Get Well Soon

Who: Someone familiar?
Where: Marquette General Hospital
When: Evening

After the chaos of the night before, everyone was on their guard, believing they would recognize danger when they saw it coming. The hospital staff had been notified to be on the lookout for large, dangerous animals, and to call for help immediately if spotted. A tall man in a doctor's white lab coat seemed to pose no threat. They needed all the help they could get, and if Ishpeming had sent a few extra hands, they weren't opposed. When he passed the nurses, he flashed them a shy smile before going on his way. Later, they would recount that he was tall, with blond hair and brown eyes, hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses.

The doctor went from room to room, spending a few minutes with some patients, longer with others. Before leaving each room, he administered a pain killer and wished them well. Ten minutes later, they flat-lined, causing a stir as the nurses rushed in to see what could be done, to determine the cause of death. Meanwhile, the doctor was next door, talking to the next patient. Sometimes the patients lived, ignorant to the difference in their treatment.

Later, the nurses would see a trend, that only those that had been bitten had died. None thought to consider the doctor, instead thinking the patients had been infected with a rare disease from the mutated animals that had attacked the night prior. It made little sense, but little did since the attacks started.

When the doctor was done, he took the back stairs rather than the elevator. He pulled off his rubber gloves, then stuck them in his lab coat. A block away, he removed the lab coat, ditching it in a dumpster three more blocks down. When he arrived home, he took a deep breath, then walked into the bathroom to wash his hands, dropping his glasses in the trash along the way. Leaning over the sink, he splashed water on his face, then looked at himself in the mirror.

Blond hair faded back to brown as Dorian ran his fingers through his hair, the glamour fading at his command. His eyes turned back their natural blue-ish green before he closed them, rubbing his palms over them in exhaustion. There had been far more than he'd expected, so many that deserved to live. But if that many cursed werewolves were allowed to run free on the next full moon, there'd be little left of Marquette in the end. He didn't think of how upset their families would be to lose them. Instead, he thought of how their families would live, rather than be ripped to pieces by their own kin. And there was no way he could get to them all. These were just those so injured that they were still in the hospital. He wouldn't worry about those that were never admitted, or had already checked out.

He was keeping the balance. That's what he told himself. And no one could tell him differently, completely unaware of what he had done.