chokes on the blood, still smiling and holding her dead husband¡¯s hand until falling into unconsciousness from the blood loss. Marianne lowers her head, gripping the bloody blade tightly. The two remain silent for a period of time.

 Overwhelming Pressure

    ¡°Explain¡­ this¡­ now.¡± Miss Weston sneers.


    She slams a newspaper down on the desk. Sitting at the desk: A portly man with a long nose, brown eyes and short brown hair in a blue officer¡¯s uniform bearing a badge with gilded borders. The chief of police, Arthur Porter, glances at the headline. He scans the words on the paper. Fear begins to set in.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t understand. Rats?? Spreading in my city?!¡± He snaps.


    Porter snatches the paper to further read through it. A mixture of anger and anxiety brews inside alongside the fear. Weston crosses her arms. Her foot taps against the hardwood floor. Porter then places the paper back onto the desk.


    ¡°This sudden infestation of vermin didn¡¯t just come out of the blue. With the city borders and ports all closed, there shouldn¡¯t be any incoming supplies possibly contaminated with rats. This¡­ is sabotage. Within our own city. I demand you conduct a massive investigation right now and get to the bottom of this. Our hands are tied as is with the Black Doctors out there in full force working to cure the infected with Rainmaker.¡±


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re right director! I¡¯ll make some phone calls. If I may ask though¡­ Who do you think could be behind this?¡±


    Weston paced the office. Her mind was pondering any possibilities.


    ¡°I wish I knew. Perhaps some underground criminal organization? A collective of anti-government rebels? There¡¯s no way this is the work of a single individual. But this outbreak is no coincidence. Whoever is behind this¡­ Is working against our efforts¡­¡±


    Posters were being placed up all over the city in regards to the recent reports of rat infestations in non-quarantined boroughs throughout London:


    ATTENTION! ALL CITIZENS ARE TO STAY ALERT FOR RAMPANT VERMIN! BE SURE TO REPORT ANY SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY TO LOCAL AUTHORITIES! SCOTLAND YARD IS CONDUCTING AN INVESTIGATION INTO THE MATTER. ANY INFORMATION YOU HAVE REGARDING THIS MATTER COULD BE VALUABLE.


    Citizens were beginning to notice the severity of the situation. With the Crow¡¯s Plague outbreak and now reports of rat infestations, the people of London were growing more worrisome over their own safety. Some groups had taken to protesting in populated areas, voicing their concerns and beliefs to the public. Conspiracies were spreading like wildfire; From terror groups planted into the city by other nations to cabals within the government. Unrest was brewing.


    Queen Victoria looks out upon the city from her bedroom window. A lingering pain aches in her head. She presses the temple of her forehead with a couple fingers as she walks over to her desk and sits down. On the desk was a luxurious gold-plated telephone. She reached for it, turning a set of numbers on the rotary dial.


    ¡°Hello?¡± A low, raspy voice speaks from the receiving end.


    ¡°This is Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom. We¡¯re undergoing a¡­ rather extreme circumstance at this time.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Go on, ma¡¯am¡­¡±


    ¡°First the Crow¡¯s Plague which we¡¯re dealing with¡­ Now it appears we have metaphorical rats within our own societal system. Reports of vermin cropping up in homeless encampments and residential housing. Scotland Yard is investigating the matter while the Institute continues their efforts in fighting the plague. I¡­ hate to have to resort to ¡®outside¡¯ help but the public unrest grows as we speak.¡±


    ¡°I see. I understand foreign aid isn¡¯t your specialty, milady. But if you are calling this number¡­ It must be serious. We¡¯ve been observing from across the seas. All of the world is watching. I am glad you decided to contact us though. You¡­ care deeply for your nation. Your people¡­¡±


    ¡°I do. So¡­ send the zeppelin. I¡¯ll ensure you receive proper entrance into our city. You may dock at the airfield. I¡¯ll have my private security meet you there. Unfortunately, my hands are tied right now so I regret to inform you that I will not be there in person.¡±


    ¡°Understandable. Will do. We¡¯ll help out however we can. To ensure our nation¡¯s relationship is as healthy as a newborn child.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll make sure your organization is well compensated for your aid.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less from you, milady. Good day to you.¡±


    Carrie looks over to Zelma in the driver¡¯s seat of the steam carriage. Rain patters the front windshield. She rounds the street corner, passing by a horse-drawn carriage filled with an entire family. Carrie recognizes this particular road. The houses. The lone antique store next to empty storefronts. She points to a house they were coming up on.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°There. That¡¯s¡­ my home.¡± She speaks quietly.


    Zelma nods. She puts the brakes on as the carriage pulls up to the curb in front of the house. Carrie looks out at it in silence. Zelma places a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯re finally back. You can go home now, dear.¡± Zelma says.


    Carrie turns to face Zelma. Her radiant smile is infectious to Carrie. She smiles back. A tear falls from her eye.


    ¡°I was miserable. Taken from my family. My body slowly ailing as it fought that awful plague. Lonely. Separated. But you¡­ You showed me a kindness I never thought I would get inside that damned place. Your company kept my sanity in check. Thank you¡­ Zelma.¡±


    Zelma pulls Carrie in for a hug.


    ¡°When all of this is over¡­ Why don¡¯t we get some tea together?¡±


    They split off, holding each other¡¯s shoulders. Carrie nods.


    ¡°I would¡­ love that.¡±


    ¡°Lovely! I don¡¯t have many friends or acquaintances. And despite the circumstance you were in, you were very easy to get along with.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡­ thank you. I¡¯m looking forward to it. You know where to find me.¡±


    Zelma waves to Carrie. She waves back before exiting the vehicle into the rain. She rushes towards the door and opens it up. A set of footsteps starts approaching from down the hallway. The blonde-haired man rounds the corner holding a baseball bat. His expression shifts from one of anger to one of relief. He drops the bat. Carrie smiles at him.


    ¡°Connor¡­ I¡¯m home. And¡­ I¡¯m cured.¡± She says.


    ¡°M-my love¡­¡± Connor whimpers.


    The two rush towards each other and embrace. They look into each other¡¯s eyes and kiss deeply. Rounding the corner is the couple¡¯s son. His eyes widen at the sight of his mother returning. He runs over to them.


    ¡°Mother! You¡¯re back!¡± He shouts.


    ¡°Lorian!¡± Carrie says.


    She hugs her son. Connor joins them. The three of them embrace each other. A wave of warmth washes over the reunited family.


    Corbeld watches as two steam carriages towing carts full of bodies passes by. He adjusts his black top hat and enters the crematorium. He passes by the front counter in the lobby and towards a room at the back. Inside the office, a man in a black dress shirt and slacks wearing a gray top hat is examining a clipboard. He hears Corbeld¡¯s footsteps and turns around.


    ¡°Mister Collins.¡± Corbeld says.


    ¡°Corbeld.¡±


    ¡°What do you have there?¡±


    ¡°Oh this? The latest report from the Institute regarding victims of the plague. Truly a tragedy I daresay. Now I hear we have a vermin outbreak as well? God save us all.¡±


    Corbeld cups his hands together and nods.


    ¡°Indeed, my good friend. It really is terrible. Did you hear that Scotland Yard is investigating the matter?¡±


    ¡°Why no I did not.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true.¡±


    ¡°With the Institute finishing Rainmaker and working to cure people¡­ It¡¯s quite odd that an outbreak of rats hits us now. I do hope the authorities find the culprits behind this cruel act of treason.¡±


    ¡°As do I, mister Collins.¡±


    Collins paces the floor then sets the clipboard down on his desk. He takes a cigarette out of the pack tucked into his breast pocket and pulls out a light from his pocket. He lights the cigarette, taking a puff.


    ¡°I daresay¡­ This is overwhelming for all of us. And the worst part is that the Institute is burning the infected in quarantine zones so we don¡¯t even profit from this catastrophe. Just awful.¡± Collins sighs.


    Corbeld joins him in smoking. Both of the men take a seat in the red velvet chairs opposite to the desk. Corbeld takes a puff from his own cigarette.


    ¡°Right. Well, you have to understand that it reduces the risk of the plague spreading. Don¡¯t forget that I work for the Institute.¡± Corbeld states.


    ¡°And just what ¡®is¡¯ your position there anyway, Corbeld?¡±


    ¡°Analytical Supervisor. The highest paper-pushing position. My assistant handles the paperwork while I¡¯m out and about checking in with colleagues from other areas such as the government and gathering data for miss Weston. I am on my feet much more ever since this Crow¡¯s Plague outbreak.¡±


    ¡°I see. Since you¡¯re so well-informed on the happenings of current events¡­ Inform me as to how the public is handling all of this as of late.¡±


    ¡°Not well. The public is growing furious. Protests are cropping up everywhere. And with boroughs being quarantined, residents being forced out of their homes and businesses closing down due to the outbreak, it¡¯s all culminating into a melting pot of civil unrest.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Once this is all over¡­ It will take months to recover.¡±


    ¡°Remain optimistic my friend. The Institute is working hard right now to deploy Rainmaker. We shall see how the government handles the vermin infestation however¡­¡±


    Collins gets up to put his cigarette out in the glass ashtray on his desk. He leans on the desk, looking to Corbeld.


    ¡°You make sure you stay safe out there. After all, you¡¯re a very busy man always on the move.¡± Collins says.


    Corbeld nods. He gets up to put his cigarette out. The two shake hands. Corbeld heads for the door.


    ¡°By the way. Before you go¡­¡±


    Corbeld turns around. Collins hands him a sealed envelope.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Corbeld asks.


    ¡°A copy of the death reports. Figured you may need this to show your boss.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. Thank you.¡±


    Corbeld slips the envelope into his coat then leaves. He steps out of the front doors to light another cigarette. He heads for the steam carriage. Once inside, he opens the envelope to take a gander at the contents. Printed on the paper is a list of every single victim of Crow¡¯s Plague. However, much of the names listed do not contain last names. Corbeld smirks. He folds the paper, slipping it back into his coat.

 Investigation

    Peter and Marianne return to the London Institute of Medicine from their shift. After changing back into their casual attire, the two link up in the hallway outside the locker rooms. A man in a suit approaches them before they can even behind to depart.


