A gentle wind whispered among the grave landmarks, many of them new and unscathed by nature. Grass and dew tickled the shoes of the yard's lone occupant while a rising morning sun cast his face in a chilled pale light.

Winter's hold was slowly relinquishing from the world as newfound life sprung from the Earth at Spring's calling. Precious flowers budded on near barren trees, ivy began to decorate desolate stone, and animals began to show their young the nascent world before them. Spring stood tall before the globe, marking the end of bitter nights and encouraging life everywhere to take a step and bloom into the world.

If only this was true for humanity, as well.

. . . National losses have begun grasping at thousands, with no signs of letting up in the distant future. Most have started referring to it as the Black Plague of the 21st century. This has been Kat Synclover, reporting with Channel 12 news.

The figure stopped before a row of unsullied monuments, pausing before one in particular.

It spread so fast…

His mind registered the caw of a distant crow shortly before the dark bird was hounded and chased away by a family of blue jays.

How could we even hope to stop it?

Five gravestones in a line, each with their own array of flowers before them.

". . . How could we miss this…?"

"The police forwarded a report to us this morning. They found traces of immature forms of the pathogen in everything from water towers to underground reserves. By the time anyone showed any symptoms…"

He stopped in front of the first morbid landmark, brushing a strand of chocolate hair from his eyes. Shuffling the bundle of five flowers to a more comfortable position, he knelt by the first tombstone, laying a yellow rose by it.

Friendship.

". . . It was too late."

Moving to the next stone, the young man gently placed a white rose.

Innocence.

"Face it, Derek! You can't help them all! You'll work yourself to death!"

By the time he laid the light pink rose at the third tomb, the figure's insides began to twist with emotion.

Admiration.

He turned away, his voice hardly audible.

". . . It has you too, doesn't it…?"

He was shaking as the dark pink rose was set upon the fourth grave.

Gratitude.

Silence. The young surgeon pressed on anyway.

"I can't just give up! Not after I had to watch them die! Sidney only survived because he was on vacation at the time!"

"…Derek…"

"Tyler, Leslie, Victor, Naomi… I'm sorry…"

Derek looked up, his eyes pleading.

"Please…! There has to be something I can do for you!"

"…"

He opened his mouth again, but was cut off with a quiet reply.

"I'm sure you, Cybil, Greg and Dad will be able to stop this somehow… You've all survived GUILT before. You're safe…"

"No… I can't…"

His dazed, trembling form collapsed in front of the final grave in the solemn row. A sharp gust howled around the being, only to be blocked out by a numb mind. Limp fingers slowly traced the name of the perfect headstone, already being embraced by a beautiful pattern of ivy. A deep, crimson rose dully fell on the grave.

Love.

"I can't lose you, too!"

Derek Stile's forehead thudded softly against the bleak stone slab, his body refusing to respond as another wave of emotional agony slammed into him. A fist grasped at the thriving grass, tears splashing against morbid slate, time passed unaccounted for.

It was a time before the surgeon stood again, his gaze running over the final resting places of his friends, comrades, and loved ones. Tearing his eyes from the dismal sight, he forced his feet to continue on his way.

Derek couldn't help but disdainfully notice an elegant fountain spouting endless streams of crystal water for a colorful array of birds to bathe in.

Water, man's life blood, had become its silent assassin.