After taking the X-ray, the dentist stared at the image with surprise before speaking.
“You told me this tooth had a root canal, but according to the film, there is absolutely no sign of it. In proper endodontic treatment, the pulp chamber and root canals—where the nerve and blood vessels are—are filled with a material. That material is radiopaque, which means, in simple terms, it shows up white on the radiograph. As you can see, there is no such image here. And the root canals aren’t curved or anatomically strange, so we can’t even argue that a filling could not be placed. There is not even a radiopaque trace in the pulp chamber.”

“Could the dentist have used a filling material that doesn’t show up on X-ray?” Teresa asked.

“Manufacturers deliberately produce radiopaque materials, so they can be visible on radiographs. What you’re suggesting doesn’t happen. And since you had treatment done only two years ago, the fact that the tooth has already become infected indicates that the pulp chamber and canals weren’t filled at all. Infection developing this quickly is extremely rare unless the tooth was left untreated.”

“Why would a dentist fill the top and leave the inside empty? Don’t tell me they’re cutting corners with dental materials too.”

The dentist smiled, a tired, resigned smile.
“To be honest, here’s what likely happened. In states where performance-based payment systems exist, hospital dentists are paid by the number of procedures they perform. The system does not care if the work is high-quality or not. For example, a proper filling requires at least thirty minutes, but the system expects a dentist to see thirty or forty patients per day. Many patients have issues in more than one tooth. Prosthetic treatments take even longer. And on top of daily walk-ins, the dentist also has scheduled follow-ups.

When you consider all that, you can understand why a dentist may only have five minutes to devote to a filling. That often leads to the dentist performing the procedure hastily—without malicious intent, but nonetheless improperly. Instead of placing the gutta-percha gradually and compacting it layer by layer, they pack it all at once, without the necessary pressure. As a result, the internal space remains unsealed—creating an empty city for bacteria to inhabit. As the pathogenic colonies grow, the apex of the tooth develops a periapical lesion, an infection sac at the root’s tip.”

Teresa’s tongue wanted to say, “So this is what people mean when they argue hospitals shouldn’t be businesses and doctors shouldn’t be treated like factory workers” — but her mind stayed fixed on the part about bacteria.

While Mark picked up his prescription, he muttered,
“We didn’t go to a hospital. We went to a private clinic. In that case, the dentist shouldn’t have any performance concerns.”

The dentist shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said plainly.
“To be honest, I can’t come up with a reasonable explanation. If there had been a small void beneath the filling, I’d chalk it up to an oversight — sometimes that happens. But the pulp chamber and canals being completely empty… I can’t justify that in any sensible way.”

As they reached the door, Teresa suddenly turned back and asked:
“Why do teeth decay and become infected in the first place?”

“I could give you a long lecture, but in short, it happens because of toxin-producing enzymes secreted by bacteria,” the dentist replied.

Mark snapped, wincing with pain,
“I’m suffering here, and you’re still chasing scientific trivia.”

Teresa answered calmly,
“No. I asked for your sake.”

The big man waited for an explanation, while his mind struggled to interpret the scattered pieces of information he held — weighing whether the conclusion forming in his wife’s mind was madness or logic.

A few weeks earlier, the professor had mentioned that the pharmaceutical company interested in X-chemical was conducting research on bacteria. The dentist had just described unfilled cavities beneath a dental restoration as if they were newly discovered continents where bacteria could colonize and thrive. And the third piece in Teresa’s memory: pharmaceutical companies stockpiled vast tanks of bacteria to mass-produce insulin — the enzyme that diabetics inject to lower blood sugar. And more recently, it had been discovered that bacteria could manufacture serotonin — the so-called “happiness hormone.”

Connecting the three fragments, Teresa whispered under her breath:
“Why wouldn’t those miniature tanks beneath a filling — designed for bacteria — produce enough X-chemical to affect an entire human being?”

Mark snapped, “What are you talking about? I don’t understand any of this,” just as the phone rang. It was Professor Richard.

“I was just about to call you — I have something very important to ask,” Teresa said quickly.

But Richard, absorbed in what he had to say, didn’t even acknowledge her words.

