Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

The main entrance was all glass and steel and clinical efficiency. Inside, the walls were painted a soft gray that was supposed to feel calming but actually just felt sterile. The kind of color you’d use if you didn’t want people to remember the building afterward.

An attractive woman in her early forties sat behind a desk. Her name tag read ”MELISSA - SECURITY COORDINATOR.”

”Dr. Volkov,” she said, standing. ”Welcome to Covenant. I’m Melissa. I’ll be walking you through our security protocols.”

”Thank you,” Dimitri said, and smiled.

Melissa handed him a tablet.

”This is your security orientation,” she explained. ”It covers facility rules, confidentiality agreements, emergency protocols, and behavioral expectations. You’ll need to read it all and sign at the end. Takes approximately twenty minutes.”

Dimitri took the tablet and began reading.

The document was thorough. Facility confidentiality was paramount, discussing any aspect of the research with unauthorized personnel would result in immediate termination and legal action. Emergency procedures were clearly outlined: in case of fire, proceed to designated assembly points; in case of medical emergency, alert security immediately; in case of security breach, shelter in place and await instructions. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

There was also a section on ”specimen handling protocol.”

Specimens. Not people. Not test subjects. Specimens.

Dimitri read about the automated feeding systems in the basement holding areas. About the medical monitoring that tracked vital signs constantly. About the scheduled termination protocols....at day 15 of viral exposure, if a specimen had not yet expired from natural causes, they would be humanely euthanized to prevent suffering.

Humane euthanasia.

As if any of this was humane.

He signed the document with a flourish and handed the tablet back to Melissa.

”All set?” she asked cheerfully.

”All set,” Dimitri confirmed.

Melissa escorted him deeper into the facility.

***

The hallways were identical to the schematic. Fluorescent lighting. Sterile white walls. Emergency exits marked clearly. Security cameras at regular intervals, just as James had indicated in his intel.

As they walked, Dimitri was committing everything to memory, not just the layout, but the operational details. The way the doors locked. The biometric scanners on restricted areas. The placement of the cameras. The traffic flow of employees moving through the corridors.

This was the facility he would burn to the ground.

Melissa led him past the administrative wing. Past the medical area, he caught a glimpse of examination rooms, sterilization equipment, the infrastructure of a place that was simultaneously trying to keep people alive and destroy them.

”Dr. Elizabeth is waiting for you in the research wing,” Melissa said. ”Third floor. She’s very excited to have you join the team.”

Excited. That was an interesting word choice for someone whose job was developing bioweapons.

The elevator to the third floor was silent except for the soft electronic hum of the machinery. Dimitri watched the numbers climb: 1, 2, 3.

By the time the doors opened, Dr. Aleksandr Volkov had completely taken over.

DR. Elizabeth

She was standing in the hallway waiting for him.

Up close, Dr. Elizabeth was smaller than she’d appeared on video. Maybe five-foot-four. Probably in her early fifties, though the stress of her work had aged her features into something harder and colder than her years should have produced.

Her eyes were the same temperature as they’d been during the interview: ice-cold and devoid of anything resembling human warmth.

”Dr. Volkov,” she said, extending a hand. ”I’m so pleased you could join us.”

Her grip was firm. Professional. The handshake of someone confident in her own authority.

”The pleasure is mine,” Dimitri said. ”Thank you for the opportunity.”

”Come,” Elizabeth said, turning and walking down the hallway. ”Let me show you the facility.”

The laboratory was exactly as he’d imagined. State of the art equipment. Workstations arranged in logical groupings. Climate-controlled environment maintaining exactly 68 degrees Fahrenheit and 40% humidity.

Three other researchers were working at stations. They looked up briefly when Elizabeth entered with Dimitri, assessed him with the kind of cold professionalism that came from people who viewed other humans as either competition or irrelevant.

”This is our primary research team,” Elizabeth said. ”You’ll be working with them on viral analysis and documentation. Your primary responsibility will be to continue the mutation tracking that Dr. Karov began before his... departure.”

Dimitri understood the subtext. Karov had either discovered something he shouldn’t have and been disappeared, or he’d developed a conscience and been forced to leave. Either way, the message was clear: don’t ask questions, don’t express doubts, don’t develop a moral framework that might interfere with the work.

”I understand,” Dimitri said.

Elizabeth led him to a workstation....clean, organized, equipped with everything he’d need to examine viral samples and document his findings.

”Your assignment for the next two weeks will be to establish baseline data on our current viral strain,” She explained. ”We’re approximately twelve days into human trials. We need detailed documentation of mutation rates, transmission probability, and virulence progression.”

Twelve days. That meant the test subjects were approaching the critical window. The point where the virus stopped being dormant and started becoming devastating.

”When do I have access to the specimen data?” Dimitri asked.

”Tomorrow morning,” Elizabeth said. ”Tonight, you’ll be shown to your quarters and given time to settle in. You’ll start work at 6 AM. Be prompt.”

”Of course,” Dimitri said.

Elizabeth studied him for a moment, and Dimitri felt the weight of her assessment. She was trying to determine if he was genuinely what he claimed to be, or if there was something hidden beneath the surface.

He gave her nothing but the pleasant, professional expression of a man excited about the work ahead.

Whatever she saw apparently satisfied her.

”Good,” she said. ”Let me show you to the secure lab where the viral samples are stored. You’ll need to understand our containment protocols.”

***

This was the critical location.

The room was small, maybe twenty feet by fifteen feet. The walls were reinforced steel painted white. The only entrance was through a biometric scanner that required both a keycard and a handprint scan.

Inside, the temperature was even colder than the rest of the facility. Negative pressure, air being pulled out rather than pushed in to prevent any airborne contamination from escaping.