The dim fluorescence of the lab flickered weakly above the endless rows of glass tubes and humming incubation chambers. Luisa Köhler worked late nights more often than she'd like to admit. But the focus it afforded her — when her mind was sharpest, the world around her faded away — made it almost worth the extra coffee and the creeping sense of isolation. Tonight was no different. The archives, though, were usually cleared out with most coworkers already gone home.
Post-conference, the lab bustle had drained most of the life from BIOCOR's advanced research wing. [note] Only a few researchers remained late, hunching over their data and the quiet hum of diligent thought. It was then that Luisa found herself remarkably focused on the anomalies in her reports. The figures somehow didn't add up. And the feeling in her gut, the familiar, unsettling whisper that something was afoot, guided her to the cold storage locker that held her specialised research samples.
Her fingers hit the keypad with practiced exactitude, and she quickly scanned the labeled containers in the frost-covered shelves. Protocol demanded she account for every sample and document any changes or updates. But tonight, she lingered on the mislabeled container. It stood out — out of place among its precisely labeled neighbors. Uneasy possessiveness often drove upper management to secretive behaviors. Not the first time for Viktor Halberg.
So she began to poke around it. She sneaked out her phone and snapped a discreet photo — close-up, the icy condensation on the small black box gleamed unnaturally beneath the harsh fluorescence. No tag, no label, nothing. Just a blank cube nestled among vials of genetically modified RNA.
Her gloved hand hovered near it a moment longer, as if expecting it to react. It didn’t. It was inert, silent — and yet it felt placed. Not stored. Hidden.
Luisa peeled off her gloves and tossed them into the bin with a little more force than usual. She exhaled, noticing how dry the air suddenly felt in her throat. Sitting on the edge of her workstation, she leaned back against the cold metal frame. Tension pulsed in her forehead. The lab — normally sterile and predictable — now seemed like a stage with curtains drawn just enough to hint at something lurking behind them.
The chill from the storage still clung to her fingers.
She stared at the locker, her thoughts spiraling. Dr. Viktor Halberg. Of course. This had his fingerprints all over it — not literally, but in tone, in secrecy. The man treated boundaries like suggestions, and curiosity like a weapon. He was rarely seen these days, yet somehow always present. Like mold in the air vents.
She shivered again, this time from more than just the cold.
For now, Luisa hesitated, her curiosity warring with her deepening fears. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the mysterious sample, but quickly withdrew her hand. The idea of leaving it there felt unsettling, but the implications of its presence were already weighing heavily on her mind.
She decided to take a closer look before leaving. She leaned in, inspecting the small black box more carefully. This time, she noticed a faint red and white emblem etched into the side — a crimson red and white umbrella. Her heart skipped a beat. Umbrella?
She knew the logo well. She'd seen it in passing whispers of corporate espionage and illegal bio-weapons deals via the new chat frenzy app Chatters. Umbrella Corporation — the rumored shadowy conglomerate behind several high-profile bioterror incidents — many had tried to bring them down, to no avail. She'd always dismissed it as conspiracy theory nonsense and had never even thought about the possibility of it surfacing at BIOCOR. Her mind flashed briefly to old news headlines and sporadic rumors. Now what was this box doing here inside of the state-of-the-art BIOCOR facilities?
She glanced around the dimly lit lab, as if half-expecting someone to materialize out of the shadows. The hum of the machinery and the sterile silence were her only companions.
Luisa quickly closed the locker, ensuring it was securely shut. She inhaled sharply, her mind racing with the words — Umbrella… that can’t be right.
As she walked towards the exit, the external lights of BIOCOR welcomed her with their familiar glow. But deep down, Luisa's intuition hummed louder — the thought of finding answers already well within her reach... She agonised over what tomorrow might bring, and how she would uncover exactly what was going on.