He didn't look okay because he wasn't okay. He had become a mere shadow of his usually ebullient self, often absent minded and unable to concentrate during conversations. It was obvious that things were not quite right with him. He looked defeated as he stepped into the foyer of the elaborate building that housed Pharmalon Corporations.
The lab was calm, too calm for a facility that was deeply involved in chaos-inducing experiments.
Dr. Michaels stared at the test tubes faintly glowing in their racks, a shiver ran across his spine. He was just tired of all of this and wished to go back to the peaceful life he once enjoyed. He believed in medicine, healing back then, before the contract, before the man called "Mr. Zack" walked into his life, offering him a mouth-watering contract, a contract laced with poisoned.
He was now the lead scientist for Pharmalon Corp, a shadowy company hiding behind glossy PR and government contracts. The work looked legitimate on paper—vaccines production, cancer trials, neuro-regeneration, genetic engineering, but behind the closed doors of Lab 9, they created something else entirely.
"We lied. It's a weapon. They're using people to test it, prisoners, wretched and homeless people with no names, no files. Just numbers screaming in oblivion."
And Dr. Michaels was the architect.
Every week, he debriefed a masked board over Zoom, silhouettes enveloped in darkness, their voices distorted. He talked to these men...men he knew nothing about.
He explained trials, data, results. No names, no questions asked.
But this night, he was exhausted, empty and his conscience troubled him greatly.
He clicked “Leave Meeting.”
Or so he thought. The screen flickered into darkness but the camera was still on, the mic still live.
He exhaled and rubbed his face. “God help me,” he muttered. “I’m working for the devil.”
A voice behind him startled him. “Are you still calling this one‘work,’ huh?”
It was Ruth Daniels, an intern who wasn’t supposed to be there at that late hour. She held a clipboard and an uneasy look.
Michaels kept talking, completely unaware of the meeting that was still streaming live and the silent silhouettes, now wide-eyed shadows on the other side.
“I lied about the results, the serum isn’t safe. The test subjects are suffering' they’re bleeding from their eyes, hallucinating, turning violent. We created something… dreadful, atrocious.”
Ruth stepped closer. “Why don’t you stop?”
He laughed bitterly. “I tried but you don’t quit the devil’s work that easily, you’re either in or you disappear. You think Dr. Reuben retired last year? No! He just vanished with no trace.”
Ruth trembled. “So what happens now, are you going to continue hurting your conscience?”
“I will finish what I've started, I simply have no choice anymore." His whispers were that of a broken man.
He stared at the glowing vials as he continued. “They told me I would be saving lives, but instead, they made me..… they made me build a.....plague”
Suddenly, the computer screen blinked. A voice, cold and calm, echoed through the speakers.
“Dr. Michaels.”
The doctor froze.
"I thought I was on mute." He whispered fearfully.
One of the silhouettes leaned forward, face still hidden in the dark. “You have broken the code of secrecy, your confession was heard, witnessed."
Ruth was shocked. “You are....still live?”
His mouth was dry. “It was a mistake please, I didn’t mean to....er.... break the code”
Another voice, deeper, firmer: “There are no mistakes in this circle, only consequences.”
Click.
The screen went black.
The lights in the lab flickered, then died.
—
He didn’t sleep that night, he knew he was done for.
The next morning, he walked into the lab to find all the files on Project Cerberus wiped, clearance revoked and Lab 9: sealed.
On his desk lay a note:
“You don’t speak of this again. Ever.
—Mr. Zack”
Beneath it was a photo of his son cycling to school.
His hands trembled.
—
Weeks passed. Dr Michaels showed up for work, smiled in meetings, lived in fear and silence.
But Ruth was gone, no resignation, no farewell.
Just… gone.... just like Dr. Reuben, vanished, with no trace.
One night, he stood in his apartment balcony, staring into the abyss of the city, a flash drive sat in his coat pocket, containing everything.
He had made copies. Wanted to Send them to three journalists, an NGO, and a friend in Geneva.
His son.
He couldn't bear the thought of what could happen, to him. He didn't care that his license would be revoked and he would be sent to jail, but he could not let anything happen to his son.
He opened the door and closed it behind him.
He was helpless.
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