    ¡°Excuse me. Mister and missus Thompson I presume?¡± The man asks.


    They both nod. The man hands them a slip of paper. Peter takes it to examine.


    ¡°The Headmistress wishes to speak with the both of you personally. That is all.¡±


    He leaves. Peter and Marianne exchange glances. They turn around and head for the elevator. Turning the knob to the top floor, the iron doors shut. Peter pulls on the lever. The elevator begins ascending up. It¡¯s chains rattle. Gears turning. Most elevators shake but the Institutes are cutting edge in design with solid steel foundations and regulated maintenance.


    At the top floor, the iron doors open up. Peter and Marianne head for the office. Rather than knock since they are expected, Peter just opens the door up. Miss Weston is at the desk painting her nails. She immediately locks eyes with him and Marianne.


    ¡°I know I was expecting you two but¡­ At least knock next time.¡± Weston says.


    Peter scratches the back of his neck. Weston chuckles.


    ¡°At ease. T¡¯was merely a jest. Please, come in. And shut the door.¡±


    Marianne closes the door. Both of them approach the desk. Weston finishes up and sets the brush into the glass vial of red liquid.


    ¡°You wanted to see us personally ma¡¯am?¡± Marianne asks.


    ¡°Yes. Sit.¡± Weston gestures.


    Peter and Marianne take a seat in the two chairs facing the desk. Weston clears her throat. She picks up a set of papers off her desk and adjusts her glasses.


    ¡°Here I have two different sets of papers. One contains examination documents from captured vermin. The other is reports directly from the Westminster Crematorium. Death reports to be exact from the past couple days. From the examination documents¡­ Samples of saliva taken from the rats contained bacteria that matches that of the Crow¡¯s Plague. And from the death reports¡­ Many of those were victims of these infestations. People that became contaminated with those bacteria and succumbed to the infections. The strangest part¡­ Is that a lot of these victims do not list last names. Meaning¡­¡±


    ¡°Meaning that they weren¡¯t living in registered households. In other words¡­ Vagabonds. Homeless.¡± Peter concludes.


    ¡°Nailed it. Quite strange, don¡¯t you agree? According to the government, registered citizens reside within households. They bear last names. Family names. Not to say there certainly aren¡¯t families without homes but¡­ To be labeled simply by their first names or have no names at all as shown here in the reports¡­ Means that these people were not regular citizens. No homes. No properties. Unacknowledged by anyone. Nameless nobodies the city forgot about. Right when we¡¯re on the cusp of curing those infected with Crow¡¯s Plague, this sudden infestation of vermin contaminating hundreds of people most likely with weakened immune systems, no real homes and no proper protection¡­ Something is not right. Scotland Yard is looking into the manner as we speak.¡±


    ¡°We understand but¡­ Where do we come into this?¡± Marianne asks.


    Weston sets the papers down. She stands up. Hands behind her back. She turns to look outside the window at the cityscape before her.


    ¡°Peter and Marianne Thompson. You two are the finest and most renowned Black Doctors of the Institute. I¡¯m designating our own private investigation. And you will be the detectives. I want you to look into this manner. Ask around. Check the places where vermin were reported. Surely there must be some sort of paper trail or pattern we can uncover.¡± She explains.


    Peter and Marianne look to each other in surprise. Weston turns back around. She tucks the reports into separate folders and pushes them across the desk towards the two doctors.


    ¡°Take these. I¡¯m entrusting this task to you two. Let the rest of the Black Doctors handle the majority of the dosing of Rainmaker to the general public. And keep this a secret. Do not let this investigation slip out to anyone else. Understood?¡± Weston speaks sternly.


    Marianne stands up first to grab the folders. She hands one to Peter who also stands up. The two bow to Weston and nod firmly.


    ¡°We understand.¡± They both say.


    ¡°Then we are finished here. Good luck you two. With your doctor uniforms, you¡¯ll be safe for investigating quarantined areas where the infestations took place. We need to act fast before more of this heinous villainy continues¡­ You¡¯re dismissed.¡±


    Peter and Marianne leave the office. Weston watches them go then sits back down.


    ¡°This madness needs to end¡­¡± She mutters to herself.


    Cold winds blow in the chilled London air. Peter and Marianne sit on the couch in their living room. Peter reads the newspaper. Marianne reads it alongside him, leaning against his shoulder with her head tilted slightly. A sense of dread fills them inside with each sentence read regarding the recent infestation of vermin.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°I have thoughts on this¡­¡± Peter mumbles.


    ¡°Oh? Go on.¡±


    ¡°Something malicious is at play here. Think about it. Targeting those down on their luck? The most vulnerable of our society. Utilizing plague-ridden vermin during a deadly endemic to strike the poorest communities. It¡¯s clearly a scheme concocted by someone or perhaps¡­ Some collective. We can at least both agree in those suspicions.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I see. But, where would we even begin with our investigation, dear?¡±


    Peter ponders for a minute. He then snaps his fingers.


    ¡°We need to speak to those afflicted. Maybe we can get some context as to how these infestations start. Perhaps uncover a pattern of some kind.¡±


    ¡°And if we act quickly¡­ We can catch any culprits in the act before another outbreak of vermin.¡±


    ¡°Precisely. Starting tomorrow, our investigation begins. But for now¡­ Let us relax. Turn in for the night. Dinner was fantastic as usual by the way.¡±


    Marianne chuckles. The two kiss then stand up and head for the bathroom to shower together before bed.


    ¡°W-we was just standin¡¯ around the fire¡­ Mindin¡¯ our business see? Next thing I knew there were screams comin¡¯ from down the alley. ¡®Rats! Rats!¡¯ A woman shouted. Panic ensued. Me and the lads were at the furthest end o¡¯ the alley so we started runnin¡¯ for our lives. And mind you that alley was our home. Ain¡¯t never had any vermin problems since the gov¡¯ment done did that clean sweep operation five years ago. Caught a glimpse of some of the mangy little fucks briefly before headin¡¯ down the street. Sorry but¡­ I-I didn¡¯t see no strange folk on the streets. Just everybody runnin¡¯ from the alley.¡± A scruffy man with matted brown hair spoke.


    ¡°Me mum was bit. Saw the marks myself. Two days later she¡­ She died. Bites done infected her. An¡¯ she already had a weak immune system so she didn¡¯t stand a chance. By the time she had noticed it¡­ Was too late. Couple others she bunked with passed away from their infections too. Just¡­ horrible¡­¡± A woman with long black hair sobbed.


    Peter and Marianne moved along to a rundown grocery store down the street from a condemned encampment. Several people in tattered clothing with dirty skin resided inside the old store. Most of the people there had scurried from the camp. One individual, the last one they found, was standing out back smoking cigarettes with two others. All of them were men. The other two didn¡¯t speak a word. The third, a tall man with short blonde hair and large hands wearing grungy blue overalls was willing to comply.


    ¡°So¡­ Tell us what you witnessed on that day. Yesterday. When you all were forced to evacuate and move here. We want any and all details.¡± Marianne asks.


    Peter held a notepad and pen. The two of them wore their doctors¡¯ outfits to remain anonymous. This current borough was not quarantined so there wasn¡¯t any current threat of Crow¡¯s Plague in the vicinity.


    ¡°Tells you what I saw an¡¯ heard¡­¡± The tall man spoke. His voice very deep and monotone. ¡°¡­ Was returnin¡¯ from my shift at the plant. Few of us work there but I was the only one who finished their shift. It was early mornin¡¯ you see. Not a damned soul on the street. Rounded the corner. A man in black passed me, bumping me on the shoulder since his head was lowered like he was coverin¡¯ his face. Didn¡¯t get a good look at him. Anyway¡­ Right as I made it back to the parkin¡¯ lot entrance, screams rung out. Started rushin¡¯ ahead until everyone was headin¡¯ my way. Scattering about. Shoutin¡¯ about rats. That made me freeze in place. Caught a smatterin¡¯ of the little vermin scurrying about. Looked like they came from a tiny, narrow alley near the tables we had set up. My mate here grabbed my wrist and dragged me away. After that¡­ We migrated here.¡±


    Peter jots down every word he spoke. Marianne nods. She crosses her arms.


    ¡°Okay¡­ Curious about that lone man you said passed by you.¡± She says.


    ¡°Coulda¡¯ just been some stranger on an early mornin¡¯ walk. Maybe goin¡¯ to work. Not sure. Dressed like he may have worked at an office. Desk job. Very clean. Nice clothes. Again¡­ not sure what his deal was.¡±


    Peter finishes writing. He slides the notebook and pen away.


    ¡°Thank you, sir. This is new information crucial to our investigation.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Course ma¡¯am. But uh¡­ Should you not be goin¡¯ around curin¡¯ people with that there fancy new shit you doctors have?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re on a special case. Fear not¡­ We¡¯re looking into these infestations. C¡¯mon Peter. Let¡¯s go. Thank you again for your time.¡±


    The tall man just nods. Peter and Marianne depart. They cut through the alley next to the building back onto the street. With all the information gathered, they make way for their steam carriage parked down the road.


    Another day passes. Peter and Marianne once again spent their entire shift going around talking to homeless residents previously occupying areas now sanctioned off due to the infestations of vermin. More or less, they recorded similar accounts from yesterday. At the end of their shift, they visited a caf¨¦. Sat at a table far from anyone else, they review their notes.


    According to what they¡¯ve gathered from speaking to people in these communities affected by the vermin outbreaks; There¡¯s similarities to what they¡¯ve heard. The infestations occurred either early in the morning or late at night. People would panic. Some were unfortunate to be bitten or make contact with the vermin. All residents in the areas vacated to new areas. Each site had at least two or three small, narrow alleys connecting them to other alleys or the streets. If they were buildings or structures, the interiors had any various numbers of entry points from the outside for rodents to slither in be it holes in walls, windows and doors left slightly open or cracks in the ceilings. Only one recurring element from the reports was significantly less spoken of.


