The Doctor placed the black canister on the floor delicately, wary of what it contained—a virus of his own making. If it was somehow accidentally released into the atmosphere, his entire project would be jeopardized. How would he be able to continue his work?
This virus wasn’t for him. It was for everyone else.
He had spent months researching it. Cultivating it. Analyzing it and perfecting it. And now he was going to test it out. Just one step closer to his ultimate creation.
This wasn’t his end game, though. This was only the beginning.
The Doctor descended into the depths of his chosen hotel, feeling a chill emanating from every corner of its cold, concrete basement. With each step closer to what he deemed would be a groundbreaking experiment, anticipation churned inside him.
He unzipped a small black duffel bag and pulled out a screwdriver. He started unscrewing the vent attached to the wall. One by one, he withdrew the screws and set them aside. He pulled the grate off the wall and placed it gently on the ground.
The Doctor jumped as the door to the room he was in shut behind him. He turned to catch a glimpse of what had startled him.
“Hey! You there!” a voice called from behind him. “What are you doing?”
The Doctor took a deep breath, wishing he had been able to get through this setup without any disruptions. He was prepared for it, though. He rose and confronted the man approaching him.
“Hi there,” the Doctor said. “I’m with maintenance. There was a problem with the ventilation. I should be out of here shortly.”
The man wore a black suit and had nicely combed hair, brushed to the side. A name tag was pinned to his jacket—Russell. Attached to his belt was a walkie-talkie.
“Maintenance, huh? What’s your name?” Russell asked.
“Tim,” the Doctor replied.
Russell gave a friendly smile. “Hi, Tim. Problem is, I’m the general manager here and it would be entirely my responsibility to permit any maintenance work. Unfortunately, I haven’t authorized any such work related to the ventilation of this building. So I’m going to ask again—what are you doing?”
It was a shame. The Doctor would have preferred Russell to become infected, to see how the virus affected him.
Oh well, he thought. Just one less person to infect.
“I told you, I’m working on the ventilation. Here,” the Doctor added, “I’ll show you the paperwork.”
He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a small handgun, aimed it at Russell and fired two shots. Russell had no time to react before being struck twice in the chest. He stumbled backwards and fell to the floor.
He’d have to hurry now. Someone else would surely have heard the gunshot.
The Doctor placed the handgun back inside his coat pocket and returned his attention to the vent. He bent down and lifted the black canister, placing it inside. He swiped his thumb at a small screen attached to the canister, which lit up in response to his touch. A timer blinked on the screen. He tapped the screen again. It beeped and began counting down from five minutes.
Quickly, he replaced the grate and secured the screws. He gathered his tools and zipped up his bag.
The Doctor rose, clutching his bag, and approached Russell lying on the floor. He was still alive, barely. Blood was dripping from his mouth. His breathing was labored. His jacket was soaked in his own blood. It wouldn’t be long now.
The Doctor smiled at Russell—the same friendly smile Russell had offered moments before.
The Doctor left the room and headed for the nearest exit from the hotel.
He couldn’t wait to see the damage his virus would create. He wanted to watch people suffer. He needed to learn from it and perfect it much more.
Everyone in the hotel would soon be infected.
