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 café 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.
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“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.