Plague Doctors: Beginning of the End-Chapter 11 - : Plotting

Two days ago...

In the dead of night, Willem moved like a shadow through the silent school grounds, his plague mask obscuring his face and his long leather coat rustling faintly with each measured step. He could spot the guards, plague doctors who wore black plague masks and suits patrolling the area. The brass door to the training grounds loomed ahead, its surface etched with intricate runes that glimmered faintly in the moonlight. He pushed it open with a creak, stepping into the dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of oil and steam, and the faint hum of machinery echoed through the space.

A steam-powered elevator awaited him, its gears grinding softly as it descended into the depths below. The platform shuddered slightly as it came to a halt, revealing a massive hallway stretching out before him. The flickering lights on the ceiling cast erratic shadows, giving the corridor an eerie, otherworldly feel. On either side of the hallway, massive cells housed a variety of creatures, each more dangerous than the last.

Willem walked calmly, his hands clasped behind his back, his mask fixed forward. The sound of his boots against the stone floor was the only noise he made. To his left, a gargoyle stirred, its stone body grinding as it lifted its head to watch him pass. Its eyes glowed faintly, but Willem paid it no mind. To his right, a dwarf cyclops sat hunched in its cell, its massive form restrained by dark, heavy chains that clinked softly as it shifted. The creature's single eye followed Willem with a mix of curiosity and resentment, but it remained silent.

Further down the hall, a mimic in its cell caught sight of him. It immediately shifted, its form melting and reshaping until it mirrored Willem's exact appearance—plague mask, leather coat, and all. Then, with a fluid motion, it transformed again, this time into the image of a small, trembling girl. Tears streamed down its face as it pressed itself against the bars, its voice trembling with fear.

"Please... please let me out," it whimpered, its voice pitiful and desperate. "I'm scared... I don't belong here. I didn't do anything wrong!"

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Willem didn't so much as glance in its direction. His pace remained steady, his focus unbroken. The mimic's cries grew louder, more frantic, but when it realized its pleas were falling on deaf ears, its tone shifted. The girl's voice twisted into something monstrous, dropping into a guttural, demonic growl.

"You think you can keep me here forever?" it snarled, its form flickering between the girl and something far more grotesque. "I'll escape. I'll tear through these bars, and when I do, I'll start with you. I'll devour everyone in this place!"

Still, Willem didn't react. He walked past the mimic as if it were nothing more than an insignificant nuisance. His destination was clear, and he wouldn't be deterred by empty threats or theatrical displays. Finally, he reached the cell he had come for.

Inside, the female orc stood tall, her muscular frame tense as she watched him approach. Her green skin was marked with scars, and her tusks gleamed faintly in the dim light. She wore tattered clothing, but her posture was proud, her eyes sharp and calculating. She crossed her arms as Willem stopped in front of her cell, her gaze locking onto his masked face.

The dim light of the flickering torches cast long shadows across the cold, damp cell. Willem stood at the entrance, his plague mask obscuring his face, his leather coat rustling faintly as he shifted his weight. His voice broke the silence, calm and measured. "Good evening," he greeted the figure huddled in the corner of the cell.

The female orc lifted her head, her sharp eyes glinting in the darkness. She sat with her back against the stone wall, her muscular frame tense but restrained. "Is it?" she replied, her voice laced with bitterness. "You lose track of time when you're locked underground in a cell."

Willem tilted his head slightly, his mask giving nothing away. "It is," he confirmed. "My name is Dr. Willem. What's yours?"

The orc let out a low, humorless laugh. "Now why would I tell my captors my name? What is this, human? What's the point of all this?" She squinted at him, her tusks gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Willem didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting to the adjacent cells. In one, two young orcs huddled together, their small hands clasped through the steel bars. They couldn't see each other, but their grip was firm, a silent reassurance in the oppressive darkness. When they noticed Willem looking, they shrank back, their wide eyes filled with fear.

"Those children," Willem said, his voice softer now. "They're with you, aren't they? Wouldn't you want them to be set free?"

The orc's expression shifted, the initial aggression in her eyes softening for a moment as she considered his words. But just as quickly, her face contorted back into anger. "Your kind put us here," she spat. "I don't see why you'd just set us free."