“I’ve discovered something critical,” he began.
“We found out which pharmaceutical company produces X-chemical, but they’re not selling it as a medication. They’re distributing it under the table. According to an informant who works inside the company, we were right. They weren’t trying to use leptin for treating obesity — they were doing the opposite. They blocked leptin production to deliberately induce obesity. Since this is illegal, none of it is documented officially.”

Teresa replied, “I figured out before you called that they’re using bacteria to manufacture X-chemical,” and after explaining her reasoning, she delivered her hypothesis.

“What if they’re producing X-chemical inside micro-capsules hidden under dental fillings — using specific bacterial strains, perhaps even genetically modified ones? The large pulp chambers of molars are more than big enough. That would explain why Mark’s radiograph shows an empty pulp chamber and canals.”

“If the bacteria inside these capsules were provided with proper moisture and nutrients, why not? And the temperature inside a tooth is naturally ideal. With a micro-level grate or filter built into the capsule, the chemical could exit while the bacteria remain trapped.”

“Every tooth has an opening at its apex, connecting the tooth’s nerves and blood vessels to the larger vascular network. Through that anatomy, the produced X-chemical would enter the bloodstream. And I’ve just learned that a major channel, the mandibular canal, lies only a few millimeters below the lower molars — a passageway for significant blood vessels. That would make it even easier for the bacterial product to infiltrate the circulatory system.”

After listening, the professor answered, “Good assessment — and accurate interpretation,” before adding:
“There are millions of bacterial species. Unless we specifically isolate and identify distinct types, we can’t detect an unfamiliar bacterium in the blood. And in Mark’s case, there wasn’t a dominant strain present in numbers high enough to draw attention. That’s why it took us so long to understand what was happening.”

“But how do we prove it?” Teresa asked, then glanced at Mark — whose innocent expression suggested that his only life purpose was eating. That was when she found the answer.

“We’ll have to extract the teeth that Mark had treated by the town dentist.”

Seeing the big guy wave both hands in protest, she smiled and continued:
“All right, we don’t have to pull anything out yet. We can remove the fillings and take samples from the cavity beneath. But who knows — if you upset me, I might be tempted to pull them anyway.”

Every husband expects affection from his wife, but also a trace of that maternal kindness he once received. And every woman, in turn, enjoys offering a portion of that care to those she loves. Mark responded with the wide-eyed look of a child:

“I promise I’ll be a good boy. Please don’t pull my teeth.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Richard said on the other end of the line.
“I’ve done some digging. That pharmaceutical company has partnerships with certain private clinics and hospitals. And, despite being in different industries, they also have commercial ties with several large fast-food and supermarket chains. Now guess — do any of those exist in your town?”

“I’m sure they do. I always found it suspicious that a small town would have a brand-name burger joint and a big-chain supermarket. If someone wanted to experiment on people — influence them, manipulate consumption — a quiet town out of sight would be perfect. And once they succeeded here, they could use X-chemical everywhere, without anyone knowing.”

“True,” said Richard.
“But we still have a gap. We can’t prove a connection between the town’s dentist and the pharmaceutical company’s owner. Yes, the man moved into town — but that doesn’t automatically mean the dentist is involved in some organized scheme.”

“Leave that to me,” Teresa replied with calm assurance. The moment she hung up, she dialed her contact at the town’s health authority.

“You know private clinics are legally obligated to keep records of their treatments. Can you find out which patients have had root canal therapy in this town?”

The moment she ended the call, she phoned the sheriff. When he didn’t answer, she left a message:
“Rookie, I’m giving you an important assignment. I need you to find out whether there is any connection between the burger shop and the town dentist. Do they eat together, drink together? Have they gone places, done business, anything like that? Dig around and bring me something that makes sense.” She paused, then added with a grin:
“And don’t you dare show up with stories about hell, angels, or devils.”

Several days passed. In that time, they learned that the bacterium producing the X-chemical did not possess any significant pathogenic effect. Just as some harmless bacteria seep through skin and enter the bloodstream with only minor inflammatory consequence, this one behaved just as weakly. It was one among millions of species, recently introduced into experimental research, without an officially recognized name — merely a temporary designation: XLP-1.

Teresa then went to see Eneas, a dentist she personally knew — a connection unknown to anyone, including Mark. The dentist who had removed Mark’s filling, under the supervision of a specialist pathologist, extracted the micro-capsules hidden beneath and placed them into a sample tube.

