A large building stood in the center of the city, surrounded by debris and broken-down houses, it was the only house within a mile that had a roof with no holes in its infrastructure.
On the building's exterior was a sign featuring an image of a syringe, with a small wooden bench nearby for smoke breaks and lounging.
As he approached the door, Victor saw a man emerge, his hand in a cast and the other hand pressed against his buttocks, indicating he had received an injection there. Victor shivered at the sight, his aversion to needles—though irrational—was rooted in a deep-seated trauma.
Victor approached the building, with Katherine following closely behind. As he stepped through the door, he called out, "Doc, I'm here."
"I'm in my office." A raspy voice responded.
Victor walked toward the deep end of the hallway, taking a sharp right that led into a small smoke-filled room and sitting on the chair behind a large desk was, Alan Crow Milburn. The only doctor in Solemn.
Calling Alan the only doctor in Solemn might have been an understatement. Throughout all his travels, Victor had not encountered another doctor or clinic. The city relied entirely on Alan for medical treatment; without him, survival would have been impossible. Hence, why the haven was named after him.
"Why are you smoking?" Victor inquired, looking at the cigarette butts on his desk.
"Trying to kill myself without making it seem like a suicide," Alan mumbled, reaching for another cigarette but Victor knocked it away.
"I have something for you." He slammed the Constantine papers on the desk, pushing away the cigarette butts onto Alan's lap.
Alan adjusted his glasses and looked over the papers. As he read each one, his eyes widened in surprise. "So it exists," He murmured.
"Just like you said it would." Victor placed the vial of Constalin onto the desk. "Only one Vial's been made though."
"Hm, from what I see in these papers. That's about the only vial we can make." Alan spoke, dropping the papers onto the desk, noticing as prying eyes gazed upon him. "Who's the girl?"
"Oh." Victor turned around, pushing Katherine to the forefront. "I was going to introduce you much later but I guess we can do it now. This is Katherine, Angelo adopted her and she probably has something to do with the creation of Constalin."
Alan looked at the papers once more, putting his fingers in between his eyebrows and rubbing his head. His scruffy blonde hair and unkempt beard glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window. Slowly, he stood up, his lab coat brushing against the desk. "Hey, Katherine. Can I borrow Victor for a moment? Don't worry, we won't be long."
Katherine nodded as she watched them leave the hallway, leaving her alone in a room filled with tobacco smoke and more books than she had ever seen. Since she never learned to read, it felt like being a child in a toy store with no idea how to play.
Alan walked out of the building, lighting another cigarette as he made his way to the bench outside. He sat down and took a puff, watching as Victor emerged through the door and joined him on the bench.
"What's up?" Victor spoke, staring into the distance.
"How's your health?" Alan asked, exhaling a ring of smoke that drifted away into the air.
"Couldn't be worse than yours." Victor snapped back.
"This is serious, Victor." Alan threw the cigarette down, using his foot to put out the flame. "On top of your already shortened life span, if you don't ingest a vial of blood every day. You'll die."
"I know, I took a vial earlier."
"That's good," Alan spoke, sighing. "How's your mental? Still having trouble sleeping?"
"Not really. I still see that night whenever I close my eyes but trouble sleeping. Not so much anymore."
"That's good," Alan repeated, his voice still. "You know, it's not your fault. What happened that night, wasn't a preventable situation, no one knew it was going to happen."
"Doesn't matter does it? I reacted as fast as I could and I still wasn't quick enough." Victor lamented. "That's why I'll kill them all, each one of them."
"That's the problem, Victor. That obsession will get you killed, you might be superhuman but trust me, you can die in more ways than a regular human could."
"I just have to do as much as I can before I die then," Victor said.
"You can't do much from a casket, Victor, and that's if we could even recover what's left of your body."
"Why did you bring me outside here, Doc? To remind me about that night?" Victor looked at Alan briefly before looking away. "Trust me, I don't need help remembering. Every time I close my eyes, I can hear him scream."
"Daddy! Daddy!" A voice whispered and Victor looked to his side, he could see a perfect representation of that night three years ago. They had been leaving the main city to come to Solemn, and in their carriage was he, his son, and a few other people.
The night was dark, painfully so and their torches barely illuminated the night. The horses did their best to go through the darkness but unfortunately, they weren't the only things on that passage that day.
Growls could be heard as large footsteps approached them, the horses neighed, trying their best to run with the heavy carriage but they weren't fast enough, the monster swung its fist, breaking off a part of the carriage and on that part was Nathan, Victor's son.
He could hear his son cry for help as the monsters grabbed him, he dove out of the carriage as quickly as possible, trying his best to save his son but it was all but too late. They had ripped him to shreds and when he had gotten there, one of them had bitten into his arm.
He could remember the pain as his elbow was bitten, and then, in the next moment, an arm grabbed him and pulled him onto a horse, racing away. That arm belonged to none other than Alan, the doctor of Solemn.
"I'd tell you it'll pass, but even I don't know if it will," Alan said.
"You sure that's not because you didn't finish medical school?"
Alan chuckled, "Three years was all I needed, and look at me, a whole town on my back. Relying on me..."
"You doing okay?" Victor asked, noticing Alan's somber mood.
"I'm far from a good person, Victor," Alan muttered, looking into the sky. "I've done things I could never take back, I wanted to kill myself the day after the Great Lament. To be done with my sins... but look at me, being tossed into Solemn. Saving more lives than I've taken."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
Alan shook his head. "Preserving a life will never make up for the death one has caused, I am damned."
Victor cast another glance at Alan. They had been friends since school, and even after Alan dropped out, their bond endured. It was a friendship that had withstood the test of time.
"But what am I saying." Alan prompted. "We came outside because I didn't want to startle... Katherine was it?"
"Yeah... I get the gist, her blood is a main part of the compound. So why did you say it couldn't be replicated?"
"Her blood is 98% the concentrated amount of Constalin, amongst a few other ingredients," Alan explained. "The issue is, in order to make another vial or rather, enough vials for each one of the Monarchs. We'd have to take more blood than she currently has."
"What do you mean?"
"Angelo took a shot of her blood every day for two years. At least that's what his research papers say, if we want six other vials, we'd have to spend double that amount of time and even then we'd be taking a lot of blood from her. More than he did."
"..."
"Or if you want them right now, we'd have to kill her. Taking all the blood she currently has could probably make all six doses."
"But why her? Why's her blood toxic to them?" Victor pondered.
"I would have to run tests on her to determine that but for now, I don't have even the slightest idea. Angelo was a way smarter man than I am and even he couldn't figure it out." Alan mused.
"How long would it take?" Victor inquired.
"For what?"
"For all six doses."
Alan avoided looking at Victor; he didn't want to see the empty, vengeful eyes of his friend, it would only further deepen his own sorrow. "I could make them all tomorrow," He said, "But you know what that would mean."
"What are the other ingredients?"
"Victor..."
"Just... I don't have a lot of time, Alan. You know this better than anyone. You said it yourself, right? I have a year left," Victor said, his eyes fixed on a clock ticking silently across the hospital, in one of the houses. "I need to kill the Monarchs—all seven of them—and I don't have four years to spare."
"Still..."
"Just... tell me what I need to find, and I'll get it for you." Victor stood up, the clock on the wall seeming to pause momentarily before resuming its steady tick.