What a fool I was for thinking that someway, somehow I could find the cure for the infection that was gripping my small town near London. I used to be a proud doctor and quite the salesman, but not since this epidemic. I walked into my shack of a home only to find the same mess I had left myself. Papers, vials, syringes, they all acted as a carpet over my dirt floor. The cages that held my test subjects rattled, confirming that they were still alive. I kissed the picture of my beautiful Daisy that was hanging right above the corridor in my home. This damned epidemic, which people referred to as “The Crimson Plague”, stole my wife and countless others in its swarm of the terrene. Back when I worked for the hospital, I made it my complete life goal to find the cure to this hell on Earth, and I did. I began distributing it to the masses, only to be found that the cure was deficient. It did absolutely nothing. The hospital fired me, leaving me broke and unable to take care of Daisy. I wanted to quit, but I knew I had to perfect my cure to avenge my spouse's death. And I would be relentless until I did so.