    ¡°We¡¯ve spoken to so many people¡­¡± Marianne speaks, taking a sip of coffee. ¡°¡­ And yet only a few individuals ever caught sight of a potentially shady figure heading opposite of the sites hit by the infestations.¡±


    ¡°Now those could¡¯ve easily just been regular citizens unaware of what would happen or was happening. But it¡¯s an element in our findings that is so minute that I can¡¯t help but wonder if perchance those individuals were fortunate enough to spot potential suspects. The fact these incidents happen very early or quite late when there¡¯s generally less foot traffic has me questioning these specific reports¡­¡± Peter adds.


    ¡°Indeed. We should speak to the authorities. Have them monitor these encampments and places where homeless residents resign. Now we know for certain any of them could be targeted next. We also have to assume that these culprits must be breeding the vermin. After all, the Queen enacted that mass execution operation five years ago nearly wiping out all vermin in the city.¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, I do remember. Very well. Tomorrow, we report our findings to miss Weston. Agreed?¡±


    ¡°Agreed. We¡¯re making progress. We must persevere¡­¡±

 Intervention

    A couple of men sat on a dock with fishing rods in hand and lines in the water. They mutter towards each other, patiently waiting for a catch. A steel bucket sat between them with a couple of fish inside. Off in the distance of the ocean, a shadow began to emerge. The men look up to the skies. Piercing through the thick clouds across the sea, a gargantuan bronze-toned steel airship was emerging. Their eyes widen at the sight of the mechanical marvel.


    The zeppelin was massive in size. A long, cylindrical airship with tapered ends and multi-plane sharklike fins facing towards the front. Four sets of double-barreled cannons stuck to the underside of the hull. Atop it was two more cannons on the front and back ends, protecting the small cabin on top. Two sets of spotlights flickered on from the underside of the hull. Under the nose up front was a rectangular windshield. Several round windows lined the lower sides. Unlike the zeppelins London had, this one did not have a gondola attached underneath. Its design differed in that it bore a militaristic design rather than a commercial one. Painted on the sides of the hull were the American flag in broad view. The faded sunlight hidden behind clouds gleamed off of the bronze sheen of the zeppelin. The two fishermen quickly pack up their gear and leave the dock.


    Citizens all across the city looked in awe at the surprise appearance of the foreign airship as its enormous shadow was casting over the streets. Queen Victoria glances out of the window in her office once the zeppelin was in her sights. She smiles and returns to her paperwork.


    All hands were on deck at the London Airfield. Both of the city¡¯s commercial zeppelins were away so the airstrip itself was empty. With the restriction placed on London¡¯s borders, air travel was prohibited so the commercial zeppelins were stuck in the cities they traveled to. Airfield crew scrambled to prepare for the foreign vessel¡¯s arrival. Three men in black suits stood near a gold-embroidered steam carriage. They watch the zeppelin begin its descent to the airstrip. A hatch on the bottom would open up. Emerging from inside was a steel gondola. This served as the landing platform for the airship.


    Instead of making a complete landing, the door on the gondola opens up and a steel ladder extends down to the surface of the airstrip. A single man steps out and climbs down the ladder. The stocky man wears a black trench coat with a dark green decorated military uniform, black boots and a black peaked cap bearing the American flag. He has a black eyepatch over his scarred right eye. He has a curled black mustache and beard. The three men in suits all bow to the visitor as he approaches.


    ¡°Welcome. You must be the ¡®special guest¡¯ Her Majesty told us about.¡± One of the men spoke.


    The tall and imposing military general nods. He adjusts his cap and clears his throat. Attached to his hip was the hilt of a silver cutlass stashed in its brown leather scabbard.


    ¡°At ease, gentlemen. You would be correct. Name¡¯s General Russell Enright. Now if you would be so kind as to take me to Her Majesty.¡± The general speaks in a gruff voice.


    The three men nod. They lead him into the steam carriage. As the carriage takes off towards the gate of the airfield, the zeppelin slowly rises back into the skies after the ladder shifts back up into the gondola.


    ¡°Welcome, General Enright.¡± Queen Victoria speaks.


    Russell kneels before the queen, takes her hand and kisses the glistening diamond ring on her finger.


    ¡°It is an honor to be in your presence, Your Majesty.¡± He states.


    Russell stands up to face Victoria. The two lock eyes. She nods and smiles at him.


    ¡°Such a gentleman. Come. Let us talk, general.¡±


    The two walk over to a set of red velvet chairs. On the side table between them is a silver plate with two silver cups and a silver tea kettle.


    ¡°Care for some tea?¡± Victoria asks.


    ¡°It would be my pleasure.¡± Russell replies.


    Victoria pours them each a cup of tea. They raise a toast and simultaneously take a sip. Victoria crosses a leg over the other to get comfortable.


    ¡°I will say¡­ I was not expecting you to show up here yourself. Rather I was expecting an envoy of sorts. Someone under your command. Or a member from a different branch of your government.¡± Victoria says.


    ¡°Well, we are not currently at war. Not since eight years ago when the conflict with Mexico ended. The commander-in-chief personally sent me since he must remain at headquarters. He felt I was most certified for this task at hand. Not only to command these forces we brought¡­ but also to personally meet with you. My diplomacy skills are top-notch if I do say so myself.¡± Russell responds.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°These forces you speak of¡­ Just who are they exactly? We are not fighting a war here.¡±


    ¡°A special task force if you will. That beautiful airship you saw was the USS Armitage. Our pride and joy. The sole warship of the United States military. Didn¡¯t want to use our commercial vessels so we just deployed the warship instead.¡±


    ¡°I see. I see. Now¡­ Explain how your forces will come into play here.¡±


    Russell takes another sip of tea. He clears his throat.


    ¡°My troops will be deployed all throughout your city. In squads. Due to the lack of manpower, you possess with your police enforcing lockdowns on the quarantined zones and the military watching the borders of London¡­ You are quite stretched thin. With my troops in the city, they¡¯ll be monitoring the boroughs. Keeping eyes all over for any suspicious activity. Once they¡¯re out and about¡­ No criminals or terrorists will be safe from the watchful gaze of the United States military.¡±


    Victoria ponders. She quietly sips her tea, keeping her gaze on the general.


    ¡°Understood. Exactly what I expected of you and your forces. I will not tolerate these acts against my people. Whoever is behind this infestation will be apprehended. They¡¯ll be lucky if they still live by the time we¡¯re done with them¡­¡±


    Russell smirks as he sips his tea. He peers out the window to see the USS Armitage off in the distance over the city skyline.


    Corbeld and Magrath share a laugh in their current discussion over tales from their past. Corbeld remarks how he tricked a government spy from Russia to trust him only for his hotel room to be raided by bobbies the day before his attempted assassination on Queen Victoria. Magrath talks of his two separate occasions in which he outsmarted street thugs desperate for money by beating them down alone. They lightly tap their glasses of wine together and sip.


    A set of footsteps were rushing towards the room. The door swung open. A brown-haired scruffy man sweating profusely stood there panting. Magrath recognized him.


    ¡°Oh? What is it, Scott?¡± Magrath asks.


    ¡°There¡­ outside¡­ airship¡­ must¡­ come and see.¡±


    Corbeld and Magrath both raised an eyebrow. They set their glasses down.


    ¡°With me. My apartment building¡­ I have roof access.¡± Scott says.


    He motions for them to follow him. The two men stand up.


    Scott leads them outside the underground chamber up to the streets. He brings them to the six-story building just down the road. The men climb the stairs up to the top floor. Scott takes out a keyring and unlocks the door. Once they step outside, Corbeld and Magrath freeze in place. Scott points up to the zeppelin in the sky.


    Now lowered to a borough, the zeppelin¡¯s gondola descends from inside the hull and its door opens up with a steel ladder dropping down several feet to street level. One-by-one, six individuals wearing dark green padded uniforms with lever-action rifles slung over their shoulders slide down the ladder. Magrath scratches his head. Corbeld is shaking his head.


    ¡°Dear God¡­ When did they get here??¡± He asks.


    Scott looks over to him.


    ¡°Down in the chamber all this time? That zeppelin showed up roughly an hour ago. First time I¡¯ve seen that happen though¡­¡± Scott replies.


    ¡°That¡¯s no commercial airship. That¡¯s a military vessel. Those are soldiers. Shit¡­ I need to go. Find out what¡¯s happening.¡±


    Corbeld rushes down the stairs leaving Magrath and Scott alone on the rooftop watching the zeppelin slowly rise into the skies.


    ¡°You seeing it too, love?¡± Peter speaks.


    ¡°I sure am, dear.¡± Marianne responds.


    The two glance over at the zeppelin in the skies casting a blanket of shadow over the city. They shut the doors to the steam carriage and walk to the building. They pass by others muttering of the zeppelin on their way to the elevator. Peter leans on the railing as the elevator ascends.


    ¡°I suppose we can ask the chairwoman about it once we report our findings. Surely, she must know something about this. We¡¯re not at war so why is an American warship here?¡± Peter ponders.


    Peter and Marianne leave the elevator to head towards Weston¡¯s office. Peter knocks on the door. A muffled voice tells them to enter. The two step inside. Miss Weston munches on a blueberry muffin. She adjusts her glasses. Peter takes out his notebook and sets it on the desk. Marianne slaps the folder down.


    ¡°Our findings, ma¡¯am.¡± Marianne says.


    Weston scarfs down the remainder of the muffin then proceeds to gleam the reports. She¡¯s quiet. Her head nods. She scratches her chin. Taps her fingers on the desk. Peter and Marianne stand there in the awkward silence. Weston takes a sip of water.


    ¡°Mm. I see.¡± She mumbles.


    ¡°Please take note of the last portion of our notes regarding the sightings or encounters of strangers near the sites where the infestations broke out. Potentially culprits? Or perhaps coincidentally just random passersby. Considering the times these outbreaks occurred¡­ It¡¯s quite strange.¡± Peter remarks.


    ¡°No no, this is good evidence you two. Excellent work. This paints a broader picture of how these attacks on the population are happening. Um. I¡¯m not sure if you two noticed on your way here but¡­ Seems Her Majesty has called in a favor regarding this entire ordeal.¡±


    Both Peter and Marianne¡¯s eyes widen. They believe she is referring to the zeppelin currently over London.


