Scientists at Echelon Research Institute

When a virus makes all women loyal to any man who claims them, society collapses. A group of scientists must claim their own colleagues to work on a cure, while resisting the daily temptation of their perfect devotion.

Disclaimer:

This story takes its time to get where it needs to go. If you're used to fast-and-dirty from the first paragraph, this one might feel like it's edging you a bit longer than usual. But trust me, when it does get there, it should hopefully hit harder because you've actually grown to care about what’s going on. Tension is half the fun, right?

If you’ve read Four Billion Toys, you already know I like to build the world and let the characters breathe before things start heating up. Even more so here. You'll find plenty of kinky sex later on, but by then I'm hoping it won't be all you'll care about!

This is by far the biggest and most ambitious novel I've ever written, so yeah... Hang tight, enjoy the ride, and I hope the payoff will feel earned.

Chapter 1: The Silent Pandemic

03/20/2025 - Ramona

I stood in Phoebe's cluttered office, watching her brow furrow as she leafed through the stack of papers I'd handed her. The tension in the room was palpable, like the air before a thunderstorm. My posture remained rigid, hands clasped behind my back, a habit from decades of maintaining composure when presenting troubling data.

"Ramona, why didn't you just send these through the institute's network?" Phoebe asked, looking up at me with those expressive brown eyes. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in its usual messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her heart-shaped face. Even in her state of concentration, her fingers fidgeted with the edge of a page with that perpetual energy that seemed to radiate from her compact frame.

"I'm not certain we can trust it at this point," I replied, my voice measured and low. I adjusted my precisely cut silver-streaked bob, a nervous gesture I rarely allowed myself. "Given what I've found, I'm exercising… caution."

Phoebe's frown deepened as she continued scanning the data, her quick mind obviously processing the implications. The freckles across her nose seemed to stand out more starkly against her suddenly pale complexion. "Are you confirming that it's… everywhere?" Her voice held both scientific curiosity and unmistakable concern.

"Yes," I confirmed, maintaining my composure despite the gravity of my words. "I've found the virus in every human sample I've tested. Every single one."

"That's…" Phoebe set the papers down, her normally animated hands suddenly still. "That's impossible. A brand new, previously unidentified virus doesn't just appear in everyone simultaneously. How many people did you test? Please tell me this is localized to Chantwell, or at least only Colorado."

I shook my head, the fluorescent lights reflecting off my silver-streaked hair. "I requested samples from colleagues across six continents. Every sample collected within the last three months contains the virus. From New York to New Delhi, Sydney to São Paulo."

"Symptoms?" Phoebe asked, her scientific mind clearly trying to categorize the threat, to place it within known parameters.

"That's where it becomes even more unusual," I said, moving to stand beside her desk. "In reviewing global medical data, I've noted a statistically significant spike in reports of severe headaches among women over the past eight weeks. I experienced several intense migraines myself approximately three weeks ago. Nothing in my medical history would predict such an occurrence."

"Wait," Phoebe interrupted, her eyes widening. "I had the worst headaches of my life last week. Three days where I could barely function." She pushed back from her desk, the wheels of her chair squeaking against the floor. "That can't be a coincidence."

"I can't confirm causation," I cautioned, my scientific training asserting itself. "Correlation is not..."

"Yeah, yeah, correlation isn't causation," Phoebe cut in with her characteristic impatience. "But you have to admit, it's a hell of a coincidence, Ramona."

I nodded slightly, conceding the point. "There's something else. This virus isn't natural. I've sequenced its genome, and it's like nothing I've ever encountered in my thirty years of research. The structure, the protein coat, it bears hallmarks of deliberate engineering."

Phoebe stood abruptly, pacing the small confines of her office. Despite her evident alarm, she maintained her scientific composure, something I'd always respected about her. "So let me get this straight," she said, her distinctive snort-laugh emerging as a nervous reaction. "Everyone is carrying a virus, has been carrying it for months, with minimal symptoms so far, and the thing is artificial?" She stopped pacing and faced me directly. "What is it doing? What was it built for?"

I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "It's… unusual in several respects. The virus demonstrates significantly higher activity in pubescent female subjects. It appears to be triggered by XX chromosomes. Males seem to be primarily passive carriers." I noted how Phoebe's hands began to fidget more rapidly at this information. "But what's particularly noteworthy is that it's a retrovirus, clearly containing a genetic payload. In some ways, its structure resembles retroviruses recently developed for treating genetic conditions and certain cancers."

"What kind of payload are we talking about?" Phoebe asked, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

"That's what I'm still working to determine," I admitted, allowing a rare hint of frustration to color my tone. "I don't know precisely what it's designed to do, but it's unquestionably engineered for a specific purpose. I'm attempting to identify the function of the genes it's introducing, but it's remarkably complex, more so than viruses typically are." I found myself gesturing more than usual, a sign of my own disquiet. "Whatever its purpose, it represents an impressive feat of bioengineering. It appears designed to spread efficiently without significantly impacting host physiology. It incorporates elements from multiple viral families. I've detected it in my own perspiration, saliva, exhaled breath, and waste. I tested water samples from both my apartment and the laboratory. It's present in both. In low concentrations, but detectable."

"It's here? Right now? In the air we're breathing?" Phoebe's voice rose slightly, her scientific detachment momentarily faltering as she glanced around the room as if she might actually see viral particles floating between us.

"Most likely, yes," I confirmed.

Phoebe ran her hands through her hair, dislodging more strands from her already messy bun. "Why come to me with this? Why aren't you contacting authorities, or at least telling Gabriel? This is exactly the kind of thing that should go up the chain."

"I contacted the CDC two weeks ago," I explained, moving to look out the small window of her office. "They informed me they were 'aware of the situation and addressing it.' I've received no further communication despite multiple follow-up attempts." I turned back to face her. "A former colleague there told me off the record that something about the response team seemed… irregular. Unusually secretive, even for matters of public health security." I straightened my perfectly pressed blouse. "As for Gabriel, I informed him of my initial findings, but I've withheld the details. He would be obligated to report up the hierarchy, and given the unusual nature of the CDC's response, I'm exercising caution about who has access to this information."

Phoebe stared at me, her quick mind clearly processing everything. "You still haven't answered my question. Why me? What does this have to do with neural interfaces?"

I reached for the papers on her desk, flipping to a specific page and pointing to a sequence I'd highlighted. "I've isolated several genes in the viral payload. Ferroportin, ferritin, various TRP channels…" I paused, watching her face carefully. "And CRY4."

The color drained from Phoebe's face as she recognized the significance. Her lips parted slightly, eyes widening in what appeared to be a mixture of scientific fascination and genuine fear.

"Birds…" she whispered.