First Case Of The virus

EVELYN'S POV

The emergency department was unusually crowded when Adrian and I arrived.

Nurses moved between beds, doctors reviewed patient charts, and the sound of monitors filled the air. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary afternoon in a busy hospital.

Then I noticed the patients gathered behind a temporary partition.

Four people. Different ages, different backgrounds, but all presenting with similar respiratory symptoms.

My heart began to race.

"Where are their records?" I asked a nurse hurrying past us.

"On the station, Doctor. Dr. Hayes has already been informed."

Adrian stepped forward. "I'm here. Tell me what's happened."

The nurse led us toward the nearest bed.

"The first patient arrived about three hours ago with a high fever and persistent cough. Two more came in shortly afterward. The fourth arrived less than an hour ago."

"Are they connected?" I asked.

"Not that we've established. One patient recently returned from overseas, but the others haven't reported any common travel history."

I exchanged a glance with Adrian.

Four cases didn't prove an outbreak was beginning. Respiratory illnesses were common, and similar symptoms could arise from several unrelated conditions.

But the timing was troubling.

"Have they been tested for the usual respiratory infections?" I asked.

"Initial tests are underway. We don't have complete results yet."

"Good. Continue the standard diagnostic workup, and make sure the infection-control team reviews the cases together. We need to determine whether there's a connection without assuming one exists."

The nurse nodded before hurrying away.

I approached the first patient, a middle-aged man who was struggling with a persistent cough.

"Good afternoon. I'm Dr. Evelyn. I'm going to ask you a few questions, all right?"

He nodded weakly.

"When did your symptoms begin?"

"Three days ago," he rasped. "I thought it was just a cold. Then the fever started."

"Have you travelled recently?"

"Yes. I came back from a business trip last week."

I asked about his journey, his symptoms, and anyone he had been in close contact with. His answers were consistent with the information recorded in his chart.

Then I examined the available observations.

His fever was high, his oxygen saturation was lower than expected, and his breathing required close monitoring.

I kept my expression composed as I finished the assessment.

"Has he received anything for the fever?" I asked the nurse.

"Yes, Doctor. We're monitoring his response."

"Continue following the attending team's orders. If his breathing worsens, escalate immediately."

I moved to the next bed.

The second patient was a young woman who had developed a fever and cough the previous evening. The third was an elderly man whose symptoms had begun two days earlier.

Different patients and timelines.

Yet there were similarities.

I reviewed their records, paying particular attention to the sequence in which their symptoms had appeared.

My stomach tightened.

In my previous life, the earliest reports had described a similar pattern. The information had been incomplete, and many doctors had initially treated the cases as ordinary respiratory infections.

By the time the connection became undeniable, the virus had already spread far beyond the first cluster.

But memory wasn't evidence.

I couldn't tell the team that these patients had the same illness simply because their symptoms reminded me of what I had experienced before.

I needed facts.

"Adrian," I called.

He joined me beside the workstation.

"What do you think?"

"I think we need to investigate these cases together rather than treating them as four unrelated presentations."

He glanced at the charts.

"I agree. But we can't conclude that they're caused by the same pathogen until we have the results."

"I know."

He studied my face.

"You're thinking about the reports we reviewed yesterday."

"Yes."

He lowered his voice.

"Evelyn, if you believe there's a genuine risk, tell me. But we need to separate what we know from what we suspect."

I met his gaze.

"Then let's establish what we know."

For the next hour, we reviewed the available histories, checked the timeline of symptom onset, and coordinated with the relevant clinical teams.

I requested that the cases be assessed collectively by the hospital's infection-control specialists. I also recommended that appropriate precautions be maintained while the cause remained uncertain.

No dramatic announcements. No unsupported claims.

Just careful medicine.

Then I opened the Medical Evolution System.

[MEDICAL ANALYSIS AVAILABLE.]

[Four patients present with overlapping respiratory symptoms.]

[Current evidence is insufficient to establish a common cause.]

[Recommendation: Obtain verified diagnostic results and compare epidemiological histories.]

I read the message twice, then I closed the interface.

For once, the system wasn't offering me a shortcut. It was reminding me of something I already knew.

I couldn't save people by guessing.

I had to do the work.

---

Two hours later, the first preliminary results arrived.

They ruled out several common respiratory infections, but they didn't identify a definitive cause.

I read through the report, then checked the second patient's results.

The findings were similar.

Not identical, but similar enough to justify further investigation.

I called Adrian over.

"Look at these."

He scanned the documents, his expression growing more serious.

"That's unusual."

"Exactly."

"But it still doesn't establish that these patients have the same illness."

"I know. We need further testing."

He set the reports down.

"I'll speak with the laboratory team. We should also review whether the patients share any indirect exposure."

I nodded.

"Especially through travel, workplaces, or other close contacts."

He started toward the laboratory, then paused.

"Evelyn?"

"Yes?"

"Don't carry this alone. If the evidence supports a common source, we'll investigate it together."

I watched him leave.

A familiar ache settled in my chest.

In my previous life, Adrian had said similar things to me. He had always offered his help without asking what he would receive in return.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I expected another message from the hospital.

Instead, I found a notification from a social media platform.

Someone had posted a video of Vanessa confronting me in the parking lot.

The caption read:

MEDICAL RESEARCHER ACCUSES DOCTOR OF STEALING HER VIRUS FORMULA. WHO IS TELLING THE TRUTH?

I stared at the screen.

The video had already attracted thousands of views.

The comments were worse.

Why would a doctor steal someone else's research?

She's obviously jealous.

Maybe her supposed preventive treatment is fake.

If she really had something useful, why didn't she announce it first?

A few people defended me, pointing out that Vanessa hadn't provided evidence for her accusations.

But the damage was already beginning.

Someone had uploaded a shortened clip that showed Vanessa's emotional accusation and my response without including the beginning of the confrontation.

The edit made it appear as though I had aggressively challenged her out of jealousy.

I closed the app.

I had known the confrontation might attract attention. I hadn't expected it to spread so quickly.

"Evelyn?"

I looked up.

A nurse stood beside the workstation.

"Dr. Bennett wants to see you in his office."

My stomach sank.

"Did he say why?"

"He mentioned the video."

Of course he had.

"Thank you."

I took a breath, gathered the relevant documents, and headed upstairs.