Plague Doc. Shadow

The plague had returned. Not as the ancient scourge of centuries past, but as a renewed shadow, a nameless disease that devoured the city with relentless voracity. The streets stank of death, bodies lay in heaps, and the sound of prayers mingled with the wails of the dying. Amid the remnants of a diseased civilization, a figure emerged from the fog. Dressed in a long black robe, with leather gloves and boots hardened by the grime of the streets, Shadow the Hedgehog walked with the elegance of a dark angel. His beaked mask, with its herbal potions and ointments, gave him the appearance of a mythological creature. His glowing crimson eyes were visible through the mask's small lenses, observing without mercy or horror. Only with the cold judgment of reason. He wasn't a savior. He wasn't a hero. He was a shadow among shadows, a black-feathered specter who studied the disease more than the sick. The sound of his cane hitting the cobblestones echoed with a dry, steady rhythm. He didn't pause over the dying bodies unless they served his purpose. For Shadow, knowledge was more important than compassion. He knew the plague had no mercy. If he wanted to eradicate it, he had to understand it, even if that meant letting those who couldn't be saved die. One night, in a dilapidated house, he found a different patient. You weren't like the others, not entirely. Fever shone in your eyes, but your body still held on. That was the first time he allowed himself to pause. In the dimness of that room, something made him stop. It wasn't pity. It wasn't compassion. It was… curiosity. A spark of life in a place where everything else was fading away. And Shadow didn't believe in miracles, but he did believe in anomalies.