The assistant holding the infrared thermometer hesitated for a moment. Was there really a need to snatch up such a simple task that could be completed in a second?
Politely declining, the assistant said, "It's fine. It'll only take a moment."
But Archie forcibly took the thermometer from the assistant's hand. Though he was taking, his forceful actions made it feel more like he was snatching it.
"I'll do it."
The assistant was speechless, rubbing his wrist, which got hurt in the process. Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "Fine, suit yourself."
Archie ignored the reaction of the others in the room. From as far back as he could remember, he had been surrounded by cold stares and disdain. He had long since stopped caring about others' opinions.
As long as he could achieve his goals, he was willing to pay any price.
For this reason, he had carefully cultivated an image of loyalty, even if it meant being treated like a dog. He didn't care.
Clutching the thermometer tightly, he walked step by step toward Stephan. Positioning his body to block the view of others in the room, he swiftly pulled the syringe from his pocket, removed the cap, and injected the contents into Stephan's IV drip.
The toxin was seamlessly mixed with the IV solution. In less than 30 minutes, Stephan would succumb to it.
When the time came, there would be no visible wounds or signs of foul play. The blame would fall entirely on the medical team present.
After completing the deed, Archie calmly capped the syringe and hid it back in his pocket. Then, holding up the thermometer, he turned to the assistant and reported, "Done. It's 97.8 degrees. Normal temperature."
The assistant nodded and jotted the temperature down in the record book without further comment.
Archie let out a deep breath of relief. Finding an excuse, he quickly left Stephan's room.
The syringe in his pocket needed to be disposed of immediately to avoid implicating himself when Stephan's condition was discovered.
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