Known And Suspected

The sterile hallway leading to Level Five had been dormant for years. It smelled like copper and age, like something meant to stay sealed. But now the doors were open. The lights were on. And the world was shifting faster than anyone thought possible.

Dr. Elias Korkmaz walked at a steady pace, flanked by two guards in matte-black biohazard suits on either side of him. He didn't speak to anyone and didn't even bother to glance their way. However, neither of the armed guards was really put off by his behaviour. Everyone knew not to mess with KAS. Not if they wanted to live.

He had already sent the protocols ahead: no external access, no transmission capability, no recording systems active once inside the lab. The moment he stepped into that room, it would be just the three of them—him, Davis, and the woman who'd managed to make the entire world hold its breath without firing a single shot.

Dr. Leyla Orhan.

Through the final set of reinforced doors, the chamber opened wide.

The lab had been stripped to essentials: steel surfaces, portable analyzers, chemical storage locked behind retina-scanned cabinets. In the center, a single white table had been rolled in. At its head sat Dr. Orhan, her legs crossed neatly, and her expression unreadable.

Elias paused in the doorway, nodding once to the guards behind him. They left without a word.

"You're early," Leyla said without looking up. She was holding a sheet of test results—a mockup Elias had prepared to gauge her reaction.

"You're the one who wanted a lab," he replied evenly, stepping inside. "Time was part of the deal."

She placed the paper down and folded her hands, fingers interlaced, resting on the table like a priestess before a sermon. "Then let's not waste it."

Footsteps echoed behind Elias as Dr. Davis entered, his lab coat crisp, glasses already fogging from the sudden shift in humidity. He paused just inside the threshold. His face gave nothing away.

"Dr. Orhan," he said politely, his head dipping in a brief nod.

"Dr. Davis," she replied, her voice smooth. "You've changed your glasses."

Elias raised an eyebrow, but Dr. Davis said nothing, simply took the seat across from her. He looked every bit the academic, serious, and methodical, but Elias had seen the man's other file. He was chosen for more than just his intelligence.

"I assume you know why you're here," Elias said, taking the third chair at the side of the table. "We're not here to make threats. But if we don't get answers, this facility closes. You go into deep containment. You never leave."

Orhan tilted her head. "If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't have walked in."

Elias didn't smile as he looked at the other woman. "Forgive me if I remembered it wrong, but you didn't walk in here at all. You were taken. By me and my team. So talk."

Leyla looked at Davis first. Not flirtatious. Not warm. Just… measured.

"You were always ahead of the curve," she said. "I read your model on mutagenic respiratory drift. You wrote it what, ten years ago?"

"Thirteen," Dr. Davis said quietly.

"It's finally useful."

She reached into a folder they'd already cleared, pulling out a single sheet. Elias leaned forward to read it. Handwritten formulas, rapid calculations, chemical breakdowns. She wasn't just speaking theoretically.

"You've already sequenced the current strain?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I sequenced the one that's coming."

Both Dr. Davis and Elias stiffened.

"The WRM-7 is already adapting," she continued, her voice calm and blank. There wasn't a hint of emotion in her voice or on her face. "It was designed to respond to resistance. You've slowed it with isolation, and that's impressive. But you've also trained it. Taught it how to survive. Every time you beat back a mutation, it learns. It doesn't die—it evolves."

"And you think you can stop it?" Elias asked, watching her eyes.

"I can stall it," she answered. "If you give me what I need."

"And if we don't?"

"Then it hits phase four before winter."

The room stilled.

Dr. Davis cleared his throat. "You said stall, not cure."

"Yes," Dr. Orhan replied. "I didn't bring salvation. I brought a buffer. The only way to stop it completely is to destroy its base code."

"And where is that code?" Elias asked.

She smiled faintly. "Country M."

Elias sat back, arms folded. "So we give you a lab, and in return, you buy us six months."

"Maybe seven. If I'm lucky."

"And after that?"

She looked at Davis again. "Then you help me fix the rest."

Elias didn't like it. Every part of her was rehearsed, but she was never stiff with her delivery. She gave them just enough truth to make the lies taste real. He could feel it in his gut, the same way he used to feel an ambush before it started—quiet pressure building behind the ribs.

He pulled out a small black case from his pocket and opened it on the table. Inside were two vials, chilled and sealed in foam.

"This is what we've got from our last outbreak region," he said. "Genomic analysis is incomplete. Try proving your theory."

Leyla took the case, examined the labels, and nodded once. "It'll be in the protein folds. Look for the switch in the folding pattern—something that shouldn't exist in nature. That's your engine."

"You're assuming we give you access to our samples," Elias said, watching her closely.

"No," she replied. "I'm assuming you're smarter than your politicians."

Dr. Davis coughed once to cover a smirk. Elias didn't move.

"I'll need two assistants," she said. "Someone fluent in protein modeling, someone who can run sequencing while I test inhibitors. And I want independent air circulation. You want a solution, you give me the conditions to work."

"You'll get a quarter of what you're asking," Elias said. "You'll earn the rest."

Dr. Orhan nodded like she'd expected it. She didn't fight it; she didn't threaten them to get what she wanted. She just sat there calmly, as if she had all the advantages and all the time in the world to make them regret ever bringing her to Country N.

Elias hated it.

He stood slowly, his eyes still locked on her face. "We'll be monitoring the results," he said. "If anything goes sideways—"

"Then you'll kill me," she interrupted, that thin, patronizing smile on her face. "Yes, I'm aware."

She smiled again. This time, just a little wider.

As Elias left the room, he heard Dr. Davis say something under his breath—something scientific and dry, probably about heat sources or cell cultures.

But Elias wasn't listening anymore.

He wasn't sure what scared him more: the mutagen… or the woman trying to save them from it.