    ¡°You mean¡­ The American warship??¡± Marianne asks.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one. Frankly, I had no clue this was even happening. Now Her Majesty is probably going to contact me to inform me of the situation. I¡¯ll have to send a copy of your reports to her. So, I hereby cease this investigation. You two may return to your doctoral duties. Leave the vermin infestation to us. I¡¯d love to chatter but I¡¯m awaiting word from Her Majesty. You two are dismissed.¡±


    Peter and Marianne nod. They walk out of the office feeling nervous.

 Coup

    A thick fog hangs over the city streets. Light pain patters down. The air is cold. The moon looms over London like a ginormous lamp. A hooded figure steps through the mazelike alley. He holds a steel cage containing a bundle of rats. His fingers twitch. A crooked smile on his face hidden beneath shadows. He begins to quietly hum to himself. Trash cans, bags and miscellaneous disposed furniture line the alleyway. The first corner is turned. Then the next. The figure moves with tenacity. He spent all day inside his apartment until recently venturing to the breeding lab to grab some rats for this occasion.


    Another corner he rounds. In front of him is a couple dumpsters in what appears to be a camp. Several tents are set up and a couple barrel fires still burn even in the rain. He used the smoke from the fires to mark his way-point. He rounds the last corner, looking down at the cage he holds. He gently runs his free hand on it.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, little ones. Time to set you free.¡± He mutters.


    While he¡¯s looking to the cage, he feels something press against his chest getting his attention. He looks up to see the barrel of a gun and a figure holding their finger on the trigger. He gasps. Suddenly, three more armed figures emerge from the darkness. They all wear dark green army uniforms and gas masks. A single lamp hangs over them all. He is at a loss for words.


    ¡°Drop it. Now.¡± The soldier in front speaks.


    The hooded figure drops the cage. Inside, the muffled panicked squeaks of it¡¯s vermin passengers ring out. One of the soldiers swiftly grabs the cage. The soldier with his gun put to the hooded figures chest pulls his lever-action rifle back and smacks him in the face with the stock. He falls to the rain-soaked ground unconscious.


    ¡°Apprehend him at once.¡± The soldier says.


    Eyelids heavy. Pain wrenching in his nose. Suddenly a splash of water hits his face. His eyes shoot open. He looks around. A black-gloved hand grabs the hood and tugs it down, revealing a receding chestnut hairline.


    ¡°H-huh? Where am I??¡± He asks.


    Two soldiers stand guard at the lone door. A third makes his way around the man in the chair. The room had gray walls and flooring with no windows but simply a vent on the ceiling. An empty bucket and steel tray on wheels sits next to where the man was seated. Off in the left-hand corner is a table with the rat cage on top and a large steel bin filled with wood. The soldier¡¯s faces were concealed by gas masks, giving off an ominous and threatening aura. The soldier facing the man grabs the tray to pull it over to where he stands. He tries to move his hands but his wrists are tied with rope and bound to the back of the chair. He shakes in his rain-soaked boots.


    ¡°Y-your attire. You¡¯re¡­ Americans?¡± He realizes.


    ¡°Good. You¡¯re conscious. Time to speak, whelp.¡± The soldier speaks. ¡°Start with your name.¡±


    ¡°N-name? I-it¡¯s uh¡­ B-Barry.¡± The man stutters.


    ¡°Last name.¡±


    ¡°Welkers.¡±


    ¡°Barry Welkers. Alright. Now¡­ Time to answer some questions. Where are you from?¡±


    Barry hesitates for a moment. Then he nods.


    ¡°M-Merton, sir. I¡¯m from Merton.¡± He says.


    ¡°Next question. The rats. Where are they from?¡±


    Barry looks up to the soldier. He shakes his head.


    ¡°N-no I can¡¯t¡­ can¡¯t disclose that information.¡±


    The soldier looks to the tray. He picks up a pair of rusted pliers. He presses a hand to Barry¡¯s forehead and sticks the pilers into his mouth, forcing it open. He then proceeds to clamp down on a tooth and pulls, wrenching it out. A spurt of blood flies out as the soldier brings the pliers out of Barry¡¯s mouth. He cries in agony. The soldier places the bloody tooth on the tray.


    ¡°Wrong. Now again I¡¯m going to ask¡­ Where are the rats from? You have five seconds.¡± He demands.


    Barry starts weeping. He shakes his head.


    ¡°I-I can¡¯t sir! I-if I tell then it¡¯s over. I-I¡¯ll be dead meat!¡±


    The soldier shoves the pliers into Barry¡¯s mouth once again. He yanks another took out. Barry winces and cries out.


    ¡°Five¡­ seconds. Answer the fucking question you pathetic sack of shit. Where are the goddamn rats??¡±


    Tears stream down Barry¡¯s cheeks. He breaks.


    ¡°¡­ington.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry? Speak up!¡±


    ¡°Hackney! They¡¯re bred inside a lab in Islington! On Coach Boulevard! I-in the basement of the old sewage maintenance plant!¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The soldier nods. He sets the pliers down and motions towards one of the other soldiers. They nod, walking over to the table. They pull out a lighter and ignite the bin. The wood is set ablaze. Barry looks in horror at the soldier grabbing the steel rat cage.


    ¡°What¡­ what are you doing??¡± He coughs.


    They kneel down to open the cage and proceed to dump the rats into the bin. Their squeals cry out as they burn alive. Barry is floored. The interrogator grabs Barry¡¯s head and holds it in place. He¡¯s unable to look away.


    ¡°Yes. Watch the vermin burn. Watch your little parasites fester and die as their corpses turn to cinder. We appreciate your cooperation. However, we still have one last question to ask¡­¡±


    The soldier turns Barry¡¯s head to face him down. His eyes hidden behind the mask.


    ¡°Who¡¯s in charge? Of your whole operation?¡±


    Barry shutters. He coughs up blood and shakes his head.


    ¡°I-I honestly¡­ don¡¯t know. I-I just get my orders from my friend, Walter. He answers¡­ to the boss.¡±


    The soldier nods. He snaps his fingers then pulls out a knife to cut the rope tying Barry to the chair. He coughs again and looks at his bruised, dirty hands.


    ¡°Thank you for your cooperation, citizen. You two¡­ Escort this man to the authorities for detainment. I¡¯ll assemble my unit to head for Islington. Oh¡­ and if we find out you¡¯re lying¡­ Expect far worse than losing a few teeth.¡± The soldier murmurs.


    Barry swallows hard. He¡¯s escorted out of the room by the soldiers. He sighs and fears for his acquaintances.


    ¡°Hold steady now. And¡­ done.¡±


    Marianne finishes injecting Rainmaker into the last of a family of five. The youngest of three children rubs his arm where the needle dug into his skin. The mother and father gather their two boys and girl. She breathes a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Thank you. So much. Our kids were usually very active so maybe they picked it up from someone else¡­ Or even caught it themselves. W-we¡¯re not sure.¡± The mother says.


    ¡°Of course. You and your husband are medicated and now all of you have Rainmaker coursing through your veins so Crow¡¯s Plague shouldn¡¯t be a problem anymore. Just be very cautious out there, okay?¡± Marianne replies.


    ¡°What she said. Rainmaker is curing the infected but the plague is far from contained. So, we urge for all citizens to sanitize and keep their health safe.¡± Peter chimes in.


    Each family member nods. They all wave off the doctors as they head for the front door of the house. The two head next door. This neighborhood in Harrow consisted of rows of townhouses making up the entirety of its residential housing. Not a single resident was in sight due to the quarantine in order.


    Peter knocks on the door. Initially there is no response. He tries again. Without hesitation, he opens the door. Coughs could be heard coming from upstairs. The two make their way up to the second story. Another cough echoes from the furthest room. The bedroom. Lying on the bed in the nude is a young lady with long, light blonde hair. Peter and Marianne are admittedly thrown off. They turn their heads away.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am. We¡¯re with the Institute. Please put some clothes on.¡± Marianne says.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you said it and not me.¡± Peter whispers.


    ¡°Oh hush.¡±


    The woman doesn¡¯t listen. She feebly moves her body under the covers of the bed. The last thing she was expecting were visitors.


    ¡°I¡¯m covered now. I-I¡¯m too weak to get up. Sorry.¡± The woman speaks.


    Peter and Marianne turn their heads back to look at the woman. Marianne presses a hand to Peter and nods to him. He nods back. Marianne approaches her.


    ¡°Hello. And what¡¯s your name?¡± She asks.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m Charity. You two¡­ are new. The d-doctor that first visited me was a hulking giant.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Well we¡¯re assigned to this neighborhood. I¡¯m Marianne and that¡¯s my partner Peter over there.¡±


    Peter playfully waves to her. She waves back.


    ¡°Partner? A-as in co-workers or¡­?¡± Charity taps a finger on her chin.


    Marianne takes her bag and pulls out the needle and vial of Rainmaker. She begins prepping the needle.


    ¡°We¡¯re married. We also just so happen to work together. Have been for years now.¡± She says.


    ¡°Oh? Heh. That¡¯s so sweet. My partner hasn¡¯t been around lately.¡±


    ¡°Everything okay?¡±


    ¡°I hope so. Ever since the quarantine, I haven¡¯t been able to leave the house. He lives over in Camden so¡­ If he¡¯s tried to come here he must¡¯ve been turned away.¡±


    Peter looks to the floor briefly. He then looks back up at her.


    ¡°What¡¯s his name? Maybe¡­ We can find him and tell him how you¡¯re doing.¡± He suggests.


    ¡°Y-you¡¯d do that?¡± Charity squeaks.


    Charity¡¯s eyes glow. Marianne plays along and nods to her.


    ¡°The plague has separated and hurt a lot of people. I¡¯m sure we could do this little favor.¡± She adds.


    Charity smiles. Marianne gently grabs the woman¡¯s arm. The blanket is just barely covering up her bare breasts. Charity pieced together what they were doing. She was familiar with this treatment from the first visit she had from a Black Doctor. So, she didn¡¯t hesitate or flinch.