Willem remained silent for a moment, his masked face unreadable as he studied her. Then he spoke again, his tone steady. "Those scars," he said, gesturing vaguely toward her. "You're a warrior. When they captured you and brought you here, I went through your report. It said you were caught within Elkhum borders, spying. 'Fugitives of war' it said."

"Spying?" she snapped, her voice rising. "We were nowhere near civilization! I was hunting, for a specific deer. Its horns are... medicine. We needed that medicine."

Willem nodded slowly. "So, trespassing... that's a crime. But it's not a crime punishable by death or life in prison. Especially not for children." He glanced again at the young orcs, who were now watching the exchange with wide, fearful eyes. "Those two don't even look like warriors. You wouldn't bring two liabilities with you if you had ill intent."

The orc's jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her eyes narrowing as she waited for him to continue.

"I want to make a deal with you," Willem said, his voice taking on a warmer tone. "I will set you and these children free. And when you go back home, you'll put in a good word for us... humans. Now, I don't expect you to forgive all of us, but I'm hoping this will be a start, even if it's just with you. And when you get there, tell them Willem didn't see orcs. He saw people. Like us."

For a long moment, the orc said nothing. Her expression wavered, the anger in her eyes giving way to something softer, something uncertain. She glanced at the children, their small forms trembling in the shadows, and then back at Willem. Her heart, hardened by captivity and distrust, began to soften, if only a little. The promise of freedom, of safety for the children, was a glimmer of light in the oppressive darkness.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter now, less hostile. "Petra," she said, her gaze drifting to the side as if reluctant to meet his. "My name is Petra."

Willem nodded again, a small gesture of acknowledgment. "Petra," he repeated, the name carrying a weight of respect. "A strong name. It suits you."

Present day...

Petra was besides Micah, she still didn't quite feel sorry for him. He was human, she had no reason to do so. Humans were the vilest things there ever was, to hell with his compliments.

They walked in a scarce forest that was a frozen labyrinth, its skeletal trees clawing at the gray sky. Neil walked briskly, his boots crunching against the frostbitten ground. Beside him, three elves moved in silence, their lithe forms gliding effortlessly over the uneven terrain. Neil barely glanced at them, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression hidden behind the cold metal of his plague mask. The air was thick with tension, a palpable unease that seemed to seep into the very earth beneath their feet.

One of the younger elves, a child no older than ten, stumbled. His foot caught on a frozen branch, snapping it with a sharp crack. He fell hard, a small cry of pain escaping his lips as he hit the ground. The sound was soft, almost pitiful, but it was enough to make Neil stop in his tracks. He turned. Without a word, he kicked the child, the force of the blow sending the young elf sprawling again.

"Get the fuck up, you stupid thing," Neil snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "We don't have time for this."

The reaction was immediate. The adult elf, the woman with sharp features and eyes that burned like embers, stepped forward. Her hands ignited into white flames, the fire casting an eerie glow on her face. She aimed the flames at Neil, her voice low and dangerous. "If you lay another finger on him..."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Behind them, Hano, a burly figure clad in a long coat and goggles, raised an automatic steampunk gun, its gears clicking ominously. Aleck, unfazed, aimed his left arm at the elf, the mechanical limb transforming with a series of metallic clinks into a shotgun. The tension was suffocating, the forest itself seeming to hold its breath.

The other young elf began to cry, her voice soft and trembling. Eli, the tallest of the group, stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. "Stand down. All of you." His words were calm but firm, carrying the weight of authority. Even behind his plague mask, his concern was almost evident. He raised his hands, a gesture of peace, though the tension in his posture betrayed his unease. "No bloodshed. Not here."

Everyone turned to the elf with the white flames, her weapon still aimed at Neil. Micah and the orcs, who had been trailing by their left, now faced the scene, their expressions unreadable but their stances ready for conflict.

"Do it," Neil taunted, his voice a low growl. "I dare you."

The elf's eyes narrowed, her flames flickering as she stared him down. "Of course you do," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "How predictable of such a vile species. And yet, we're the animals." Her words carried a weight of pain, a history of suffering that resonated in every syllable. She glanced at the child, her expression softening. "But unlike you, I have more than hate to live for."

