Under the powerful lens of a microscope, pathogens came wiggling to life and their deadly structures became exposed to the naked eye. It was in labs all around the world that the most deadly diseases known to man had been eradicated, and thus preserved for further research if they should ever resurface. Working with these deadly viruses and bacteria day in and day out was the main responsibility of doctor Claire Woxell. In just fifteen years she had managed to make quite a name for herself, publishing papers, writing articles and earning a coveted position at the new CDC research facility and hospital in Georgia. While moving down south from the hustle and bustle of Chicago had been far from ideal, Claire was willing to do what was necessary in order to further advance her career as an infectious disease specialist.

“It's your lunch break, you know,” said doctor Delano, a distinguished man with a brilliant mind for medicine. “You ought to take it every now and then. The bugs will wait.” 

Claire had to disagree with her superior, a slight frown crossing her pale features after she looked away from her microscope. Doctor Delano wasn't the type to listen to her, or even take her claims about anything seriously, and refusing to take her lunch break at the proper time was just a small way to rebel. It had been at least six months since the redhead had attempted to impress the other man with her work ethic, now sure that he didn't care for her just because she was a woman. She was there to do a job, and she did it well regardless of what he thought of her.

“I'm fine,” Claire insisted lightly, blanking the cross expression from her face in order to replace it with a polite smile. “Enjoy your lunch, doctor.” 

Now she was alone, the lab once more silent. Claire did her best work when she was by herself, never one to go out of her way to interact with others, and to call her intense would be putting it mildly. The green-eyed woman often thought that was how it should be—in order to get ahead, she needed to be taken seriously, and earn the respect of those around her. Unfortunately, her philosophy didn't afford for many friends, and she had fallen out of contact with most of the people back in Chicago. However, that was a natural part of life, and Claire reasoned that there were other things to focus on.

Looking through the eyepiece of her microscope once more, Claire adjusted the objectives, taking a closer look at the cells of a rat that had been exposed to the H2N1 virus. Beside her delicate hand was a pad of paper, and poised between her fingers was a dull pencil, scratching away at the paper as she took note of the structures and looked for possible signs of mutation in the other cells. Claire leaned back in her chair, prepared to change slides when she was startled by the sound of the laboratory door banging open. She turned to look over her shoulder, eyebrow raised as she was met with the sight of a frazzled looking nurse.

“Can I help you?” she asked neutrally, not alarmed by the woman's state. It was common for hospital staff to be at their wits end this time of year when the ER was full of the flu, or backed up with those who had simply lose their health insurance. 

The nurse nodded, her a few blond hairs straying from her disheveled pony tail. “I'm looking for doctor Delano. There's a patient he needs to see.” 

The redhead stored the previous slide before looking back to the woman. “Doctor Delano just left for lunch. Who is the patient?” 

That seemed to relieve the nurses worries, “they just came in. Doctor Parens--”

“Is it that pink eye woman?” Claire asked, ready to take back her offer. “I don't get out of bed for conjunctivitis.” 

Shaking her head, the nurse now seemed frustrated. “No, it's a man. We don't know what he has. It's a mess upstairs, the phones are so backed up that it was faster to come down here myself and get one of you. He's bleeding from the eyes, doctor. [i]Please[/i]. Follow me.” 

Claire knew when to stow her attitude, and she quickly rose from her seat after grabbing her note pad from the table. “Anything else?” she asked, falling into step beside the nurse. They walked quickly back to the elevator as the blond woman explained the high fever and the sweating that wouldn't stop. The hemorrhaging was concerning, but it wasn't the first thing on her mind. There had been sporadic talk of a new virus over the course of the last year, something that had originated in Africa, a pathogen that she had specifically called attention to only to be ignored. If this was that, now on American soil, then this was only the beginning.

After being shown to the quarantine area five levels up in the building and donning a hazmat suit for her own protection, Claire entered the area to speak with David Bowman, the possible patient zero. “David, I'm doctor Woxell. I'm going to examine you, don't be afraid.” Her voice was clinical, lacking much sympathy as she did her job. Bedside manner wasn't something that she had ever excelled in, hence the reason Claire spent much of her time in a lab.

“Have you traveled out of the country within the last six months?” she asked, shining a light into the man's eyes and checking for pupil dilation after wiping away the constant and slow seep of blood. 

David nodded, “Ghana. On a goodwill mission with my church.” 

Claire checked his pulse and asked the man a few more questions, alarmed by what she was hearing. It sounded eerily similar to the report that had been dismissed. If this was something to worry about, if officials at the CDC had ignored the possibility of a new, deadly virus, there would be hell to pay in the court of public opinion. 

“How did you get here today, David? Did someone drive you?” she asked, flinching slightly as the man coughed from deep in his chest, the goggles protecting her eyes were left speckled with a bloody sputum. That wasn't promising either.

“My wife,” he answered after the coughing fit.

Claire nodded and set her hand on the man's shoulder, gently coaxing him to lie back in the bed. “We'll get this figured out. Sit tight.”

One round of disinfectant later, Claire shed her suit and looked over her notes before snagging another nurse walking by. “I need blood on that man if it hasn't already been ordered. I want his samples sent to me downstairs, understood? No one is to enter that room without the proper protocols. Find his wife and isolate her as well, along with anyone who has come into contact him with him since he arrived.” The nurse nodded. “And where is Doctor Parens?” 

The nurse had pointed her in the right direction, and Claire approached the brunette, a serious look on her face. “Parens?” she asked, wanting to be sure before holding out her hand. “I'm doctor Woxell with infectious diseases. Your case with patient Bowman just became [i]our[/i] case. I think it's time you and I go down to Emergency and try to get ahead of this thing.”