“No need to panic. We’re not unfamiliar with this kind of system,” Eneas explained.
“The mini-tanks used for insulin-producing bacteria are identical in principle to the capsule mechanism here. XLP-1 bacteria are kept contained; they can’t escape. Only the enzyme they produce seeps outward, saturating the capsule walls. It may only generate a drop or two of X-chemical per week, but that’s enough to keep blocking the leptin gland. The slight moisture inside the cavity — that’s the chemical.”

“Whatever unwelcome guests are in those canals, I’ll wipe them out with hydrogen peroxide,” the dentist said, and once the capsule extraction was complete, he began the procedure.
Mark’s root canals were filled, and the radiograph showing radio-opaque traces was proof of success.

For now, every objective had been achieved. Under the supervision of a police officer from the forensic investigation unit, and directed by the specialist pathologist, Eneas collected every piece of evidence. No one could plausibly claim that the town dentist hadn’t placed those bacterial capsules inside the fillings. The evidence had been collected by the book — under court authorization, and in the presence of a designated officer.

Mark was relieved — relieved to be free not only from the toothache but from the silent enemies hidden inside him. But when Teresa told him to wait outside and that she would be back in five or ten minutes, his relief turned quickly into curiosity.

When Teresa returned, Mark looked at her as if demanding an explanation.
“You don’t think I’d cheat on you at this age — and with a dentist who can’t even look a woman in the eye,” she said, adding,
“He just did a small check. Something that might be useful one day…”

“What check? Useful for what? You’re talking in riddles again.”

“One of the first clauses in the constitution of idealists: never ask a question if you suspect you won’t like the answer. And never ask questions whose answers might drag you into trouble with troublemakers.”

“Oh, that again,” Mark sighed, then added with a faint smile,
“I thought when you retired, you were going to settle down and stop hanging around with those activist, idealist friends of yours.”

Teresa leaned closer to his lips.
“The day you put me — and yourself — in a coffin will be our retirement day. Not before. Not while wars, refugee crises, animal cruelty, and a hundred other problems remain unresolved.”
Then she kissed him.

The phone rang. Seeing the number of her friend from the health department, Teresa answered immediately.
Her friend confirmed exactly what Teresa had predicted:
“Yes, I investigated whether the overweight people in town had gone to the only private dentist here. I don’t know how you guessed it, but all of them had root canal treatments within the last two years. And all of them, within that same period, went to hospitals or private dietitians because of their excessive weight.”

Teresa thanked her and hung up. Then she turned to Mark and said,
“Our second piece of evidence is secured.”

Teresa had just muttered that there was still no word from the rookie chef when his name suddenly flashed across her phone screen.

“Teresa, turns out the town doctor is a hellspawn,” the Sheriff said.

“This is not the time for jokes,” she replied dryly. “Go see a psychologist. You sound like someone who’s lost his mind battling demons and angels.”

“You gave me a simple task,” the Sheriff continued, unfazed.

“I already knew that the hamburger guy and the dentist were meeting. Every Sunday, they gather at the fish restaurant by the lake. They never change their table—the one with the panoramic view. Since they know me, I couldn’t get close. So, I went there hours early, planted a listening device under the table, then moved to the black van outside and waited with my headphones on.”

“Where did you even get surveillance gear?”

The Sheriff burst into laughter.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. Imagine the headline: ‘Small-town Sheriff Mike brings down criminal syndicate.’ Maybe it’ll even get me into the FBI.”

Teresa cut him off before he drifted further into fantasy.

“Skip the commercials. Tell me what happened.”

“A few hours later, as expected, they arrived. And what I heard through that headset—unbelievable. The hamburger guy told the dentist he had transferred millions of dollars to his offshore accounts.”

Teresa frowned.

“A simple hamburger joint can’t possibly generate that kind of money. Even if the entire town ate a dozen burgers a day, it would never reach those figures.”

“I asked myself the same question,” the Sheriff said, “but the real bomb came later. They chose our town to see whether the X chemical actually triggers hunger in humans. In other words, the town was a test tube, and everyone who got a root-canal was nothing but a lab rat. From their conversation, I understood that, depending on the results, they planned to sell the method to other countries. So the millions transferred weren’t hamburger money—they were the first client’s payment.”