With a flick of her wrist, she extinguished the flames. The white fire vanished, leaving only the faint scent of smoke in the air. She knelt beside the young elf, her hands gentle as she helped him to his feet. "I'm sorry, Piku. Are you alright?" she asked, her voice now tender, her smile a mixture of concern and remorse.

"That was foolish of you, boy," Hano said, lowering his weapon. His voice was gruff, but there was a note of warning in his tone. "These creatures will kill you without a second thought. Don't repeat such folly again."

Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath them trembled. It was a subtle movement at first, but it grew stronger, more insistent. Everyone froze, their eyes darting to the ground.

"Something's beneath us," Eli said, his voice steady despite the urgency. "Something big."

The tremor intensified, the earth groaning as if in pain. Eli's voice rose above the noise, commanding and clear. "Spread out! Every plague doctor, take an elf or orc. Five meters apart!"

His words were met with immediate action. The group moved quickly, each member pairing off as instructed. Micah took Petra, the female warrior orc, his grip firm but not unkind. Eli grabbed a child orc, his large hands surprisingly gentle. Aleck took another child orc, while Hano paired with a young elf, the girl. Kira, took the adult elf, her movements swift and efficient.

Neil, however, grinned beneath his mask as he grabbed the child elf he had kicked earlier. The adult elf watched him with narrowed eyes, her concern evident. She could sense the malice radiating from him, a darkness that made her skin crawl. She wanted to protest, to demand that the child be placed in safer hands, but there was no time.

The formation was strategic, designed to minimize casualties. Whatever was beneath them would only be able to take out two of them at a time, giving the rest a chance to react. It wasn't perfect, but it was effective.

"Get ready!" Eli yelled, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Back at the school, the dim light of a laboratory flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the cold, sterile walls. Vale stood near an examination table, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Her plague mask dangled from her fingers, forgotten for the moment. She glanced at Charlotte, who loomed over her, the lenses of her own mask catching the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the high windows.

"He was sweating, shaking, and anxious," Vale said, her voice low but tinged with a hint of pride. "It's breaking him, and he'll come for more." She was referring to Marcus, the boy who had been their latest subject. Her eyes lingered on Charlotte, searching for approval, as if hoping for a nod, a word, anything to validate her efforts.

Charlotte tilted her head slightly, the movement sharp and deliberate. The lenses of her mask glinted like twin shards of ice. "I hope he's not the only one you gave it to," she said, her voice cool and measured. "We need more test subjects."

Vale straightened, her grip tightening on the mask. "No, of course not, Doctor. But the rest haven't yet started showing obvious signs of addiction. I only recently started giving it to them."

Charlotte's gaze bore into her, unyielding. "That's fine. And are you sure they won't report it to the administration or their peers?"

"Affirmative," Vale replied, her voice steady now, sure of herself. "They need it. And if they did report it, they won't get more."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curled beneath Charlotte's mask. "Hmm. You've done a decent job," she said, her tone carrying a rare note of approval. Vale felt a strange warmth spread through her chest, a tingle of pride that made her feel like a puppy being rewarded for a trick well performed.

"One of these nights," Charlotte continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "you, three more, and I, we execute the plan." She turned on her heel, her coat sweeping behind her as she began to walk away.

Vale's breath hitched. A flicker of worry crossed her face, and she took a hesitant step forward. "But... but isn't it too soon?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Charlotte stopped abruptly. Her head turned just enough to catch Vale in her peripheral vision, the lenses of her mask glinting ominously under the moonlight. "It's perfect," she said, her voice sharp and final. "I've had enough of this... regime." She paused, her tone turning icy. "Or are you backing out? Are you too afraid to express your loyalty?"

Vale's heart raced. She swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. "No! Of course not, Dr. Charlotte," she said quickly, her voice laced with both fear and desperation. "My loyalty lies entirely with you." The words tumbled out, almost pleading, as if her very existence depended on Charlotte's belief in her devotion.

Charlotte studied her for a moment longer, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire. Then, without another word, she turned and strode out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Vale stood frozen, the weight of what was to come pressing down on her. The moonlight bathed the room in an eerie glow, and for a moment, she felt utterly alone. But deep inside, a small, unshakable part of her clung to the warmth of Charlotte's approval, even as the shadows of doubt crept in.