LyraGen's offering

Dr. Kane used to love the hours he spent in front of the microscope, the promise of discovery, the elegance of molecular biology. But lately, each day felt like a monotonous repetition, a series of predictable experiments with predictable results. The spark had gone out.

He yearned for complexity, the ordered chaos of an enigma that would challenge his intellect, something that would pull him out of the self-imposed mediocrity of academic bureaucracy and lack of vision. His mind, a machine hungry for knowledge, felt atrophied, awaiting a true challenge.

The microscope screen flickered with the familiar dance of cells, a microscopic ballet that, on any other day, would have completely absorbed Dr. Kane. Today, however, boredom slipped through his fingers like sand, as his gaze wandered to the dust motes dancing in the light beam of the slide projector, equipment as obsolete as the bureaucracy that suffocated him.

The laboratory, with its persistent aroma of alcohol and disinfectants, and the constant hum of equipment, felt more like a cage than a true sanctuary.

He had been in virology for years, moving between respectable institutions, but often undervalued, his brilliance eclipsed by bureaucracy or lack of funding. He yearned for a challenge that would consume him completely, an enigma that only he could unravel.

The insistent vibration of his phone on the stainless-steel table jolted him out of his lethargy. It was an unknown number. He hesitated for a brief moment, his finger hovering over the screen, before answering.

"Dr. Kane?" the voice on the other end was neat, professional, with a hint of contained urgency. "This is Dr. Finch. Perhaps you remember me from the Geneva conference, held a couple of years ago."

Upon hearing Dr. Finch's name, a fleeting image crossed Kane's mind: the Geneva Conference. Not just the formality of the presentations, but the conversations in the hallways, the whispers about certain laboratories "with unlimited resources" and "unconventional methods."

Finch had been a peripheral figure in those rumors, always with an inscrutable expression, as if he knew a secret the rest of the world had yet to discover. Was that the connection? Was he about to step onto the ground of those whispers?

Kane frowned. Finch, yes. A respected virologist, though somewhat enigmatic. He remembered his solitary figure at the Geneva Conference, always on the fringes of groups, with an intensity in his gaze that Kane had then interpreted as ambition, but which now seemed… something more.

"I remember you, Dr. Finch. How can I assist you?"

"It's not how you can help me, Dr. Kane. It's how we can help you," Finch's voice deepened, almost conspiratorial. "I have a proposal. A cutting-edge project. Unlimited resources. An unprecedented scientific challenge. But confidentiality is… absolute."

A sharp, almost painful, pang of curiosity ran through Kane.

It was the promise of that 'forbidden knowledge' he had always eagerly sought. Caution briefly ignited in his mind, a small voice warning him about Finch's vagueness, the unusual phone call. But the opportunity to immerse himself in something truly significant, something that transcended the trivialities of his current work, was too tempting.

"I'm interested," Kane replied, his voice firmer than he expected. "What kind of project are we talking about exactly?"

Finch chuckled softly. "That, Dr. Kane, is something we can only discuss in person. The logistical details will be sent to you. Expect a call in the next few hours."

A few hours later.

The car was a black sedan, impeccable and unmarked, with tinted windows that obscured the outside world. Kane had been picked up at a discreet point in the city.

As the black sedan devoured the miles, pulling away from the city lights, Kane felt a strange disconnection. Not just from the outside world, but from himself.

The tinted windows were an opaque mirror that reflected nothing, and the silence in the car was so dense it could almost be touched. It was as if every turn, every mile traveled, was stripping him of his old life, of his autonomy.

He was being transported, not going out of his own free will, towards a destination he did not yet understand, but which he already felt would consume him.

He tried to take out his phone to check an email, but the screen remained blank: no signal.

"Is there a problem with the network around here?" he asked the driver, but the burly man only replied with an unintelligible monosyllable. The journey had lasted almost two hours, progressively moving away from civilization.

The urban landscape had blurred into open fields, then into a dense grove, until they finally emerged onto a private road leading to a modern, austere glass and steel structure that stood solitary against the gray, leaden sky.

There were no other constructions in sight, only the vast immensity of the countryside. The enclosed, controlled atmosphere was palpable even before crossing the threshold.

A burly man, dressed in a dark suit and an impassive expression, awaited him at the entrance. He did not greet him, only gestured for him to follow.

