The woman in the black cloak cast a deliberate look at Donald before saying,
“Everyone hides their own secrets, but now is not the time to unravel them.”
She then nodded at Süleyman, signaling she was ready.

They stepped into quarantine with slow, cautious steps. As they walked toward the central circular container, Professor Richard whispered:

“Is she truly a sorceress, or isn’t she? Should I believe in magic, or should I cling to the science I know?”

Teresa answered him quietly:

“Science is an endless sea. From what I’ve witnessed, the deeper a scientist dives into knowledge, the more impossible it becomes to claim that a final depth has been reached. Every breakthrough brings us back to the same truth — that we know almost nothing, and we’ve only just begun the journey.”

She continued, her voice steady, though faintly troubled:

“In the scientific community, there are theories — unproven, of course — suggesting that good and bad energies flow through the body. And that organs overwhelmed by bad energy are more prone to disease. We don’t know what these energies are, how they manifest, or where they originate, but the effects are observable.”

She glanced briefly at the circular container before adding:

“The discovery of what they call the ‘God Particle,’ and the debates around whether all matter originates from it, became entangled with CERN’s research. Something invisible — detectable only for a fleeting moment through specialized imaging — was found to exist.

And now, more scientists are beginning to believe in parallel universes, in wormhole-like passages acting as gateways between realms.

So perhaps, someday, the existence of these good and bad energy sources will be proven as well. And perhaps… the rituals described in the text known as the Kabala draw their power from that dark energy.”

Professor Richard blinked, as though caught between skepticism and fascination.

“You mean that Kabala? The occult book sold openly on the shelves? What exactly is it?”

“Yes,” Teresa replied simply.

“There are many so-called books with that name in circulation, but none of them are the true Book of Kabbalah. You know of Solomon. The shared belief of the Abrahamic faiths is that he possessed an extraordinary kingdom and an unbeatable army. It is said that during the construction of the temple in Jerusalem, humans and jinn worked together, though at first both sides feared one another and refused to speak. Over time, they grew accustomed to each other. Through this communication, the jinn taught magic to humans. That is how the Kabbalah was written.

When Solomon and those who followed him discovered this, they forbade the book. For magic had always been forbidden.

Moreover, there is a divine revelation that speaks of Harut and Marut teaching people how to protect themselves from sorcery, and warning them never to practice it. I do not know if this revelation is connected to the event I mentioned, perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. Centuries later, a crusader soldier who came to Jerusalem discovered the book by chance in a cave. Only later was it understood that the forgotten book was indeed the Kabbalah.

So as you understand, although forbidden, its teachings have been used since the twelfth century. If you ask me whether I believe in what I just said, my answer is this: from people around me, from the news, and from certain sensational programs, I hear of individuals being subjected to sorcery, suffering strange metaphysical disturbances, often used to destroy domestic peace. There are rag dolls found, writings in various mysterious languages. Some events can be explained through psychology, but many cannot. That is why I believe in magic.”

Professor Richard leaned closer to Teresa’s ear.
“I heard what Suleyman told you about what Mark experienced. This woman protected him from jinn. But can we trust her? Who knows, perhaps she staged this to make us trust her.”

Teresa smiled, whispering back:
“Professor, I see you’ve adapted well to schemes, conspiracies and deep-state theatrics.”

She continued, serious once more:
“What Mark faced wasn’t evil magic. According to her, she drew a circle around the house for protection. But later she realized those beings weren’t stopped by the circle at all — they simply wanted to terrify him further. She learned this from a jinn among them who acted as a spy. She also said she wasn’t doing anything malicious, and disliked being called a sorceress because it always evokes witches. In truth, she has extensive knowledge of jinn, magic, and occult sciences, but she isn’t malicious. Suleyman’s allies always side with the righteous.”

While they whispered, Donald’s voice cut through the room:
“Are you talking about me, or something else entirely? I don’t care. But you should come here and look at the screen — your people are standing next to the egg.”

They stared at the screen with growing curiosity. Suleyman raised the sledgehammer in his hands and brought it down upon the egg-shaped stone again and again. The white fragments revealed that what had once been lime had long since fossilized into rock. His muscular body and oily belly were drenched in sweat. The black-cloaked woman’s moving lips showed that she was reciting or murmuring something.

Suleyman lifted his hands in frustration, as though saying, “What more can I do? This thing won’t break; it may not have a hollow core at all.”
But with the final strike, the stone split in two. When they zoomed in, they saw that inside this massive, egg-shaped stone, there was only a cavity the size of a human head, and a few cups’ worth of liquid slowly poured out.

“As you can see, no alien or jinn crawled out of it,” Donald said.

“Yes,” Teresa replied, “we can assume nothing lethal emerged because Suleyman is still standing. But before he struck, a crack left by Kathy’s blows allowed—let’s say—a different kind of entity, known by different names, to slip out and abandon its home. And how can we be certain no jinn emerged? Whatever was hidden inside was so heavily protected, it must have held something valuable, something significant.”

