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.