The interior corridors were immaculately white, silent, with security cameras discreetly embedded in every corner.

The feeling of subtle surveillance was constant, an invisible pressure that clung to the skin. He was led to a meeting room that seemed straight out of a futuristic architecture magazine. A polished glass table dominated the center, surrounded by ergonomic chairs.

The walls, on one side, were windows offering a panoramic view of nothingness, accentuating the isolation of the place. On the other side, a giant screen displayed abstract graphics that slowly changed.

Two figures awaited him. The first, a woman in her forties, with an impeccable haircut and an intensely penetrating gaze. She was Dr. Rivas, Chief Operating Officer, as she introduced herself. Her handshake was firm, her smile, a mere formality.

"Dr. Kane, it's a pleasure. We have followed your work with great interest," said Rivas, her tone efficient, devoid of warmth, the embodiment of corporate bureaucracy.

Beside her, a middle-aged man, with a cold elegance and a gaze that seemed to analyze every fiber of his being. He was Dr. Mercer, Head of Project TS-996. His presence radiated calculated authority, barely contained ambition.

"Welcome to LyraGen, Dr. Kane," said Mercer, his voice soft, but with an echo of power. "We are about to embark on research that could alter the course of medicine. Or even humanity."

Mercer's last phrase resonated in the room, charged with a meaning Kane could not yet decipher. The discomfort grew in his stomach, a mixture of fascination and a growing apprehension.

The conversation lasted for almost a full hour. Mercer and Rivas spoke in general terms about the 'strategic importance' of the project, the 'need for absolute discretion', and the 'transformative potential' of their research. They never directly mentioned the virus, only 'the biological agent' or 'the strain under study.'

"The nature of this research demands an unprecedented level of confidentiality, Dr. Kane," explained Rivas, her gaze fixed on him. "We will be working with extremely sensitive and classified data."

Mercer slid a thick bound document across the polished glass table.

"This is the contract, Dr. Kane. Standard procedure for projects of this magnitude. It contains the non-disclosure clauses that Dr. Rivas just mentioned."

Kane took the document.

The first pages were typical: generous salary, benefits, contract duration. But as he progressed, the clauses became denser, more oppressive. Non-disclosure clauses that covered not only the research, but any information related to LyraGen, its employees, or its facilities.

The penalties for breach were astronomical, with explicit references to 'severe legal actions' and 'national security.' This went beyond a simple confidentiality agreement; it was a contract of silence in its entirety.

His initial intuition screamed.

There was something deeply unsettling about the rigidity of those clauses, about the persistent insistence on secrecy. It seemed as if LyraGen was not only safeguarding its intellectual property but hiding something far darker. His professional ethics, forged in the inherent transparency of science, churned with unease.

"The conditions are… quite strict," Kane commented, looking up at Mercer, searching for some revealing sign or explanation.

Mercer nodded slowly, and a glimpse of something Kane couldn't decipher—impatience? veiled satisfaction? —crossed his eyes before his expression returned to impassive.

"The magnitude of what we are about to discover justifies it, Dr. Kane. The information you will handle could have global implications. Discretion is not an option; it is an inescapable obligation."

Mercer's answer, though notably evasive, reinforced the idea that he was about to access something of immense and crucial importance. His deep desire for access to forbidden knowledge powerfully asserted itself.

The opportunity to work on such an enigmatic project, with the resources only a corporation like LyraGen could offer, was an irresistible magnet for his obsessive mind. It was the kind of research that could define his professional career, or even virology itself. The legal risk, for the moment, seemed distant, a mere formality.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Kane took the pen Mercer offered him. His signature on the dotted line felt like crossing a threshold, a definitive step into completely unknown territory. He had obtained what he so longed for, but the shadow of control and surveillance already palpably loomed over him, a price he still couldn't comprehend.

The black car transported him directly from the remote contract signing location to what would be his new 'office': the main LyraGen complex. If the meeting room had been a prelude to control, the facility itself represented the complete symphony.

Upon descending from the vehicle, Kane found himself facing an imposing facade of dark glass and polished concrete, with no visible windows on the first upper levels. The main entrance was a security airlock, a steel and glass tunnel that sealed hermetically behind him before opening to the interior. The first layer of the multiple and rigorous security levels became immediately apparent.

