"It's truly a miracle cure."
That was Dr. Sinclair's first words when he saw the drug that Dr. Smith had created.
A drug, created to be given to people, ones who had died to soon. Children, young mothers, people that loved ones weren't ready to let go of.
The drug was a cure, a cure for death; the Lazarus Cure was what Dr. Smith called it.
"Doctors, you have to see this," a young lab assistant said.
Dr. Smith and Dr. Sinclair hurried up to the cages, where the assistant was standing.
Inside were rats, ones that the drug had been used on.
"They're tearing each other apart," the assistant said, backing away from the cage.
"Linda, leave now, tell no one what you saw," Dr. Smith said, and she nodded, her blue eyes wide with terror as she scurried for the door.
"Raoul, we can't let this drug be made public," Dr. Sinclair said, looking at Dr. Smith with worried green eyes as he ran a hand through his brown hair, and Dr. Smith smiled.
"Why not Peter," he asked, nonchalantly, as if they were discussing the weather.
"Those rats," Dr. Sinclair said, "they're killing each other. It's obvious that the drug is making them do that. If this drug is made public, if it's used on humans..."
He shook his head, unable to continue.
"It won't Peter," Dr. Smith said, "I guarantee it."
"How can you?" Dr. Sinclair asked, "how can you guarantee it?"
Dr. Smith smiled an almost wicked smile.
"Because," he said, "the people who have given me the most money for the drug. The people who want to bring the dead back to life. They're already murders."
Dr. Sinclair took a step back, his face turning white.
"Raoul, this was a cure, a cure meant for good," he said and Dr. Smith laughed, a chilling sound in the room.
"My dear, naive Peter," he said, "there's no money in using the cure for good."
He laughed again, and then moved quickly, grabbing Dr. Sinclair's wrists and swinging him around.
"And since you won't join me," he said, "you have to die."
With those words he pushed Dr. Sinclair into the cage with the crazed rats.
The doctor screamed as the table broke, sending the rats and the cage crashing onto the floor.
He screamed again as the rats swarmed on him, biting him, as blood poured from his torn flesh.
Dr. Smith watched dispassionately, as the other doctor's, screams turned to gurgles, then died away completely.
"It's a shame," he murmured, "good rats are so hard to find."
For a moment, there was silence, and then a young blonde woman walked out of the shadows.
"You did what you had to do Dr. Smith," she said in a thick German accent. "It's a shame that Dr. Sinclair wasn't interested in joining us. The German army could've used doctors of both your intelligence.
Dr. Smith turned and looked at her.
"The cure is yours Helga," he said, "yours and the German army's."
"Where is the cure Dr. Smith?" She asked, and he walked her to a safe.
"In here," he said, opening it up.
She smiled again.
"Very good," she said, before taking a gun out and shooting him.
She stepped over his dead body and looked inside.
"Where is it?" She demanded, not seeing anything in the safe. "Where is it?"
Hearing a noise behind her, she turned just in time to see the assistant Linda run out of the lab.
With a frustrated snarl, Helga yelled out in German for her men, and then chased after her.
Running out into the street, followed by her men, she looked around, but saw no one.
"She couldn't have gotten far," Helga said, "find her and kill her, then bring the drug back to me."
The men saluted and ran down the street in one direction as Helga ran in the other.
No one saw the almost hidden alley where Linda had crouched. No one saw her creep out, carrying the notebook where Dr. Smith had written his notes on how to recreate the drug.
She quickly ran across the street and disappeared into the darkness.