The steadfast conviction that the rumors were not just tales and that the infection from the North had truly reached here, to °22-1-20-21-14, strengthened in my mind.
The gathering of security forces behind the hospital, the military vehicles in the city, the blocked roads and neighborhoods – there could be no doubt left. The fact that we had managed to get in was truly a miracle. It felt as if fate itself had intervened.
The corridor seemed endless. A series of closed doors, staircases, and passageways… When the right office finally came into view, I exhaled quietly, releasing the tension. I knocked. Without waiting for an answer, I opened the door and took a cautious step inside.
A man, around forty years old, was putting papers into a small safe beside his desk.
“May I?” I whispered as I gently closed the door behind me. The doctor turned around, adjusting his square glasses in their neat frame and quickly shutting the safe's door. “Dr. Givori, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Good morning,” He nodded, tossing the key onto the desk and settling into a tall leather chair. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Stephanie Shayer. An independent journalist, correspondent, and simply an interested party.” I gracefully took one of my most recent business cards from my pocket and stepped forward to hand it to him. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“I was given a different description of you…” He muttered to himself, studying the card closely and thinking intently about something in parallel. “But it doesn’t matter.” He carelessly flicked the card aside and nodded to the chair across from him. As I examined the office, my attention was caught by Givori’s hand: his palm was bandaged, the cloth already soaked with blood.
“Thank you,” I said, settling into the chair under the man’s intense gaze. I looked straight into his eyes.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Snippets of ordinary conversation drifted in from the street through the open window.
“Medical ethics prevent me from disclosing my patients' secrets,” Givori said curtly. “I trust you’re aware of that.”
“Oh, certainly,” I replied, letting the corner of my lips twitch up. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in specific individuals. I came to you for a different reason.”
“I remember,” The man let out a short, humorless laugh. “Unfortunately, I was informed this morning that all materials regarding the outbreak of the unknown disease must not be disclosed.” He cast a quick glance toward the corner of the office, where I noticed a small camera with a green light blinking, and then at the safe. That was enough to understand what was being kept locked away. “As you can imagine, this directive came from the local Inquisition department of the Reapers, and it was by no means a request. Disclosing any information would have serious consequences,” Givori paused for a moment. “I’m afraid to disappoint you, but aside from the existing, already-circulated theories and assumptions, you won’t learn anything new.” His voice took on an air of feigned disappointment, but in the expressive depths of his eyes, there was a profound weight to his words.
“So, the incidents did happen, and the patients’ madness isn’t just stories and ghost tales but a real outbreak of a disease brought from the North?”
Givori nodded almost imperceptibly.
“You’re not the first to try and find out what’s really going on.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just have to be the first to find answers to all the questions,” I said with undisguised determination.
A chill ran down my back, while my neck and face burned with heat. All or nothing. Because taking this kind of reckless risk had two outcomes: on one hand, it could land me by evening in a cell facing a Reaper interrogator. On the other, the fact that the intelligence service was actively working to prevent any information leaks only confirmed its existence here.
We didn’t endure four grueling days on the road, braving barriers, restrictions, and traffic jams, for nothing.
Givori remained stubbornly silent, and I clicked my tongue:
“Do you really think I’d reveal the name of my informant?” He raised an eyebrow, casting a meaningful glance toward the camera in the corner. “Dr. Givori, the country is in panic, and it won’t be long before that panic escalates into uncontrollable chaos. Do we really want another scenario like the southwestern territories?” I said it more to the small, flashing camera in the corner than to the doctor. “Or another situation with aggressive opposition groups? People are terrified. Rumors of an epidemic are spreading everywhere. Loyal citizens need at least some concrete answers, not scraps of gossip that only grow into more horror stories and fabrications. If you know something, it’s a chance to help others. Besides,” I added, “You won’t deny that your patients are in a state teetering on the edge of death and are attacking others, trying…” I paused briefly, taking a deep breath and exhaling almost silently, “…to bite them.”
His response didn’t come immediately. The ticking of the clock seemed louder, and I flinched again, now certain I could hear gunshots in the distance.
"I won’t," the man nodded. "And I can tell you one thing: this is clearly not a psychiatric disorder, as many believe," he continued, his voice feigning boredom. Quickly, I pulled a battered leather notebook and pen from the inner pocket of my jacket, ready to jot down every word as he spoke. "First of all, mental illnesses cannot be transmitted from person to person. Second, it’s impossible for so many people to develop the same mental disorder practically at the same time. And third," he continued, "as you rightly pointed out, the carriers are in a state that teeters on the edge of death. And I’ll tell you," Givori’s face twisted with an expression of terror and panic as he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead, "the term ‘on the edge’ is an extreme understatement. Can the equipment really lie to us?"
His face contorted further, reflecting his horror. His voice became hoarse, breaking as he spoke. His fear seeped into me; I could feel it building inside, scratching and twisting.
“A sudden outbreak. One day, everything’s calm, and the next, we have an entire ward full. By the third, police and military are cordoning off entire neighborhoods and districts. Rumor has it special units have arrived in the city. They’re saying… very special units.” He spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “And we, we can’t even take proper samples from the infected… They’re extremely aggressive,” Givori muttered, rubbing his bandaged hand. ”And bloodthirsty. A significant portion of the medical staff has contracted the infection. Five died on the spot from patient attacks. We managed to isolate the infected wing, and now the best specialists and military forces are working there…”
The silence lingered, and the background noise grew more distinct, forcing me to turn toward the door.
“Well… That sounds like a headline story,” I replied with effort, looking at Givori intently and seriously. “If you could call me when anything unfolds, I would be immensely grateful. Of course, any information shared would be within the bounds of your medical oaths,” I added, raising my hands with open palms.
“I’d really tell you more, but I’m concerned for my safety and that of my family,” the man admitted suddenly, his voice surprisingly candid. “Besides, this borders so much on pure madness that your headline might be dismissed as sensationalist.”
At that very moment, the door to the office burst open, and in the doorway stood a nurse whose coat was noticeably soaked… in blood. She was breathing heavily, her wide, panicked eyes staring past us.
“Dr. Givori!” She cried. “The patients from the third wing are trying to break