Elizabeth was silent. She stared down the long corridor illuminated by dim fluorescent lights. Somewhere in the distance came a muffled groan that turned into a rasp.
They walked down the hallway. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the silence.
The first ward.
Michael kicked the door open. Inside, four people lay on cots. They had once been human. Now they were just pieces of meat and plague pillars.
One of them, a man in his forties, was covered in black, pulsing veins that writhed under his skin like living worms. His eyes were completely black.
He turned his head toward the intruders and made a low, gurgling sound. Black saliva dripped from his mouth.
"Good evening," Michael said politely.
"Gérard sends his regards and asks me to tell you that the experiment is over."
He drew a short silver cleaver from under his coat and in one smooth motion slit the first subject's throat.
Blood gushed like a fountain, splattering the walls, ceiling, and Michael's face. The man convulsed several times, choking on his own blood, and went still.
His black veins continued to pulse for a few more seconds, as if even in death they were trying to suck out as much energy as possible.
All six people whom Ethan and Bruno had met in the catacombs were dead, even those infected with the plague pillar.
The second subject, a woman with a torn mouth and gouged-out eyes, tried to sit up. Her body was so mutilated she looked more like a broken doll with pieces of rotting flesh sticking out.
"Please…" she rasped through her ruined lips.
"I… I'm still human… please don't…"
Michael smiled.
"Not anymore, darling."
He plunged the cleaver into her stomach, twisted the blade, and slowly dragged it upward, splitting her body open to the sternum. Her intestines spilled out onto the floor in a hot, steaming mass.
"Aaah! Nooo!" the woman screamed. She tried to hold her guts in with her hands, but they slipped between her fingers.
Michael watched with mild interest, as if observing a scientific experiment.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, turned away. Her hands were shaking.
"Michael… enough…" she said quietly.
"They're already dying. Let's just finish this quickly."
Michael wiped the cleaver on the sheet and looked at her with slight surprise.
"It's necessary, darling. Gérard said everyone must be eliminated."
"If you don't want to help, just stand and watch. I'll manage on my own. Besides, I even enjoy it."
He moved on to the next ward.
Six people lay inside. Two were already dead, their bodies swollen and blackened, as if some black mold had devoured them from within.
Four were still breathing.
One of them, a very young man, barely twenty, saw Michael and started screaming. His voice was high-pitched and breaking, full of animal terror.
"No! No! Please! I won't say anything! I don't know anything! I just want to live!"
Michael stepped closer.
"Easy," he said almost tenderly.
"You won't be saying anything anyway."
He drove the cleaver into the boy's stomach and slowly pulled the blade upward, opening him to the sternum. His intestines spilled onto the floor with a wet slap.
The boy screamed so loudly that Elizabeth's ears rang. He tried to hold his guts in with his hands, but they slipped through his fingers, hot and slippery. Michael watched with a faint smile.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said to Elizabeth.
"Look how they still try to live. How they cling to life."
"It's almost touching."
Elizabeth turned away and vomited. Even though she was a vampire herself.
"You're a monster…" she whispered.
Michael laughed.
"Me? No, darling. The monster is Gérard."
"I'm just his right hand."
He continued his work. Each killing was methodical and cruel. He took his time and savored it.
One by one, the subjects died in agony, screaming, gasping, begging. The room quickly filled with the smell of blood, feces, and fear.
When the last ward was cleared, Michael wiped his hands on one of the victims' white coats and took a small black cylinder from his pocket.
"That's it. The final floor is done."
"Time to end this circus."
He pressed the button.
First came a low, heavy rumble. Then a series of powerful explosions, one after another. The building shuddered. Windows blew outward like shrapnel.
Fire began to spread rapidly through the floors, devouring everything in its path, beds, bodies, documents, equipment, and the final screams of those still alive inside.
Michael and Elizabeth exited through the back door just seconds before the central part of the roof collapsed.
They stood on the street and watched as St. Paul's Hospital turned into a massive blazing inferno. The screams of those still alive inside quickly died out, drowned in the roar of the flames.
Michael took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag.
"It burns beautifully," he said almost dreamily.
"Just like the good old days, when we still threw real hunts."
"Remember, Elizabeth? When we burned entire neighborhoods?"
Elizabeth was silent. She stared at the fire, the flames reflected in her eyes. A single tear slowly rolled down her cheek.
"We killed them all," she said quietly.
"Even those who might still have been saved."
Michael shrugged.
"Gérard gave the order. We carried it out. As for the rest…" He exhaled smoke into the night sky, "that's just business."
In the distance, the sirens of fire trucks and ambulances were already wailing.
Michael turned to Elizabeth and gave her his signature cold smile.