    ¡°Barry Welkers. Eight Blackberry Drive in Camden. I-I would be over the moon if you did this for me.¡± Charity exclaims.


    Marianne took the needle up. It pierces into Charity¡¯s arm. She clenches her fists and bites her tongue. Rainmaker transitions from the needle into her veins. She removes the needle to apply bandages.


    ¡°Of course. Once our shift is over, we¡¯ll drive over there.¡± Marianne murmurs.


    ¡°Thank you. You both are so kind. I miss my darling oh so much¡­¡±


    Peter leans against the wall. Marianne gathers her tools and stands up.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re fine now. Crow¡¯s Plague should be cleansed from your system in about a day or two. Just be patient. Once this is all over, you two can reunite. We¡¯re far too busy to come back this way but rest assured, Barry will hear of your current state. And¡­ yes, me and Peter are very happy.¡± She reassures her.


    Charity smiles brightly. She rests a hand on her arm where the needle went into. She coughs again.


    ¡°Heh. I¡¯m glad. Thanks again. N-not just for doing this lonely woman a favor or treating me¡­ But for saving lives. Period. I pray to God this plague is ridden soon.¡±


    Peter and Marianne both nod.


    ¡°Us too. Us too¡­¡±


    Charity waves to the two doctors before they leave the room.

 They Cannot Hide

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What now?¡±


    Corbeld raises an eyebrow. Walsh nods his head.


    ¡°Her Majesty did it. The ¡®last resort¡¯ I had mentioned to you during our last conversation.¡± Walsh says.


    Corbeld reels back for a moment, slumping into the chair behind him.


    ¡°Her last resort was calling for the Americans¡¯ aid?¡± Corbeld asks.


    ¡°It would appear so. My friend, you are very busy so perhaps you are unaware of just how awful the infestation has become. The police are already spread thin as is with overseeing quarantine. Our military forces are outside London guarding the borders, maintaining regular patrols and whatnot. There¡­ was only one option left for us.¡±


    Corbeld felt a chill down his spine. He was in cahoots with Magrath who was pulling the strings for the entire operation. Now it was in jeopardy. He had to make sure to gather any further intel he could that would prove useful.


    ¡°So, they plan to hunt down those behind the vermin infestation¡­ huh? I see. Anything else you know that you can tell me?¡± Corbeld asks.


    Walsh shrugs his shoulders. He sips on some tea.


    ¡°Not really. I¡¯m too focused on maintaining order around here and keeping our allies updated on the current state of the city. We just sit back. Watch this unfold. The Black Doctors will continue dispensing Rainmaker while the American forces work to uncover the culprits behind this madness.¡±


    Corbeld takes a deep breath. Regaining his composure, he stands back up. He adjusts his tie.


    ¡°Understood. I shall take this information to heart. Thank you, Walsh. I should¡­ get going.¡±


    ¡°Very well. Let us pray this will all be over soon.¡±


    Corbeld remains silent as he leaves the office. He bites his tongue.


    There was no response at the door. Peter shrugs his shoulders and turns to Marianne. She tries one more time, rapping on the door. Still no response.


    ¡°Hm. Maybe we check his workplace?¡± She suggests.


    ¡°We could. The coal plant isn¡¯t too far.¡±


    Peter and Marianne hop into the steam carriage. They drive through Camden until arriving at the district¡¯s coal plant. Steam bellows from the towering stacks on the building. A group of workers on their smoke break give the duo menacing glares. The sight of two Black Doctors is not a welcoming sight to the workers at the plant. Peter clears his throat as they approach the three men smoking.


    ¡°Aye. What we got ¡®ere? Couple o¡¯ doctors? Don¡¯t tell me someone here caught wind o¡¯ that ¡®ere damned plague.¡± The scruffy-faced man comments.


    ¡°Ya¡¯ think ol¡¯ Johnny slept with a wench carryin¡¯ that shit?¡± The short, stout man asks.


    Peter puts his hands up to wave them. He shakes his head to clear up their assumptions for their visit.


    ¡°Relax. We just need to ask a question. There a Barry Welkers here?¡± He asks. ¡°Heard from his lady that he works here.¡±


    The three men exchange glances. The scruffy one taps a finger on his chin.


    ¡°Now that ya¡¯ mention it¡­ He hasn¡¯t been to work these past couple o¡¯ days. Ya¡¯ check his home?¡±


    ¡°We did. He wasn¡¯t there. Figured he may be here.¡±


    ¡°Shit. Barry¡¯s gone missin¡¯ has he? That ain¡¯t good¡­¡±


    Marianne puts a hand on Peter¡¯s shoulder. He turns to her.


    ¡°If he¡¯s missing then we¡¯ll file a report. Make sure to let your superior know. We¡¯re on borrowed time and frankly¡­ I don¡¯t feel like strolling through your plant in my current attire. May send a grim message to your co-workers.¡± Marianne explains.


    The three smoking men all nod.


    ¡°Aye. You do that. An¡¯ we¡¯ll go talk to the boss.¡± The scruffy man replies.


    Peter and Marianne leave for the carriage. They¡¯re pondering their only option left now; To file a missing person¡¯s report to the police. It wasn¡¯t long before they came to a police station. Despite the initial scare of being greeted by Black Doctors, they filed the report with ease using the information gathered from Charity and the guys at the coal plant. With that out of the way, the two headed home hoping something would come up so they¡¯d have some good news for Charity.


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    Russell is quiet and calm while he listens to the soldier explain the situation regarding their interrogation with Barry Welkers from the other day. He wears a prominent smirk on his face. His thumbs move while his hands are cupped together on the desk.


    Before anything else, Russell begins walking the small prison on-board the USS Armitage. The cells were used to hold important prisoners-of-war during the two conflicts the crew had been involved in. Now, the cells only held but a select few regular people. Culprits like Barry were battered and broken from their interrogations. Russell gives a glare to each of the five people locked up in five of the eight cells. Barry was not the only one to be captured. To ensure that everyone was telling the truth, each individual was cracked under pressure to gather intelligence. And all of their answers pointed to the old sewage plant in Hackney being the breeding ground for the rats.


    An assault was underway. Civilians watch in awe as the massive airship looms over the district. Russell and a squad of four soldiers prepare to deploy. The steel ladder falls to the concrete. One-by-one, the men all slide down the ladder onto the street. In front of them was an abandoned plant noticeably smaller than many other industrial plants in London. Russell motions for the others to follow.


    ¡°Onward! Follow my lead!¡± He shouts.


    Russell and the soldiers move forward. Lever-action rifles at the ready. Russell kicks open the doors to the building. The inside of the building was old and decrepit. Several pipes with wheels attached to them lined the walls. Rusting tanks sit rotting away. A single desk perched atop some stairs serving as the management¡¯s place. A single room in the far corner had tables and chairs for eating and communing.


    The soldiers walk past the rusting tanks, spreading out to scan the plant. One soldier peers into a small concrete box to see a door. A sign was posted above the door but the faded words were illegible. He approaches and tries to open it but the knob wont budge. A keyhole was visible on the knob. He looks over his shoulder to see Russell examining the desk.


    ¡°General! Over here! Found a door that¡¯s locked!¡± The soldier shouts.


    Russell and the others head in his direction. Russell readies his leg and kicks. The door doesn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°Okay¡­ Team effort here everyone. I need another to help me.¡± He states.


    Despite two boots kicking the door, it refuses to move. Russell sighs. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a tool. An intricate little oval-shaped mechanism of steel gears with a switch, erecting a thin lockpick. Russell slots the needle into the keyhole and starts turning it. The soldiers all watch until a click is heard.


    ¡°Got it.¡± Russell says.


    He grabs the knob and opens the door up. Stairs led down underneath the facility. A soldier approaches holding a lantern. Russell nods. He points a hand to direct the others to follow him down the leaky, rotting concrete hall.


    A pungent odor emanates from below. The gas masks managed to ward off the smell for the most part but a tinge of the odor still made its way through. A couple soldiers started gagging but kept their composure. Distant footsteps echoed. Russell was wary but continued to lead the way with the lantern-bearer by his side.


    They reached the last step at the bottom to another door. Russell kicks it open when the soldier holding the lantern is shot. Russell dives to the floor while the others rush down, firing back. The individual who fired the first shots ducked behind a thick, wooden crate.


    ¡°Stand down! Who goes there?¡± Russell shouts. ¡°Surround them now!¡±


    One soldier tended to the downed soldier while the rest approached the crate. Russell looked around at the scenery. It was an entire workshop operation set up here. From the table with beakers to the sacks full of various foodstuffs to the map of London posted up on the wall, showing different boroughs circled with pen ink. What really caught his attention was the Black Doctor suit hanging from the wall and of course, the glass cage full of hundreds of rats scurrying about.


    The individual hiding found himself face-to-face with the barrel of a rifle. Then two other barrels were in sight. They dropped their flintlock pistol and put their hands up. One of the soldiers grabbed their arm to yank them up to their feet.


    ¡°Sir!¡± He shouts.


    Russell looks over and his jaw drops. The stout individual was dressed as a Black Doctor. They were noticeably taller than most of the soldiers. Russell approaches them. He directs a hand signal towards the cage of rats.


    ¡°Prepare the flamethrower. As for you¡­¡± Russell glares at the individual. ¡°We¡¯re with the United States military on Her Majesty¡¯s orders. Explain yourself now.¡±


    The individual silently watches as a soldier wearing a steel tank on their back pulls the mechanism off of the tank. Another starts adjusting the valves. They were readying it for operation. Sweat beads the masked individual¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°Speak damn it!¡±


    Standing behind the individual, a soldier bumps the barrel of his rifle against their back. They sigh.


    ¡°Damn it all¡­¡± The masked individual speaks. ¡°How the hell¡­ did you find this place?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the one asking the questions here you damned moron.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ My name is Bruford. I oversee the operations here. And by that, I mean¡­ T-take care of the rats.¡±


    ¡°Go on¡­ We found out from some ¡®friends¡¯ of yours about this place. So, you¡¯re behind all of this¡­ The vermin infestations ravaging this city. And all while a dangerous plague runs rampant. Have you no shame?¡±


    Bruford sighs. He shakes his head.


