Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

James stood and followed, his movements careful and slightly hesitant...the movements of a desperate man who understood he’d made a serious mistake but was too invested now to back out.

The medical processing center was sterile and professional in a way that made James’s skin crawl.

Banks of monitors. Medical equipment he couldn’t immediately identify. Two doctors in white coats standing over a stainless steel examination table.

”Strip,” one of them said without looking up from his clipboard.

James removed his clothes slowly, aware that the listening device in his molar was recording everything. Aware that every detail he could gather was crucial.

The examination was thorough and degrading.

They took blood. They took saliva swabs. They examined every inch of his body, paying particular attention to scars, to marks, to anything that suggested prior medical intervention or strength anomalies.

One of the doctors...the younger one, looked at the scarring on James’s abdomen.

”This is significant,” he said, touching the scar tissue. ”Surgical?”

”Gunshot wound,” James said. ”2014. Afghanistan.”

The doctor exchanged a glance with his colleague.

”Healing response is exceptional,” the older doctor noted. ”Minimal scar tissue formation despite the severity of the injury.”

James understood what they were noting. His immune system’s remarkable ability to recover from trauma. The exact quality that made him valuable to them.

”What was the recovery timeline?” the younger doctor asked.

”Three weeks,” James said. ”Full functionality.”

The doctors exchanged another look. Something that might have been excitement flickered across the younger one’s face before his expression returned to clinical neutrality.

”Take him to Observation Room 4,” the older doctor said to the guard. ”And schedule him for the accelerated protocol.”

James felt something shift in his understanding of the situation.

Accelerated protocol. That suggested timelines, intensified processes, something beyond standard procedures.

The room was equipped with a cot, a toilet, and cameras positioned at each corner.

James was alone except for the red lights of the cameras tracking his every movement.

He’d been placed in a hospital gown....white, thin, completely transparent if light hit it the right way. Nothing to hide under. Nothing to conceal. Complete vulnerability.

The walls were transparent on one side.....one-way glass that allowed the scientists to observe him while remaining invisible themselves.

James sat on the cot and waited, using the time to process everything he’d observed so far.

The facility was larger than satellite imagery had suggested. The medical equipment was more advanced than expected. And there was something in the way the doctors had reacted to his immune system response that suggested they had specific criteria they were looking for.

A speaker crackled to life.

”James Conley,” a woman’s voice said. Professional. Clinical. ”I’m Dr. Sarah Chen, lead researcher for this trial. I want to explain what you’ve volunteered for.”

James looked toward the camera, making sure they could see his face.

”You’re going to be participating in what we call the Phase Three Acceleration Protocol,” Dr. Chen continued. ”It’s an expedited version of our standard trial. Normally, the process takes four to six weeks. The acceleration protocol compresses that timeline to fourteen days.”

Fourteen days.

James felt his heart rate increase....a genuine response that he didn’t have to fake.

Two weeks instead of four to six weeks. That was a significant deviation from what Dimitri had briefed him on.

”During these fourteen days, you’ll be exposed to an experimental viral compound,” Dr. Chen continued. ”Your body’s response will be monitored and documented. If you survive the trial, you’ll be compensated and released. If you don’t survive, your body will be disposed of appropriately.”

Clinical. Straightforward. No pretense about what was actually happening here.

”Why the acceleration?” James asked, stalling for time while his mind processed this new information.

”Because the timeline for field deployment has been accelerated,” Dr. Chen said. ”We received new operational parameters three days ago. The Covenant has made the decision to move up the release date. Which means we need to compress our testing protocols accordingly.”

The Covenant. She’d said it openly, not realizing that the name was being recorded directly into James’s neural device.

”When is the release scheduled for?” James asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

”That information is above your clearance level,” Dr. Chen said. ”All you need to know is that you’ll be one of the final test subjects before the field trial begins. You should feel honored.”

The speaker went silent.

James lay back on the cot, his mind racing.

The timeline had been accelerated. That meant whatever The Covenant was planning, they were planning it faster than Dimitri had anticipated. That meant James had fourteen days to gather intelligence instead of the thirty days they’d budgeted for.

That meant everything had just become exponentially more dangerous.

***

The injection came on the morning of the third day.

James had spent the previous two days being observed, monitored, baseline measurements being taken. They’d kept him sedated for most of it, just enough to make him compliant without rendering him unconscious.

Now, in the medical processing room again, Dr. Chen stood over him with a syringe containing clear liquid.

”This is the viral compound,” she said. ”Stage One is relatively mild. Fever, body aches, fatigue. We’re monitoring to see how your immune system responds to the initial infection.”

She injected the compound directly into his vein.

James felt the liquid enter his bloodstream, felt something shift at a cellular level almost immediately.

”Return him to Observation Room 4,” Dr. Chen instructed. ”Full monitoring protocol. I want vitals every thirty minutes.”

***

The fever started within hours.

James’s body temperature spiked to 104 degrees, and he lay on the cot, shaking with chills, his entire body aching with a pain that seemed to emanate from his bones.

The cameras tracked his every movement. The monitors recorded his heart rate, his respiration, the oxygen saturation of his blood.

Outside the transparent wall, he could sometimes see scientists watching, taking notes, discussing his vitals with clinical interest.