“There must be a similar operation waiting to be set up elsewhere,” Teresa murmured. “A dentist who, under the pretext of root-canal treatment, places micro-capsules filled with XLP-1 bacteria beneath the fillings. That way, patients’ appetite increases dramatically, and the local restaurant owner and supermarket owner—partners of the dentist—make a fortune.”

“And apparently, they told their prospective clients the same thing,” the Sheriff continued. “This trick—this fraud—can’t be done in big cities. It has to be in towns or small counties where the restaurant and supermarket are under their control. I even heard the dentist say: ‘Any dentist would notice an unfilled cavity on an X-ray. This method has to be used in underdeveloped countries where X-rays aren’t routinely taken, and fillings are done quickly. If we could find capsules that appear radio-opaque—white on the film—no one could ever trace it.’ It’s all on the recording.”

“He’s not wrong,” Teresa replied coldly. “If they had made the capsules radiopaque, no one would ever know the chemical came from inside the tooth. Fortunately, capitalist tyrants always leave one flaw in their schemes; otherwise, their crimes would remain invisible.”

“I call it more than fraud,” the Sheriff said grimly. “It’s murder on a mass scale. Obezity is the mother of countless diseases, so I don’t think I’m exaggerating.”

Teresa smiled faintly.
“Well done, rookie. Thanks to you, we brought down a health-based crime syndicate. And I’m starting to wonder: maybe chain restaurants, supermarkets, maybe even pharmaceutical companies have been using chemicals that hijack appetite, cripple willpower, and addict people to food for years—but because the source seemed ‘internal,’ no one could ever prove it.”

The pharmaceutical company was powerful. Without irrefutable evidence, they would have escaped untouched. But public outrage, the mobilization of obese patients on social media, and TV shows like Heavy Lives exposing their suffering made it impossible to bury the case.

The guilty were sentenced appropriately, and the Chef got the promotion he dreamed of. He didn’t stop there—newspapers proudly displayed headlines like, “Hero Chef, Fearless Cop, Genius Lawman.” And though they hated it, Teresa and Mark’s faces appeared on the front pages as well.

Reading the news, Professor Richard muttered to himself:
“Good. They didn’t mention me. I have no patience for journalists at this age.”

At that moment, his door opened. A man entered—well dressed, composed, projecting authority. The men behind him stood guard in the hallway, keeping everyone else away. Richard immediately recognized bodyguards.

“I’ve never seen a journalist arrive with security,” he said. “If you’re not from the press, who are you?”

The man grinned.

“I’m not a journalist, and I don’t read newspapers. I tell them what to write, how to interpret it, who is good, who is bad, who is innocent, who is a terrorist…”

Without waiting for an invitation, the man sat down in the armchair, crossed one leg over the other, and continued:

“Don’t mistake me for a media mogul. Media moguls can’t even dream of meeting me face to face. You have no idea how many journalists they’ve sacrificed just to avoid crossing my path. The newly recruited ones truly believe that the motto of independent, powerful media is real, as if it’s anything more than a narrative designed in schools to convince people that they think freely and act by their own will.

Anyone with half a brain realizes that their seasoned colleagues have already mastered the role of the four monkeys who see nothing, hear nothing, speak nothing, and wait for instructions from their master. They immediately downshift and comply with the system.

We could define the concept of ‘free press’ as a commercial slogan used to conceal the true nature of the institution: society-wide manipulation under the guise of journalism.”

The man suddenly fixed his gaze on Richard’s eyes and added:

“I didn’t come here to tell you bedtime stories about journalism. Listen to me carefully.”

Richard, like a wrestler refusing to surrender, launched his final counterattack:

“You don’t have the right to barge into my office and speak in a threatening tone. I don’t care if you’re a minister, a senator, whoever you are. I’ll call the police right now.”

The man replied with complete indifference:

“Go ahead. You’ll just look foolish in front of your staff.”

Richard called his secretary and explained the situation, but the reply left him speechless:

“Sir, security says the people with you are CIA agents and we can’t do anything to them.”

Although he hadn’t heard the conversation, the man smirked with mocking amusement:

“The thing I hate most is being treated like an agent every single time.”