A security guard, the same burly man who was at the entrance, gestured for him to approach an access scanner. "Identification, please, Dr. Kane," he said in a monotone voice, without looking him directly in the eyes.

Kane slid the temporary access card they had provided him with. The scanner emitted a characteristic beep, and the door opened.

"Follow me," the guard added, turning without waiting for any response.

Once inside, the air was cool, sterile, with a subtle metallic aroma. The corridors stretched in straight, clean lines, illuminated by a uniform white light that cast no shadows.

The architecture exhibited an aseptic modernity, designed for maximum efficiency and, Kane intuited, for strict compartmentalization. There were no decorative elements, no paintings, no plants, only cold functionality.

Every door had restricted access, equipped with card readers and biometric scanners that glowed with a bluish light. Guards, dressed similarly to those at the initial meeting, moved with silent efficiency, their gazes sweeping the surroundings without stopping at anything, but without missing the slightest detail.

The subtle surveillance now felt like a constant presence, almost like a denser, more oppressive layer of air.

As he was led to his new laboratory, Kane observed the staff present. They were few, or at least that's how it seemed in the wide corridors.

All wore immaculate white coats, their faces denoted concentration, and their movements were precise. There was a notable absence of casual chatter or laughter. The prevailing atmosphere was one of intense work and absolute discretion.

Some glanced at him, with fleeting curiosity, before returning to their assigned tasks. It was a highly controlled and regulated human ecosystem.

What most caught Kane's attention was the evident closed internal communication network. He did not observe anyone using personal mobile phones. Instead, staff used handheld devices with encrypted screens or lapel communicators. At one point, Kane passed a technician speaking into his lapel communicator.

"Confirmed, delta-9 phase. Sequencing data encrypted, ready for transfer to the secure server," the technician said in a low, precise voice, without a single hint of emotion.

Screens on the walls displayed highly complex data and graphics, but without internet logos or references to external networks.

On one of them, Kane glimpsed for an instant a protein chain with an unusually erratic conformation, almost as if it were… anomalously folded. It was a self-sufficient digital universe, completely isolated from the outside world, designed to prevent any possible leakage of sensitive information.

This further intensified his discomfort: the feeling of being in a hermetic bubble, completely disconnected, with LyraGen as his sole and exclusive point of reference.

Finally, the guard stopped in front of a door with a digital label that read 'Advanced Virology Laboratory - Dr. Kane'. He opened the door using his access card.

"This will be your workspace. Any needs that arise, contact internal technical support. Your access is already activated."

The laboratory was a vast space, larger and better equipped than any he had worked in before. Workbenches were filled with the latest technology in genetic sequencers, scanning electron microscopes, high-precision incubators, and state-of-the-art air filtration systems. Centrifuges hummed softly, while monitors displayed intricate DNA and protein chains.

It was any virologist's longed-for dream: unlimited resources, cutting-edge tools, and the potential to explore life's deepest mysteries at the molecular level.

His initial intuition was still present, a knot in his stomach reminding him of the oppressive and controlling nature of the place. LyraGen's aseptic perfection, its obsession with security and absolute secrecy, all pointed to something more than simple cutting-edge research.

However, as he placed his hand on the cold surface of one of the workbenches, the thrill of having access to that forbidden knowledge, to the opportunity to unravel such a complex virus with such advanced means, was almost overwhelming.

The cage was, indeed, golden, and the science he could perform within it constituted an irresistible siren song. Yet, as his fingers brushed the cold metal of a state-of-the-art sequencer, a pang of unease assaulted him.

At what price? What part of himself, of his ethics, was he willing to sacrifice for this 'forbidden knowledge'?

The question loomed over him, a shadow in the aseptic brilliance of the laboratory.

Dr. Kane had entered LyraGen. And the game was just beginning to unfold.

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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED

Hello everyone.

Welcome to this new story.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.

I want to give you a sneak peek of what will happen in the novel's near future: Dr. Kane will study the virus, trying to uncover all its secrets. By chance, he will discover the greatest secret: 'Everyone is infected.' He will try to warn everyone, but his contract will stop him.

By the way, I added a couple of not-so-subtle interludes to show Dr. Kane's mood, so the character seems more real.

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Read my other novels

#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future.

#Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time.

#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis

You can find them on my profile.]