The Cure That Kills

Prologue

Every city has its ghosts—unsolved crimes, missing people, stories whispered in alleyways and morgues. In Lanton, they called it "The Protocol Murders." Patients were dying under miraculous care—victims of science turned sinister.

What no one knew: the killer wore a white coat and a charming smile.

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Chapter 1: The Bodies Don't Lie

Detective Lenda Carr stared at the coroner’s report with weary eyes.

"Another one?"

The fifth patient in two months. All dead. All in clinical trials for cutting-edge treatments. All promising signs of recovery—until their hearts stopped.

She leaned over the latest file.

**Patient #5: Male, 46. Clinical trial: Nanobot-assisted arterial cleansing. COD: Neurological failure.

"How does someone die from brain shutdown... without trauma?" she asked aloud.

The coroner shrugged. “The tech's too new. No benchmarks.”

But Lenda knew better. Coincidences didn’t stack like this.

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Chapter 2: Love in the Time of Madness

At 38, Lenda was good at her job—so good it came with loneliness. Long hours, dark truths, a badge colder than a wedding band.

Her only solace? Dr. Damien Lorre, a biomedical researcher at NewHope Clinic. Compassionate. Brilliant. Beautiful in that refined way—like he belonged in a museum or a nightmare.

They met at a fundraising gala, both pretending they weren't broken. But Lenda suspected Damien knew her better than she knew herself.

And she was falling. Fast.

“Lenda,” he’d say, brushing her hair back with surgeon’s precision, “Some diseases don’t deserve a cure. Some people do.”

She didn’t know then—he meant himself



Chapter 3: Research and Regret

Digging through case files and trial records, Lenda noticed a pattern.

Each victim was enrolled in a **different medical innovation program but all run by one institution: NewHope Clinic.

The killer wasn’t sloppy. He used cutting-edge treatments to mask his killings, altering the approach every time. The methods were experimental, ethical gray zones that blurred murder and medicine.

Nanobots. Genetic re-coding. Electro-synaptic mapping.

A serial killer who killed through progress.

And she feared he was someone on the inside.

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Chapter 4: Echoes in the Lab

One night, while Damien slept beside her, Lenda crept from bed and accessed his home lab. Her badge gave her leverage. Her gut gave her purpose.

She found notes—not research, but poetry. Twisted, scientific, beautiful.

One page was folded into fourths. She opened it slowly.

"What makes a man a savior or a sin?
The needle knows not where it’s been.
If healing hands can silence breath,
Do we not call that mercy’s death?"

Her hands trembled. It was a confession—in rhyme and reason.

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Chapter 5: The Whisper of the Scalpel

An elderly woman undergoing an immuno-resilience therapy. The supposed miracle drug? Injected by Dr. Damien Lorre just two hours prior to her death.

Lenda cornered the hospital administrator, demanding access to surveillance.

The footage showed Damien calmly, methodically, delivering the injection. Then—smiling at the camera.

She paused. Zoomed in.

His smile wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Directed.

To her.

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Chapter 6: When Love Is a Lie

“I trusted you,” she said, confronting Damien in his penthouse.

He poured wine, unbothered. “You still do.”

She drew her gun. “You’re the Protocol Killer.”

He sighed. “You think it’s that simple? These weren’t murders, Lenda. They were... selections. Extractions.”

He gestured to the glowing screen showing patient files.

“I used the latest research—because no one would question it. Because innovation gives us cover. These people were burdens, parasites, forgotten by society.”

She stared at him. “So you played God?”

He smiled, stepping close.

No, darling. I replaced Him.

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Chapter 7: The Final Procedure

He reached into his coat, but Lenda was faster.

Gun raised.

“Don’t,” she said.

But Damien pulled out not a weapon, but a syringe

“This is my final cure,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ll understand everything when you feel it.”

Tears formed in her eyes. “Damien, please. I loved you.”

“And I still love you,” he said. “That’s why you’re the only one I’d let stop me.”

She pulled the trigger.

The syringe shattered to the floor. His body collapsed next to it.

Lenda dropped to her knees, sobbing beside him.

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Epilogue: The Poem Left Behind

At the crime scene, officers found a sealed envelope in Damien’s desk addressed to “Detective Lenda Carr.”

Inside, another poem:

"I never sought a world without pain,
But a cleaner wound, a softer stain.
To you, I was a man reborn,
But monsters love where angels mourn.
I gave them peace, one final breath—
But yours will be my sweetest death."

Lenda folded the poem, tucked it in her coat, and walked into the early dawn.

She had caught the killer.

But she’d also lost the only man she ever loved.

And somehow, that felt like the final crime.