Chapter 8: The Genesis of Chaos
Porton Down, United Kingdom – Defence Science and Technology Laboratory (DSTL)
Deep within the high-security UK government bioresearch facility, Dr. Evelyn Carter stared at the digital sequencing results on her screen. Her worst fears had just been confirmed.
The virus spreading across the globe—the one that had shut down airports, overwhelmed hospitals, and triggered international panic—was not natural.
It had originated here.
In this very lab.
She wiped a shaking hand across her face.
The official codename for the pathogen had been "Project Sanguine"—a top-secret biological experiment designed to study weaponized virology for national defense.
But now, it was known worldwide by another name:
The Crimson Strain.
Evelyn’s heart pounded. How had it leaked? The security protocols were airtight. Only four scientists had full clearance, and all biohazard materials were under constant surveillance.
She grabbed her phone and dialed her superior, Dr. Philip Langford—the head of DSTL’s Bioweapons Division.
No answer.
A chill ran down her spine.
Something was very, very wrong.
London, UK – MI5 Headquarters
James Calloway, a senior MI5 intelligence officer, scrolled through the classified reports piling onto his secured tablet. His team had been tasked with investigating the origin of Crimson Strain, but something wasn’t adding up.
Every country was pointing fingers at China, Russia, and the Middle East, but intelligence intercepts suggested otherwise.
A restricted file from Porton Down had surfaced on a darknet forum two nights ago.
The leak was small—just a single redacted document, timestamped six months before the outbreak.
The title?
"Project Sanguine: Aerosolized Transmission Models."
His stomach twisted.
If the document was real, it meant the virus was developed in the UK.
And worse—it meant someone had deliberately released it.
He turned to his deputy. “Get me access to all security footage from Porton Down in the last three months. If this came from there, someone on the inside knows.”
His deputy hesitated. “Sir, Porton Down’s internal network was wiped last night.”
Calloway’s blood ran cold.
Someone was covering their tracks.
Porton Down, UK – Dr. Philip Langford’s Office
Evelyn Carter burst into Langford’s office without knocking.
The lights were dim. The air smelled of stale coffee and disinfectant.
Langford sat at his desk, staring at a flash drive between his fingers. His expression was unreadable.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Evelyn hissed.
Langford didn’t respond. He simply placed the flash drive into his desk drawer and locked it.
Evelyn’s chest tightened. “Philip, tell me the truth. Did we release it?”
His eyes finally met hers, cold and calculating. “We didn’t.”
A pause.
“But someone did.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. “Then we have to come forward—”
Langford shook his head. “It’s too late. The government is already erasing our involvement. If we say anything, we’ll be silenced.”
Evelyn stepped back, her pulse racing.
“Then who’s taking the fall?”
Langford exhaled.
“The official story is that it originated in China’s Wuhan Institute of Virology. That’s what they’re leaking to intelligence agencies.”
Evelyn felt sick.
The world was spiraling into a pandemic caused by their research, and the blame was being shifted to another nation.
And no one—not the WHO, not the CDC, not the UN—would ever know the truth.
Unless she did something about it.
Geneva, Switzerland – WHO Emergency Operations Center
Michael Levinson studied the outbreak heatmap, watching as the infection clusters expanded across Europe and Asia.
Dr. Elise Moreau leaned in. “We just got new intelligence reports from MI5. They’re claiming the virus might have originated in a UK lab.”
Michael’s head snapped up. “I thought we were looking at a possible Chinese lab leak?”
Elise hesitated. “The evidence pointing to Wuhan… it’s too convenient. Almost like someone wants us to believe that.”
Michael clenched his jaw. “If this was engineered in the UK, we need proof. The world’s on the brink of collapse, and the last thing we need is a global cover-up.”
Elise nodded. “We may have a lead. A scientist from Porton Down—Dr. Evelyn Carter—tried to contact an investigative journalist last night.”
Michael’s stomach twisted. “Tried?”
Elise exhaled. “She’s missing.”
A beat of silence.
Then Michael said, “Find her.”
London, UK – Underground Safehouse
James Calloway’s phone buzzed. A single text flashed on his screen:
"Meet me. 22:00. Waterloo Station. South Entrance. - E.C."
His pulse quickened.
Evelyn Carter was still alive.
And if she was reaching out, it meant one thing—
She had the truth.
But so did the people hunting her.
And time was running out.
SURBHI SINHA