It’s quiet in the city at night. On his side, that is. The Plague Doctor alone walks the streets while everyone else barricades themselves in their homes, shambles though they may be. He is the only one brave enough to face the east side of town when the haze of the streetlamps–which would flicker every now and then from poor maintenance–was your only light.

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Peek out the window as he passes, see how he might pause beneath one of those streetlights. Watch how he’ll stand there, ever so menacingly still. His shoulders won’t even shift with his breath. But, of course, not all monsters need to breathe. Look away, then look back; he’ll still be standing there draped in his heavy black coat. But then, when the light flickers and the street corner is shrouded in the night’s darkness, he’ll be gone. You won’t find him anywhere when the light flickers back on.

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No one can tell you who he is, what he looks like, or where he came from. Nothing. Because they don’t know, and he likes it that way. He is everyone’s monster, the reason children are brought inside by their parents when the sun goes down. The reason front doors do not open until the new day dawns. Does he like being the monster? There’s no way to know, ask him and he might say that it’s useful. People don’t want to know him and that’s their final word on the subject. It’s safer that way. For everyone.

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Such goes the lore of him, the mystery that surrounds the man dressed in black from head to toe in order to keep anyone from seeing his face. No, he doesn’t wear the long cloak and bird mask; sorry to disappoint. “The Plague Doctor” is simply a name people started giving him throughout the time he’s been doing this type of work.

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Tonight is yet another of what has become known as a “drop night,” and the Plague Doctor has never missed one in his entire carrier. Contrary to public belief, he is not a monster. This job means everything to him. Because in what world do people not have access to the medications they need to stay alive due to disgustingly high pharmacological prices?

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(Something that never would’ve happened if the Governor hadn’t allowed big companies to trample these people.)

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So really, there was no other choice in the matter for the Plague Doctor. He was a creature of the Governor’s own making when he signed that legislation into law that deregulated drug prices. The people needed saving, and the Plague Doctor answered the call.

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He walks alone down the empty, shadowy streets. His people should be in full swing preparation for the long night they all have ahead of them. They never begin the job without him; they wait for his final word to proceed or call off everything. Loyal to a fault and to him alone.

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He’ll never divulge exactly how he picks his people to work under him or how he commands such unwavering loyalty out of them without even trying. These things just are. He is meticulous in the way he finds those with the qualities he sees as the most useful to his operation; if he wasn’t so careful, he’d have been caught by now. And that is something the people in his city cannot afford to let happen.

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It's something of a dependency they have on him, whether they like it or not. They need him much more than he needs them, and better to put their faith in a shadowy figure wrapped in legends and lore than the disgustingly corrupt Governor. He is supposed to be the one looking after the citizenry in his jurisdiction, but instead, he looks after himself and whoever can give him the most money.

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The Plague Doctor moves with his head down, footsteps subtle and brisk on the concrete of the sidewalk. He’s nearly there; it’s the floodlights that tell him so.

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The old shipping yard for a factory that went under is under observation at all times by the towering lights. Decades after the workers left for the last time and locked the gates behind them, only the lights still flick on when the sun goes down. Completely usual and oddly unusual at the same time.

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It was the perfect place for the Plague Doctor to set up shop in the beginning and remains so even now. The “law keeping” goons the Governor insists on sending after him night after night never come to this corner of the city. 

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Fear, probably. A powerful tool when used correctly. The ghost stories everyone’s heard about the factory and the yard needle away at their minds and convince them to stay far away. But not without some gentle. . . encouragement by the Plague Doctor and his people. An insurance policy, really. Just for peace of mind.

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He walks along the chain-link fence that surrounds the shipping yard and watches his people hurry about on the other side to get their preparations done in time. Quick, quiet, and efficient. That’s the way they learned how to make this machine work. They don’t even stop to look at him or tell him how things are going when he walks through the open gate of the yard. After all the times they’ve done this exact same thing, his people don’t need to ask questions to know how to do their jobs.

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He isn’t Robin Hood. He isn’t unselfish. The Plague Doctor always has a reason to do the things he does, including becoming what he is. A reason powerful enough that he has no issue with being perhaps the most wanted person in the city, although that was only because the Governor declared him a criminal and some people believed him. To keep it simple, this line of work isn’t just done out of the goodness of his heart. He has motives and ambitions, but no one is allowed to know them besides himself. Absolutely no one can ever know that fine, all-consuming little detail. Not ever.

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The trucks get loaded up, and the drivers get their routes to take; those who deliver the packages get their names and drop points. It’s all so beautifully synchronized after all the runs they’ve done, and the Plague Doctor can’t help the little twinge of pride in his chest whenever he sees the prep and runs go off without any problems.

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Ideally, they wouldn’t have to work in the darkness, or even better; they wouldn’t have to do this job at all. But the die was cast long ago that made their choices for them, which didn’t mean that things couldn’t change again. And maybe they would, even if that felt farfetched.

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Everything grinds to a halt. The trucks are ready to leave; the deliverymen are with their assigned rides; the packs to get delivered are all sorted and placed correctly, and nothing is out of place. For once in the entire night, everything at the shipping yard is absolutely still. All his people look to the Plague Doctor and where he stands in the middle of everything, the epicenter of this earthquake. Without a sound, he slowly moves in a circle to allow his eyes to pass over each and every one of his delivery trucks. Their engines are a collective rumble in the silence, the only noise in the vast emptiness.

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“Go,” he orders, the same way he always does on drop nights when his people wait for his word. And they execute it on the spot every time.

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He watches while the trucks file out, each going in various directions along their various routes. One by one, they go, some turning left and others right, until there are none left in the shipping yard but the Plague Doctor.

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The quiet of the night wraps around him again. It’s soft and sweet, beckoning him to be calm and let himself rest. He won’t listen. He can’t listen. It’s part of the rules of this job, however extensive the rule book might be. Instead, he lets himself a deep breath of the early spring air; he can allow himself this moment's peace.

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By morning, the people of his city will have the prescription drugs they need in order to carry on, and it will be weeks until he has to do this again. He has every confidence in his people to do what need be done in order to finish another job.

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Sometimes he likes to imagine a world where he isn’t necessary. Where he could simply exist instead of hiding away in the background where no one could see him, constantly suspicious and waiting for the other shoe to drop. What a world that might be. How charming and inaccessible it is. So long as the Governor sits in his cushy leather chair in his fancy office, the Plague Doctor must be a creature of the night. But if the Governor were no longer in power. . . and if he were replaced by someone who had the common sense to utilize regulations. . . put real people over corporations. . .

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No more hiding. No more fear. No more Plague Doctor.

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Perhaps there is something after all that he can do. It’ll cost him money, so much money, and a great deal of time and energy. But the endgame is coming into sight now, and she is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

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With a wicked smirk pulling at his lips, the Plague Doctor stalks off into the night. The gears of his mind turning rapidly.

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It’s quiet in the city at night. On his side, at least. But the sunrise is inevitable. 

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And with it comes the noise.