After hours of tending to victims of this vicious, invisible killer, our weary empiric breaks away from the god-awful sights and miasma. Why or how did it get to be so bad? Was God punishing us? The treatments failed time and time again, it seemed the harder they worked, the more the bodies steadily piled up. Even the flora around them decays, as there is no one to tend to it. None of that matters now, though- Because right now, right at this very moment, he is free. He is not a doctor, he is not a scientist, he is not the terror that walks through the streets that everyone fears, he is just a man, a tired man who needs this moment of solitude to himself, or else he'll go mad. He is off duty