    ¡°Y-yes. This is all my operation. Those who you must¡¯ve captured and tortured¡­ They were going by my orders. Please at least let them go¡­¡±


    ¡°Not¡­ going¡­ to happen. There¡¯s much more to ask. Let¡¯s get you out of here first, shall we? Burn those damned vermin! Let them all roast!¡±


    With flamethrower in hand, the soldier nods and sticks the nozzle into an opening on the glass cage. Twisting the main valve, flames erupt into the cage. The rats panic and scurry. Tiny squeaks cry out as they burn alive. Russell marches on. Two soldiers have Bruford grabbed by the arms. They yank him forwards to follow them. Bruford swallows hard. Russell leads the way up the stairs, smirking with the pained wails of the burning rats being music to his ears.

 Eradication

    ¡°Extra extra! Read all about it! Suspects involved in vermin infestation apprehended by American soldiers! Rumored to be put on trial for execution!¡±


    A newsboy stands at the street corner atop a small box handing out newspapers. Corbeld approaches the boy and takes a newspaper. He gleams the front page and his heart sinks into his stomach. He runs off, leaving the boy puzzled.


    It¡¯s just as he feared. He pulls the steam carriage off to the side of the street. Ropes and barricades have been set up outside the old sewage plant. A group of three soldiers stand guard. Corbeld gets out to approach them, pulling out his wallet to flash his ID.


    ¡°Allen Corbeld. I¡¯m with the London Institution of Medicine. What is going on here?¡± He asks sternly.


    The soldiers glance at each other. One steps forward.


    ¡°Sir this place is off-limits. It¡¯s a crime scene. We¡¯ve been ordered to keep watch until further orders are given.¡± He says.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand. The Institute is closely tied to our government. As such, those of us in authority positions are allowed access to restricted areas.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? Well, frankly we don¡¯t care. File a report with your boss. We¡¯re not letting you in. General¡¯s orders.¡±


    Corbeld grits his teeth and walks off. He turns and pulls out a revolver tucked away underneath his coat. He fires off shots without warning. Before the soldiers have time to react, bullets penetrate their skulls and fall to the ground. Corbeld rushes over to the door. One-by-one he drags the bodies inside.


    He heads over to the door leading underground to the breeding room. As soon as he opens the door, his face is met with a plume of smoke. He coughs. A rancid smell comes from below. Corbeld steps back. The realization of what¡¯s happened hits him like a brick wall. The breeding room has been compromised. All of the rats clearly scorched. It¡¯s hopeless to try and brave the smoke to go check downstairs. Clenching his fists, Corbeld darts out of the sewage plant out to the carriage and leaves before someone shows up assuming the gunshots may have alerted any nearby people.


    Marianne glazes the newspaper. The printing even lists the names of the culprits apprehended by the Americans. Her eyes widen when she sees a familiar name on that list. Barry Welkers. She goes over to Peter who¡¯s leaning against the wall.


    ¡°Look at this.¡± Marianne says.


    Peter looks at where her finger is pointing on the paper. He feels a tinge of anxiety when he reads that the suspects are due for a trial and possible execution.


    ¡°Good lord¡­¡± He mutters.


    ¡°Barry¡­ He¡¯s one of them. That poor woman must not even know.¡±


    ¡°She did have a radio in her room. Maybe she does know. It¡¯s going to break her heart.¡±


    ¡°And unfortunately, we don¡¯t have the time to go pay her a visit today. We¡¯re too far away from that borough.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ Another time. This is terrible news. Ugh.¡±


    Marianne folds the newspaper up to tuck away into her trench coat. She goes to the table and finishes her cup of tea. The two grab their beaked masks to put back on. Their break was over. Today, the duo was scheduled for Haringey.


    Haringey was quite small so there wasn¡¯t much ground left to cover. The two had went past the checkpoint into neighboring Islington for their break. Geographically, the borough was sparser in housing due to the many natural parks and River Lea flowing through it. Keeping track of homes and residents visited was a crucial part of their job. Their current destination was a home with a small chunk of land for animals. The bodies of some cows were seen in the yard underneath their shelter. The chicken coop was empty.


    Peter and Marianne approach the front door and knock. A squeak comes from the hinges when the door opens. An elderly woman in a long, pale green dress and a white bonnet stands at the door. She nearly faints from the sight of the doctors.


    ¡°My goodness. Heavens be. You two¡­ scared me.¡± She croaks.


    ¡°Apologies. We¡¯re from the Institute. Here to distribute Rainmaker. If you¡¯d excuse us.¡± Peter says.


    Peter and Marianne step inside the house. From a distance, the sound of squawking echoes beneath the floorboards. The old lady steps past them. In the living room on a brown armchair sits a bald, old man in blue overalls asleep with a newspaper over his chest. He snores.


    ¡°Ignore the sounds you hear from the basement. We¡­ had to move the hens and chickens inside when the authorities told us of the quarantine. Shame about the cows¡­ We were running low on their feed but couldn¡¯t go get any.¡± The old lady speaks.


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    Marianne nods and presses a hand on the lady¡¯s back to lead her over to the other armchair. She follows suit and takes a seat. Marianne begins taking out her kit. Peter kneels in front of the sleeping man. He tilts his head and shakes his knee.


    ¡°Sorry to hear. Here soon though, this whole plague should be eradicated and the quarantines can be lifted.¡± Marianne murmurs. ¡°Just try and hold it together for the meantime.¡±


    The old lady nods. Marianne fills the syringe with Rainmaker and flicks the needle. The lady looks concerned.


    ¡°Is that¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. This is Rainmaker. The cure for Crow¡¯s Plague developed by the Institute. Now please hold still. It may hurt.¡±


    Marianne sticks the syringe into the old lady¡¯s arm. She squirms. Marianne holds her hand. The liquid seeps into her veins. She takes deep breaths, focusing on where Marianne¡¯s eyes are behind the mask.


    Peter stands up. The old man isn¡¯t waking from his slumber. He decides to use one last trick and lightly slaps his cheek. His eyes shoot open.


    ¡°Ouch! Goddamn it what the hell??¡± He spits. ¡°You¡­¡±


    Upon seeing Peter, the old man tosses the newspaper aside. He grips the armrests tightly. Peter couldn¡¯t tell if he was mad or scared.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of them bloody government doctors.¡± He squints his eyes. ¡°Ain¡¯t here to tell us we¡¯re on death¡¯s doorstep, are you?¡±


    Peter shakes his head. He gestures over to Marianne dabbing the lady¡¯s arm then wrapping it with a bandage. He has to blink a few times to comprehend what¡¯s happening. Marianne hands her gear over to Peter. He preps the Rainmaker for the old man.


    ¡°Honey? Are you okay?¡± He asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine dear. The needle hurts some. But I¡¯m fine.¡± She replies.


    ¡°Good. Good. You lot are fine folk doing what you do.¡±


    The old man barely feels the needle in his arm. Only but a slight grunt comes from his mouth before the bandages are wrapped around his arm. He rubs the spot where the needle was in. Peter and Marianne wave the old couple off as they head out.


    ¡°So¡­ what do we do with them? The prisoners?¡± Russell asks.


    Queen Victoria sips on her tea while looking out the window. The looming shadow of the USS Armitage continues to hover over the city near Big Ben. She turns around to face the military general.


    ¡°Simple. They must be punished. Severely.¡± She replies.


    ¡°What are you thinking? Execution?¡±


    ¡°Hm. I¡¯m not sure. Death may be too easy of an escape. For their crimes against the city and the people¡­ They must suffer. Take them to Gatehouse Penitentiary. They chose this life so there will be no mercy for being stripped of their freedom. I feel imprisonment for life is a far worse fate then death.¡±


    Russell nods. He writes this down on a slip of paper that he then slides into his coat pocket.


    ¡°Guess that means you¡¯ve made up your mind once the report got to you. What will the public think of this?¡± He asks.


    ¡°Satisfaction. Relief. Now the Institute can continue their efforts to fight against Crow¡¯s Plague without obstacles. And the people can breathe a little easier now. We¡¯re finally recovering from this damned endemic.¡±


    ¡°Right. Well, I¡¯ll get heading back then. Good luck with the recovery. Once those criminals are locked up then our job here is done.¡±


    ¡°Mm. Do come visit me afterwards. Before you and your fleet take leave.¡±


    ¡°Understood your majesty.¡±


    Corbeld jaunts on past the men at their desks once he reaches the main chamber of the underground complex. He heads directly to Magrath¡¯s office, shoving the door wide open. Magrath stops mid-slurp on a bowl of hot noodles. His eyes dart directly to Corbeld¡¯s who wears a grim expression. Magrath sucks the noodles up and swallows. He coughs and dabs his lips with a black handkerchief.


    ¡°Ahem! The least you could do is knock first. What if I had a dame in here in the middle of interco-¡°


    ¡°This is important! The operation is over!¡± Corbeld interrupts.


    ¡°Say what?¡±


    Magrath raises an eyebrow. Corbeld walks over to his desk and slams his hands on the surface. His gaze is fierce.


    ¡°Those damned Americans. They scorched the breeding lab. And all of our associates are gone. Nabbed by the soldiers. Every last one of them. I checked in on their homes. None of them came back¡­¡±


    ¡°Huh?! So¡­ damn it. I knew when that American airship arrived that it was a bad omen.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say this Magrath¡­ but it¡¯s over. Our plan to eradicate the poor, disease-ridden peasants from our streets has come to an abrupt end I¡¯m afraid. With the rats gone, the Americans capturing our associates and the public still on high alert it¡¯s far too risky to continue this operation.¡±


    Magrath sighs. He takes another slurp of his hot noodles followed with a swig of iced water from a glass.


    ¡°I hate to admit it but you¡¯re right. We need to temporarily disband at once. If the Americans get anything out of our associates, then our cabal is finished. We¡¯ll have to pack up what we can and leave. Let the storm blow over and reconvene in a new location.¡±


    Corbeld slams a fist on the desk. He reels back and rubs his hands over his face. Sweat beads his brow. He taps his foot on the floor before leaving in a huff to go across the hall over into his own office. Magrath finishes his noodles and starts packing up important documents into a suitcase.


