Chapter 1 — The Leak

The rain hammered against the tinted windows of South Block, turning the city outside into a blur of red taillights and shadows.

Inside Conference Room 7, nobody spoke.

A classified file lay open on the table.

PROJECT LAZARUS

And beneath it—

POTENTIAL BIOLOGICAL WARFARE THREAT

National Security Advisor Arvind Rao removed his glasses slowly. The room smelled of burnt coffee and tension.

“Tell me again,” he said quietly, “how authentic this leak is.”

The intelligence officer standing near the screen swallowed.

“Intercepted from encrypted military channels across the eastern border three nights ago, sir. Cross-verified by cyber intelligence. Confidence level…” He hesitated. “Ninety-three percent.”

A flicker passed through the room.

On the projector appeared blurry footage from a hidden lab camera.

A man strapped to a chair convulsed violently.

His veins darkened.

Then he bit through the restraints.

The video cut to static.

Nobody moved for several seconds.

“One infected subject killed twelve personnel in under four minutes,” the officer continued. “Victims displayed extreme aggression, loss of cognition, and rapid neural degeneration.”

“Zombies?????,” one minister muttered nervously.

“No,” Rao replied coldly. “Weapons.”

He closed the file.

“If another nation has successfully engineered an infection capable of spreading through bites, blood, or airborne mutation…” He looked around the room. “This is not war anymore. This is extinction.”

Silence.

Then another slide appeared on the screen.

Five faces.

“You requested the country’s best young scientific minds,” the officer said. “These are the selected candidates.”

The first image is enlarged.

Dr. Aarav Mehta — Age 29

Virologist. Calm under pressure. Former WHO research fellow.

Next.

Dr. Mira Kapoor-Mehta — Age 28

Immunologist. Specialization in viral adaptation.

A few officials exchanged glances.

“Husband and wife??” someone asked.

“Yes sir,” the officer replied. “Married for two years.”

Rao studied their photographs carefully. Aarav looked composed, analytical.

Mira’s eyes looked sharper.

Like she noticed things others didn’t.

The next profile appeared.

Dr. Kabir Sinha — Age 27

Biochemical weapons analyst. Brilliant. Unpredictable attitude.

Another photo immediately followed.

Dr. Naina Verma — Age 27

Neuroscientist. Expert in neural degeneration.

The moment her picture appeared, the officer sighed softly.

“They have… history.”

“What kind of history?”

“Competitive hostility, sir. University rivals. They disagree on almost everything.”

Kabir’s profile noted: Arrogant but effective.

Naina’s: Exceptionally disciplined.

Even in photographs they looked incapable of standing beside each other peacefully.

Next.

Then the final face appeared.

Dr. Elena Roy — Age 26

Genetic systems specialist. Recognized for breakthrough research in cellular regeneration and synthetic adaptation.

“She’s one of the fastest-rising scientists in the country,” the officer explained. “Most of her work is classified under defense-linked biotech programs.”

“Field experience?” Rao asked.

“Minimal. But intellectually......” The officer gave a faint smile. “She’s difficult to match.”

The photograph showed a woman with composed eyes and an unreadable expression—not cold, not warm. Just observant.

The kind of person who listened more than she spoke.

One minister skimmed through her file. “No controversies?”

“Clean record,” the officer replied immediately.

Rao studied her profile for another moment before nodding.

“Interesting.”

Rao stood and walked toward the rain streaked window.

“They are young,” one minister argued quietly. “Too young.”

“Exactly,” Rao replied. “Older scientists are visible. Predictable. Easier to target.”

He turned back.

“If this leak is real, enemy nations already know the world’s senior experts. We need minds they won’t anticipate.”

The projector changed again.

Satellite images-An isolated mountain facility buried under snow.

No markings.

No records.

Only one label recovered from intelligence fragments.

""PROJECT LAZARUS""

“What exactly is Lazarus?” a minister asked.

The officer shook his head.

“We don’t know yet.”

Another image flashed briefly.

Rows of containment chambers.

Scratches on reinforced glass.

Blood.

Then darkness.

Rao’s jaw tightened.

“Starting tonight,” he said, “these five scientists are to be transferred to a classified government facility under full surveillance.”

“And the mission objective?”

He looked at the word Lazarus glowing on the screen.

“Find out what they’re creating.”

The lights suddenly flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then every monitor in the room turned black.

Static hissed through the speakers.

Across the dark screen appeared a single sentence in crimson letters ——

DEATH CANNOT BE CURED.

The room froze.

Then another line slowly typed itself beneath it.

IT CAN ONLY BE CONTROLLED.

Suddenly the power returned, the message vanished but not before everyone saw the final symbol burned onto the screen.

A handprint , made of blood.