She didn't go to a hospital. She went to the only person on Earth who possessed the bio-engineering genius to decipher Elena Rostova's synthetic compounds.
An hour later, Olga burst into a highly secure, private medical facility in upstate New York.
Sitting in a sunlit conservatory, sketching complex chemical structures on a whiteboard, was Natalia. The bio-hacked twin looked healthy, her combat wounds fully healed. She looked up as Olga rushed in.
"We have a problem," Olga said, slamming the vial onto the table.
Natalia examined the glowing liquid, her genetically enhanced mind instantly analyzing the viscosity and luminescence. "This is a synthesized catalytic enzyme. Highly volatile. Where did you get this?"
"Victor Kaelen," Olga replied. "He poisoned the water supply. That is the only antidote. He says we can't synthesize it in seventy-two hours."
Natalia frowned, picking up a marker and rapidly drawing molecular diagrams on the whiteboard. "He’s right. To mass-produce this using standard pharmaceutical bioreactors would take months. The molecular chain is too complex."
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"I don't need you to mass-produce it," Olga said, her eyes flashing with brilliant, ruthless inspiration. "I need you to weaponize it."
👉 Natalia stopped writing, turning to look at her sister in complete bewilderment as Olga laid out a plan so incredibly reckless it bordered on madness.
"Weaponize the antidote?" Natalia asked, her brow furrowing. "Olga, this is a delicate enzyme. If you subject it to extreme kinetic force or heat, the protein chains will denature. It will become useless."
"I don't want to blow it up," Olga clarified, pacing the conservatory. "Victor distributed the pathogen through the municipal water grids. It’s localized in Manhattan, London, and Tokyo. The infrastructure is massive, but it’s contained to urban centers. If we can't manufacture billions of doses, we have to bypass the manufacturing phase entirely. We have to introduce the catalytic enzyme directly into the atmosphere."
Natalia stared at the whiteboard, her brilliant mind racing to catch up with her sister’s forensic logic. "You want to aerosolize it. Cloud seeding."
"Exactly," Olga nodded. "If we inject the concentrated enzyme into the rain clouds over the infected cities, the antidote will bind with the precipitation. We don't need people to drink it. The enzyme will wash into the reservoirs, the soil, and the municipal intakes, neutralizing the pathogen at the source."
"It's a massive margin of error," Natalia warned, her forensic programming evaluating the risk. "Atmospheric dispersion is imprecise. The wind could blow the antidote out to sea. And we only have one vial. If we dilute it into a localized storm system, the concentration might not be strong enough to break the pathogen's molecular bonds."
"That’s why I need you to amplify it," Olga said, looking her twin in the eyes. "Elena built you to be the perfect biological weapon. Use her genius against her. Manipulate the enzyme to replicate aggressively when exposed to hydrogen dioxide."
Natalia looked at the glowing vial. The weight of her violent past warred with the opportunity to save millions. She didn't hesitate. "I need a centrifuge, liquid nitrogen, and unrestricted access to a Class-4 bio-lab."
"Marcus," Olga spoke into her earpiece. "Get my sister a lab. Now."
"Interpol has a secure facility in Geneva. I’ll have a jet waiting at Teterboro," Cross replied instantly.
For the next forty-eight hours, Olga and Natalia worked in a frantic, sleepless frenzy. While Natalia manipulated the enzyme in the sterile, hyper-secure Interpol lab, Olga audited global weather patterns, coordinating a fleet of private, unmarked aircraft equipped for high-altitude cloud seeding.
The clock was ticking down. 24 hours until the pathogen activated.
Natalia emerged from the clean room, holding three massive, pressurized steel canisters. "It's done," she said, exhausted but triumphant. "The enzyme is hyper-amplified. It will replicate aggressively upon contact with moisture."
"Load them onto the jets," Olga commanded.
She coordinated the simultaneous deployment. One jet flew toward the brewing storm system over the English Channel. Another headed for the typhoon building off the coast of Japan. Olga personally boarded the aircraft heading for the heavy rain clouds gathering over the northeastern United States.
The turbulence was violent as the modified Gulfstream jet pierced the dark, bruised clouds above Manhattan.
"We are at optimal altitude, Miss Vance," the pilot yelled over the roaring engines. "But the pressure is severe. We have to manually release the payload from the cargo bay!"
Olga strapped into a safety harness, bracing herself against the freezing wind as the cargo door opened. Below her, the sprawling, neon-lit grid of New York City lay oblivious to the impending apocalypse.
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She grabbed the heavy steel canister, her fingers locking onto the release valve.
👉 But just as she prepared to vent the aerosolized antidote into the storm, a heavily armed mercenary stepped out from the cockpit shadows, pressing a suppressed pistol directly against the back of her head.
The cold steel of the pistol barrel pressed punishingly against the base of Olga’s skull. The roaring wind whipping through the open cargo bay masked the sound of the mercenary’s approach, but Olga didn't flinch.
"Step away from the canister, Miss Vance," the mercenary shouted over the wind. "Mr. Kaelen sends his regards."
Victor Kaelen’s reach was truly terrifying. Even at 30,000 feet, inside a privately chartered aircraft, the Architect had eyes.