    Magrath and Corbeld speak to the gentlemen at the desks in the main chamber. They demand for them to check the rooms of their associates and take anything necessary from the rooms including personal belongings and paperwork. Magreth allows for the others to throw everything into his and Corbeld¡¯s steam carriages. Corbeld remains to help out. In roughly just a couple hours, the entire complex was thoroughly cleansed of crucial belongings. Paperwork. Trinkets. Documents. Pictures. Typewriters. The back of the steam carriages was packed to the brim. Magrath locks the front doors and the iron gate leading down into the complex. Him and Corbeld split off to go their separate ways for now.

 A Simple Visit

    ¡°I have a special assignment just for the two of you.¡± Miss Weston speaks, ¡°My secretary is out on a business trip across town and I can entrust this to you. Crow¡¯s Plague is on the decline now so consider this a ¡®breather¡¯ while the other doctors are out on the field. Take this message to Corbeld. Find out where he¡¯s been these past few days since he¡¯s failed to report back to me since he was last here three days ago. I wrote his address down on the envelope.¡±


    She hands Peter the envelope. He looks to her and nods.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re far too busy to take this to him yourself?¡± Marianne asks.


    ¡°Right you are, dear. As concerned as I am for his whereabouts, frankly I just don¡¯t have the time to hunt him down.¡±


    ¡°I see. Understood then. Let¡¯s go dear.¡±


    Marianne tugs on Peter¡¯s sleeve to get his attention. He stops examining the address on the envelope and turns to face her.


    ¡°Right. Onward then.¡± He replies.


    Weston watches them leave before returning to the mountain of paperwork atop her desk. She lets out a sigh and lights a cigarette.


    The steam carriage drives over the hill and turns into the driveway. The upscale brick house was two stories tall with a chimney atop the roof and a port with a steam carriage parked underneath. Peter and Marianne pulled up behind the parked carriage and stepped out. A light rain pattered on the tiled rooftop. The skies were dull and gray. Marianne was the first to ascend the small stone staircase to the front door. She grabbed the bronze door knocker to pound it against the wood.


    ¡°There¡¯s a carriage here. He must be home.¡± Peter commented.


    There was no response. Marianne knocks again. Still no response. Peter is having his doubts. He reaches an arm past Marianne and slams the knocker louder. A muffled voice comes from beyond the door. It opens up.


    Corbeld¡¯s expression shows one of surprise. His hair is a bit messy, clothes disheveled and a book in his hands.


    ¡°Wha-? You two¡­ Look vaguely familiar.¡± Corbeld says, squinting his eyes.


    Peter crosses his arms. Marianne presses a hand on her hip.


    ¡°Marianne is the name. This is my husband, Peter. We¡¯re Black Doctors with the Institute.¡± She says.


    Corbeld¡¯s eyes widen. He runs a hand through his hair to try and fix it. Peter approaches and offers the envelope.


    ¡°The chairwoman is concerned about you due to your absence recently. We know who you are, mister Corbeld. Our analytical supervisor. This is for you, by the way. We were sent in the place of miss Weston¡¯s absent secretary. Keeping track of the Black Doctors isn¡¯t in your paygrade I¡¯m sure so we¡¯re not offended if you do not know of our names.¡± Peter states.


    Corbeld takes the envelope. He raises an eyebrow then motions his head to the left.


    ¡°Forgive me but you are correct. Please, do come in then. Make sure to wipe your shoes please.¡± Corbeld says.


    He heads towards a desk in the living room where he takes a letter opener from inside the desk drawer to cut open the envelope. He tosses it into the trash bin nearby. His eyes scan the contents of the note;


    To Mr. Corbeld¡­


    I understand as of late you¡¯ve been very busy in keeping up with our organization¡¯s partners and associates. You¡¯re always out in the field gathering data. I hardly have seen you since the outbreak of Crow¡¯s Plague began. However, over the course of the past three days you have yet to return to the Institution and file your reports. I am growing concerned and want to know if you are okay. I¡¯m sending someone to deliver this to your home address. As your superior, I expect you to report to me as soon as possible unless unable due to any number of circumstances. I will not tolerate unexcused absence from one of my most trusted and well-respected employees. Your assistant is worried as well. Do return or there will be consequences.


    -Weston


    Corbeld wipes sweat from his brow. He takes a deep breath and sets the note down. He faces Peter and Marianne who are now sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. Corbeld takes the glass of liquor on the desk and leans against it. The liquor sloshes around in the glass before he takes a sip.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I do apologize for my¡­ absence. The emergence of the vermin infestation had caused quite a stir amidst this endemic of Crow¡¯s Plague. I¡¯m sure you and especially miss Weston will understand how I¡¯ve been running rampant all over the city visiting our associates, taking notes, checking in on these other organizations, businesses, etcetera.¡± Corbeld explains.


    Peter and Marianne glance at each other then back to him.


    ¡°We understand. However, we are not who you should be explaining this to. You should return to the Institution immediately. Miss Weston was not in a good mood.¡± Marianne says.


    ¡°It¡¯s not our job to pry into your work so we won¡¯t. We¡¯re simply the messengers here. I¡¯d advise reporting back. Surely that will not be an issue, will it mister Corbeld?¡± Peter asks.


    Corbeld nods. He takes another sip of liquor then sets the glass down.


    ¡°Not at all. I¡­ was actually getting ready to head there myself. I just needed a breather is all. Promise.¡± He replies.


    Peter and Marianne nod. The two stand up and bow to him.


    ¡°Understood. We¡¯ll be taking our leave then. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll see you again at some point. Or not. Either way, take care.¡± Marianne says.


    Corbeld takes a deep sigh and retires to his couch to read a red-bound leather book. Marianne pats Peter on the shoulder and points to the stairs. She¡¯s silently gesturing to go up. He quickly gazes into the living room to see Corbeld occupied with his book. He nods.


    The two quietly climb the staircase. With some distance gained, Peter turns to speak to Marianne;


    ¡°Great minds think alike my dear. Should we poke around? Something about Corbeld seemed¡­ off to me.¡±


    ¡°Mm. Lets.¡±


    On the second story there¡¯s a bathroom and a guest room. Of course they found nothing of note. The guest room was nice and tidy with a bed, mirror, wardrobe and empty shelf. All set for someone to reside in. They checked the rooms off of their mental list. Neither of them wished to intrude into Corbeld¡¯s bedroom. Instead, they find the study.


    It seemed to be quite the lavish room. Shelves were lined with many books. A single red velvet chair was next to a beautiful lamp and small end table. A glass display case held a sword inside and engraved on the case¡¯s bronze plaque was; ¡®Father¡¯s Blade.¡¯


    ¡°Perhaps a memento of his fathers handed down to him? The style and age would date it from the Civil War era.¡± Peter says, closely examining the sword behind glass.


    Marianne smirked. She was never a history buff unlike Peter. It amuses her whenever he becomes fixated on old relics or technology. Something of which she also found at the study desk. An ornate oak desk engraved with whimsical patterning sat before her. On the desk surface itself is a pen, ink quill, a small stack of blank papers, hourglass and most noticeably; an intricate mechanical device. A cylindrical mechanism made of bronze with tiny gears and a switch. She flicks the switch. The lid opens up and an arm with a spyglass attached to the tip unfolds out of the device. She could adjust the arm.


    ¡°Curious. Dearie come look at this.¡± Marianne calls out.


    Peter walks over to her and pushes the padded wooden chair aside. His eyes light up. He gently adjusts the arm.


    ¡°Fascinating. It¡¯s a spyglass generally used by government officials, police officers and detectives to closely examine written papers, objects or evidence.¡± Peter explains.


    ¡°Why do you think he would have this?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps he doesn¡¯t feel like staying in his workplace office and uses this to examine documents here in the comfort of his own home? Quite an expensive looking device. It¡¯s installed into the desk as well. A custom implementation.¡±


    ¡°Hm. That makes sense. Would you check the drawers? I¡¯m going to peek into these up here.¡±


    Marianne examines the small cubby holes above. Envelopes. Stamps. Folded papers. She starts going through the papers. They consist of bills, letters sent to Corbeld and miscellaneous papers kept for various purposes be it importance or laziness.


    Peter rummages through the top drawer. He finds a small family photograph of a young boy and his parents. A travel passport. The deed to the house. A birth certificate. A small steel bin for holding pencils and pens. He sighs and shuts it to open the second drawer. Just a binder with several papers inside. They are records of notable documentation including the establishment of additional funding for the London Institution of Medicine from the London Medical Association complete with a signature from it¡¯s CEO.


    ¡°Hm. Must be copies. Documents like these cannot be taken from the Institute.¡± Peter murmurs.


    He opens the third and last drawer. Neatly organized folders like a filing cabinet each labeled by a tab with a letter. Marianne steps away as he begins to pull out folders to examine their contents. She wanders over to check out Corbeld¡¯s collection of books. She recognizes some titles. Mystery novella. Romance stories. Fantasy tales. She admired his taste in literature. It wasn¡¯t long before he heard Peter call out her name;


    ¡°Marianne. Come quick.¡±


    There was a dour tone in his voice. She walks over to him. He has a folder laid out on the desk. He taps a finger on the top piece of paper.


    ¡°I found this under ¡®S¡¯. It¡¯s an operation. Scourge is its name. A large-scale project. Take a look.¡± Peter says.


    Marianne nods. She puts her hand on the desk to skim the document. As she¡¯s reading, her expression of sternness fades to gloom. Peter feels disgusted.


    ¡°A¡­ a major operation designed to exploit the crisis of Crow¡¯s Plague by targeting the ¡®scum¡¯ of our city. The poor. The penniless. The homeless. The weak. A plan that¡¯s been cooking in the works for nearly a year. Crow¡¯s Plague coming up serves as a sign from God. A perfect time to cull the herd. With the vermin breeding, unleashing the rats to ¡®poison the well¡¯ so to say, will act as the climax. So long as we stay in the shadows under the ever-watchful eyes of the law¡­ Lord what am I reading??¡± Marianne spits.