Richard raised his hands slightly, as if saying, “Here we go.”

“So you’re not a senator, not a minister, not CIA. Then what are you?”

“If you ask me, I call myself a representative of the true owners and rulers of the state. The knights who founded our nation centuries ago—those who were referred to by many names, like the sons of Zeus—belonged to the same order. Some call us the deep state. We allowed that label because it served a purpose: to remind people that this country is not ownerless; that even if you come to power through elections, there are certain paradigms, policies, and cowboy fantasies you cannot change.”

He added, almost casually:

“To make myself clearer: the police and prosecutors operate within defined boundaries, executing the law as written. Agents work under vague, ambiguous laws, carrying out the wishes of higher bureaucracies. But we operate outside the law, because neither I nor the council I belong to exists officially.”

“That’s enough of the power-show, cowboy,” Richard said. He tried to hide it, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
“What do you want from me?”

“I want nothing for myself. I’m asking you, on behalf of the state, to fulfill your civic duty. Think of it as compulsory military service—but of a different sort.”

The professor muttered inwardly:

“The same nonsense again. ‘Secret operations carried out for the nation’s benefit,’ they say. If you asked the public, ninety percent would respond: ‘I don’t want clandestine schemes, unsolved murders, siphoning another country’s wealth, coups, chaos—and I never gave permission for any of it.’ But those same people gladly enjoy the wealth and comfort that comes from such darkness. Raise their taxes a little, and they flood into the streets.”

“So what happens if I refuse?” he asked.

“That is not a possibility,” the man answered, swollen with arrogance.

“Because in that case, there will never have been a man named Professor Richard on this earth. You understood that we would kill you, but you understood it incompletely. We would link you to criminal organizations, fabricate a narrative, and not only end your life, but leave a bitter legacy behind for your family.”

Then the man said something that stunned Richard.

“How do you think sensational terrorist attacks around the world happen? First you provoke them with agents, make them believe they can succeed, allow them to gather weapons, ammunition, and men, and then you carry out the finale…”

Richard was beginning to surrender.

“What is the task you want from me? I have never held a gun in my life.”

“Professor, I have been explaining this since morning. You don’t think I came here to put a gun in your hand, do you? Of course I will ask for help related to your expertise. We fight the big microbes; you deal with the small ones. The difference is: you want primitive organisms to live as long as they don’t harm people, whereas we define anyone who contradicts our interests as a microbe—and seek their elimination accordingly.”

“All right. I suppose this is about a newly discovered species with unknown properties. Maybe a pandemic, or something related to hormones or brain research. So where are we going?”

“You will not know where we are going, but once we arrive, it will not be difficult to make a few guesses. You will take nothing with you, not even clothing. When we return, you will not mention where we went or why. Even if you do, no one will care. Perhaps a mystic sci-fi writer will take interest. But you will only bring unnecessary trouble upon yourself. Being locked away in a psychiatric ward as the crackpot professor would not be difficult at all.”

“Fine. I understand,” Richard replied.

The man was about to leave, then turned back.

“I almost forgot. You will need a partner. Someone knowledgeable outside your field. Someone intelligent, capable of interpreting different domains together; with a high level of esoteric culture, and able to maintain balance between science and faith. Someone who knows a little about aliens, angels, demons, giants, dwarfs, sorcerers—anything outside the ordinary.”

Richard smirked.

“Superman, the Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones… take your pick.”

“I am waiting for your answer,” the man said, not losing an ounce of seriousness.

Richard muttered, “I don’t know,” and lowered his head. His eyes landed on the newspaper on the desk. He picked it up and handed it to him, pointing at the photograph of a woman.

“I’m quite certain Professor Teresa has expertise in every field you just described.”

The man recognized Teresa.
“This won’t do,” he thought. “That woman is one of the Hachers—an activist. Those people can’t be contained.”
But then another thought crossed his mind: How much trouble could an old woman give us now?
With her bent spine, and her blood pressure and sugar flaring at every turn, he considered—almost with annoyance—whether she might die in their hands.

Donald had no idea what kind of disaster he was inviting into his life.

“Fine, so be it. She’ll be on the plane with us tonight,” he said at last, then added:

“And by the way—you can call me Donald.”