The black-cloaked woman bent down, studying the liquid, lost in thought as if piecing something together. Teresa was certain she was on the verge of solving something. When Suleyman leaned forward to collect a sample, the woman silently gestured that it was unnecessary.

Suleyman turned toward the camera and flashed a victory sign. Donald muttered,
“What are you celebrating? What did we win? What problem did we solve?”

“If I call you stupid, you’ll get offended,” Teresa replied. “That sign means: ‘Mission two begins.’”

Ever since seeing the liquid spill from the egg, something had been gnawing at her mind. Her brain worked like a system dredging up forgotten fragments stored between neurons, as if excavating a buried memory. Her attention zoomed in on the word “Atlanta” printed on a T-shirt, and like a search engine, everything written or spoken about Atlanta flashed across her mental screen. When she saw the artificial flower on the table, she whispered, “Bingo,” a sign that she had finally retrieved what she had been reaching for.

“Donald, I’m going to ask you something, and don’t you dare lie to me,” she said, but first turned to the professor.

“Is there smallpox anywhere in the world right now?”

“According to the World Health Organization’s 1980 report, the last recorded death from smallpox occurred when a photographer was accidentally exposed during a laboratory mishap. A few years later, the organization declared that smallpox had been eradicated from the earth. The main reason for this success was the virus’s inability to infect animals, making humans its only host. In other words, the virus made a poor evolutionary choice. As far as I know, smallpox is one of the few diseases in history to be completely wiped out. But seeing a smallpox-infected scientist here has proven that information wrong.”

Teresa interrupted with a faint smile: “Perhaps the disease disappeared, but the virus itself continued to be stored in special vials, unfortunately.”

“Why would anyone bother keeping it if there was no need to produce vaccines anymore?” the professor asked.

Teresa cast a meaningful look at Donald.
“Who else? Our so-called ‘superpowers,’ forever playing their deep-state games, fighting not for their nations, but for the triumph of whatever demon they harbor inside.”

She glanced around, as if claiming her turn to speak.

“Official records say there are only two remaining stockpiles of the virus. One is at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, the other at a facility in Novosibirsk, Siberia, controlled by Russia. Both keep the virus locked away in deep-freeze storage. As usual, both countries ignored their promise to destroy it. Some intelligence reports suggest fringe states like North Korea may also hold samples. But what interests me more is this: someone could have tried to weaponize the virus—and lost control while doing so.”

She fixed her gaze on Donald and asked,
“Is this an unofficial research facility? Were you storing all the viruses here?”

“I think you’ve lost your mind with all these intelligence games. I already told you—we came here because the drawings in that cave indicated the existence of two eggs, and we set up a temporary facility with containers. And you know very well it’s not just smallpox; other viruses exist everywhere in the outside world. Why would we store easily obtainable pathogens here? Don’t tell me we’re preparing for a post-nuclear war scenario. The people who dug into the mountains and stored every plant seed for future use must be the inspiration for your conspiracy theories,” Donald said, then added with a sneer,
“Stop with the activist, idealist nonsense. You’re old. Stop trying to be a hero.”

Teresa silently admitted her theory was not entirely reasonable. There was no need for imaginary caves and fabricated drawings to assemble scientists in this place. And everything they had experienced—the strange, unsettling events—could not be explained by Donald’s taste for secrecy. The fact that Professor Richard had nothing to say confirmed her suspicion that her theory had no weight.

She lifted her index and middle finger to her eyes, then pointed them toward Donald.
“Don’t make a mistake. I’m watching you.”

Süleyman and his companion had returned. They removed their quarantine suits and entered the laboratory.

Together with the technical staff, they began examining samples taken from everyone—especially Kathy. Thanks to the sedatives mixed into their meals, they collected samples without resistance. They took extreme precautions to prevent contamination from the pathogen-laden specimens.

After making the necessary preparations, Teresa examined Kathy’s blood sample under the microscope. Whatever she saw under the thick lenses startled her—she lifted her head, lips pursed, and stared into the room as if she needed the moment to reorient her mind. She checked the settings; everything was normal. It wasn’t a technical malfunction. It couldn’t be.

Finally, she saw Professor Richard enter the lab—he was the true expert here.

“There’s nothing wrong with the settings. Congratulations,” Richard said.

“If the microscope is working, then either my eyes are failing or the visual and perceptual centers in my brain are malfunctioning,” Teresa murmured. But when she saw the professor raise his head from the lens with the same stunned expression she had worn moments earlier, she spoke before he could:
“There’s something huge in there, isn’t there? Even with the most advanced electron microscope, we struggle to clearly distinguish viruses. If what we’re seeing isn’t a virus, then what is it?”

The professor didn’t answer; he simply looked again and again. Teresa was growing more impatient.

“As far as I can see, it has no cytoplasm and no organelles. We can’t call it a bacterium or an alga.”