    Footsteps inch closer and closer to the doorway. The sound of a flintlock clicking is heard. Marianne and Peter look up to see Corbeld holding them at gunpoint. His eyes narrow on the document then focus on the pair.


    ¡°Something that¡¯s not for your eyes¡­¡± Corbeld mutters.

 Corbeld

    Three years ago. Rome, Italy.


    Dressed in a snazzy dark red suit with a gray dress shirt underneath and a black tie, Corbeld leaves the elevator to walk out into the hotel lobby. He pulls out a silver pocket watch to gleam the time. Three-thirty in the afternoon. He looks up to see Magrath approaching in a deep blue suit with a white undershirt and purple tie.


    ¡°There you are old chap. Shall we?¡± Magrath proposes.


    He gestures for Corbeld to follow. He nods and does just that. The two waltz out of the hotel. Magrath has reserved a taxi steam carriage for the two of them. Corbeld stares out the window as the carriage is moving along. Magrath lights up a cigar and takes a big puff.


    ¡°So, where exactly are you taking us? You haven¡¯t said nary a word about it since proposing this trip.¡± Corbeld asks.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see. I¡¯ve been here a few times and I always make time to go here.¡±


    ¡°How¡­ vague of you.¡±


    After a nearly half-hour trip, the carriage pulls up to the Spanish Steps just below the Church of Santissima Trinit¨¤ dei Monti. Magrath leads the way out of the carriage. Various folks are walking around on this brisk, sunny day in Spring. The two men stop by a cart selling meat skewers. Corbeld bites down on the meat while they walk up the stairs towards the church. Magrath pauses for a moment to let Corbeld finish his skewer. They dispose of the sticks into the nearest trash can.


    ¡°Delicious, yes?¡± Magrath chuckles.


    ¡°Indeed. Some of the finest meat I¡¯ve ever had the pleasure of consuming.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad. A nice little meal before we head inside. T¡¯would be quite disrespectful to be eating inside of a holy sanctuary.¡±


    Magrath gently opens the doors leading inside of the church. The interior is meticulously clean. Beautiful stone walkway leading to the high altar. Ropes sanction off the pockets on each side of the oak pews aligned with various pieces of artwork and paintings. They stop for a moment to take in the sights. Corbeld particularly loved the gorgeous stone altar adorned with stone carvings of angels, gilded candleholders, and a miniature chapel with golden pillars and a golden cross. Elegant chandeliers surround the altar.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this place just magnificent? You know¡­ I would always sit and pray whenever I¡¯d visit here.¡± Magrath says.


    ¡°Really? Didn¡¯t take you for a religious man.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not open about it. But it¡¯s true. Enjoy the sights. Our real destination¡­ is above us.¡±


    Magrath leads Corbeld up a flight of stairs to the rooftop overlooking the Spanish Stairs and grand monument erected in front of the church¡¯s doors. A gentle breeze blows. Magrath leans against the stone rails. Corbeld does the same. He takes a deep breath.


    ¡°So. We¡¯re here. What did you want to discuss?¡± Corbeld asks.


    Magrath clears his throat. Corbeld crosses his arms.


    ¡°You and I share the same ideals. Always have. Our beautiful city is nearly on the cusp of perfection is it not? Well, I recently got to thinking and¡­ Something is missing. Or rather, something is needed.¡± Magrath speaks.


    ¡°Go on. I¡¯m all ears.¡±


    ¡°Poverty is an issue. A stain on London¡¯s society. Now while I understand not everyone below the line is there by choice, many of them still are. They claim a crippling condition and receive money from the government every month in hopes they¡¯ll get their life together. But do they?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. No?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. These degenerates have no will to improve. To fit into society. Instead, they wallow in their own piss and feces. Take residence inside abandoned buildings or empty lots. Resort to stealing. Begging. All while huddled around barrels or inside makeshift tents of cloth fabric to consume narcotics crafted inside labs or gardens. All that money given to them by the government just vanishes. Nothing ever changes. It¡¯s horrible.¡±


    ¡°I know. Been a real problem since after the war. Met quite a few veterans. Some stuck in a rut. Others who¡¯ve climbed out of hell more then once. But what are you getting at here?¡±


    ¡°I propose a plan. A grand operation under the cover of shadows. Away from the eyes of authority. We know some good folk who aren¡¯t too keen on the stain of society. We forge a secret organization using our available resources. All of us have wealth. Stable positions. Are beloved by our peers. Nobody would suspect a thing of us.¡±


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    Corbeld takes a deep breath. He shakes his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if this is sounding like a bright idea.¡± He mutters.


    ¡°Now now, my friend. This is only the first step of many. Order must be brought to our society. Crime many not be a major issue but the stain of society¡¯s lowest form certainly is and nobody has done a damned thing about it. That¡­ is where we come in.¡±


    ¡°Are you proposing we do something about the poor and worthless?¡±


    ¡°Right on the money. Eradication. Eliminate the stain on our society by any means necessary. Clean up our streets. If the government won¡¯t do it¡­ then we just have to.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And how do you propose we even initiate such a major-scale plan?¡±


    ¡°Simple on paper. Killing them. Nobody is going to miss worthless street trash. I¡¯m not talking murder here. Let¡¯s be more¡­ creative here. What¡¯s something that¡¯s harmful to any human being?¡±


    Corbeld thinks for a minute. Then it clicks in his mind.


    ¡°Disease.¡± He says.


    ¡°Sickness, yes.¡±


    ¡°The means to infect the poorest to cull them. Is¡­ that sounding about right?¡±


    ¡°What if we amass a family of vermin. Not by capturing them ourselves but outsourcing funds to acquaintances outside our borders. We construct a place of operations. Let them breed. Then when the time is perfect¡­ Unleash the rats upon the homeless. The most minute of contact can spread their diseases. Those people are far too poor to seek medical attention. It won¡¯t take long for them to start dropping like flies from the infections.¡±


    Corbeld¡¯s eyes widened. He felt sickened to his stomach. He blinks several times.


    ¡°Magrath¡­ This is horrific. Is that truly where your mind concluded on with this this grand operation of yours?¡±


    Magrath leans over. He puts a hand on Corbeld¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Trust me chap. I know it sounds like the devil¡¯s work. But I guarantee if nothing is done¡­ It will only get worse. Poverty is not an easy issue to tackle but the government has always been hard at work to prevent it. Unfortunately, it¡¯s not that simple to just¡­ make vanish. Besides, you work with the Institute. If we segregate these areas populated by the homeless, let the Institute handle the breakout and burn the bodies en masse. You know better than nearly anyone how effective the Institute is with health crises.¡±


    ¡°I- Ugh. I mean¡­ It will surely pose a health risk to the population. But the Institute will lock down anyplace and prevent further risks.¡±


    ¡°Exactly chap! We¡¯re doing the heavy lifting here. Surely it couldn¡¯t take too long for this to work effectively. All it will take is many months of planning and executing. We will only have one chance otherwise so the timing must be perfect.¡±


    Corbeld sighs. He stands to walk ahead with his back turned to Magrath. He ponders for a few minutes in silence. Magrath wears a smirk on his face. Corbeld turns back to face him and nods.


    ¡°Alright. Fine. You¡¯re an intelligent man. If this is possible to pull off¡­ You will ensure it does not fail. Besides¡­ I am in agreement that London is in dire need of purging this ever-growing problem before it spreads too far like a cancer.¡± Corbeld murmurs.


    Magrath goes up to him and extends a hand. Corbeld shakes it.


    ¡°Glad we see eye-to-eye. After all, you¡¯ll be a crucial cog in this machine. So, your cooperation is needed for this operation to work. Let¡¯s keep it on the down low. I¡¯ll be sure to keep you posted on any significant progress I make.¡± Magrath replies.


    ¡°But of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t have to resort to prodding you over this. I had hoped it would take but one conversation. Now then. We still have two days here in beautiful Rome. Let us enjoy the sights, partake in delicious meals and live it up! Haha!¡±


    Magrath pats Corbeld on the back as the two head for the stairs to descend back into the church.


    One and a half years ago. London, England.


    An abandoned sewage facility sits slowly eroding with time. A man with thinning white hair and a bushy mustache pulls out a sheet of paper from within his coat. He hands it to Corbeld, standing next to him.


    ¡°Well. We¡¯ve talked over the course of the past couple days. You¡¯ve fronted the cash. Signed the papers. I present you the deed now. Congratulations. This place belongs to you now mister Corbeld.¡± The man says.


    Corbeld nods. He takes the paper to unfurl it. He gleams the deed then looks up at the building.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what your plans are for this ol¡¯ place. ¡®Bit rundown but has potential to be reformed into something else. Since the gov¡¯ment won¡¯t touch it, I think I offered it at a relatively cheap price.¡±


    Corbeld shakes the man¡¯s hand after he slips the paper into his inner coat pocket.


    ¡°Certainly. I have¡­ plans of my own. Besides, now it can¡¯t be claimed as shelter for those street folk. It¡¯ll do.¡± Corbeld murmurs.


    ¡°Mhm. ¡®Tis a shame these ol¡¯ relics of the past are left to rot. Anyway, it¡¯s time I head out. Pleasure doin¡¯ business with ya¡¯ sir.¡±


    The man departs from the property. Corbeld heads to a nearby phone booth. He puts a couple coins into the slot then dials a number. It rings a few times before someone on the other end picks up. They ask who this is.


    Corbeld clears his throat and begins to speak;


    ¡°This is Corbeld. I¡¯ve acquired ownership for the old sewage plant. Give word to the others. The vermin can be housed there down in the maintenance room. Yes¡­ we¡¯re one step closer to executing this operation. I¡¯ll speak with you soon.¡±


    Corbeld heads into the old sewage plant. He walks over to the door over to the far right. The stairs lead down into the maintenance room. Glancing around, a smirk comes across his face. With the facility cut off from the city¡¯s sewage lines, the rusting generator will need some fixing to get working again. Power will need to be diverted just to this room instead of the entire building. He sees the potential here. A calmness sweeps over him. He rubs his hands together and proceeds to leave.