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.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    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.