“So it was true,” the professor murmured.

“Don’t drive me insane—what was true?”

Seeing an opportunity, the professor turned to Teresa and said:

“Let me ask you something. Imagine the world is full of dwarfs—people like Caroline Crachami, known as the Sicilian dwarf. Then, one day, someone like Charles Byrne—two and a half meters tall—appears before you. Someone ten times the size of what you consider ‘normal.’ What would you think? Your first reaction would be, ‘What on earth is that?’ You might even conclude it isn’t human at all, but a separate species—and given the difference, you wouldn’t be wrong.”

“So are you telling me this thing we’re looking at is a giant virus?” Teresa asked, eyes wide open.

“It has a protective coat, chromosome fragments, a body, and small extensions sprouting from that body—it's unmistakably a virus. But it carries far more genes than usual. And it lacks cytoplasm and organelles.”

“You’re seeing this giant virus for the first time?”

“Yes—but I had heard of its existence before and didn’t believe it. I assumed it was just another stunt by someone trying to make headlines with a so-called breakthrough, or some kind of urban legend.”

“Where did you hear about it? Maybe we can find a link to what we’ve been experiencing.”

“As you can see, because it's much larger than a normal virus, the researcher Timothy Rowbotham initially thought he was looking at a bacterium. After it was stored in a freezer for a long time, another British researcher examined it and reported that what he saw was not bacteria, but a virus. He described seeing a nucleic acid containing thousands of genes laid out on the slide. He also noted something important—the presence of a 62-letter nucleotide sequence thought to have existed since the first lifeforms. The presence of so many diverse genes suggested this might be an ancestral virus of some kind.”

“As far as I know, viruses usually carry a few dozen genes. You’re talking about thousands. The gap is enormous. Given its enormous amount of genetic material, I suppose calling it a ‘giant virus’ is justified.”

Teresa had planned to comment on the professor’s use of the word “atavirus,” but when he continued speaking, she stayed silent—and the thought slipped away.

“But there was something suspicious about the whole affair. The water tank where Timothy Rowbotham claimed to have discovered the virus had been demolished within six years. This destroyed the possibility of finding similar giant viruses and cast doubt over his original discovery.”

“Don’t tell me no other giant virus was found afterward,” Teresa interrupted, unable to contain her curiosity long enough to let the professor finish.

“It didn’t end there,” replied Professor Richard.

“Researchers later discovered a new giant virus, which they named Pandoravirus. Carrying nearly three thousand genes, it became even more fascinating when scientists realized that ninety percent of its genes didn’t exist in any known organism. And then they found another one—much larger than the first two—called Pithovirus. In time, reports surfaced from different parts of the world, describing giant viruses of various sizes.”

“So how did these giant viruses form? What is their relationship to normal viruses? What common or divergent features do they share? What are scientists saying?” Teresa asked, her aged skin folding with excitement, revealing just how deeply the topic thrilled her.

The professor didn’t want to disappoint her, but he couldn’t lie either.

“Unfortunately, no one knows the answers to your questions. There are the usual explanations—theories about species mutating under radiation or chemical exposure—but none of them are scientifically convincing. When you share only a small percentage of similar genes, yet have more than ninety percent difference, you can’t explain that with simple mutation. Honestly, scientists can’t adequately explain why these viruses are so different from all other lifeforms—and from each other.”

Meanwhile, the woman in the black cloak continued examining the nucleic acid of the giant virus under the microscope, counting the genes one by one as she listened. After a long stretch of silent work, the professor approached her and asked:

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m intrigued. Very few microbiologists could use a microscope capable of displaying nucleotide sequences with this level of detail.” He pointed at Teresa.

“Even she could only recognize that she was looking at a massive virus. She didn’t dare analyze its genome—because fine adjustments like this require real skill. Yet here you are, sitting calmly, counting how many genes it carries.”

The cloaked woman answered gently.

“Professor, in our age, the sciences have fractured into countless disciplines.”

“For example, you specialize solely in unicellular organisms and the diseases they cause. But I was educated in geometry, mathematics, biology, and metaphysics all at once. In the system I was trained in, there was no such thing as strict specialization. Therefore, while you can only approach a problem through the lens of your particular expertise, I can examine it through multiple windows. People like me can evaluate matters from different angles.”

The professor pushed aside the scientific arrogance of the modern age and said:

“I understand you, and I think you’re right. You’re referring to an old method of education. For instance, the works of Ibn Sina, which were taught for centuries in European medical schools, did not focus on a single discipline—he also produced works on mathematics and chemistry. I know this method was widely practiced in Mesopotamia. You must be Middle Eastern.”

“The same educational approach existed among the Maya and the Inca. In fact, the Inca shared many similarities with the ancient civilizations of the Middle East—especially their belief in a single god. But let’s not dive into history, or we may never come back,” said the woman in the black cloak.

“One side of me is from Istanbul, the other from Mexico. But what I truly want to tell you is related to what I overheard earlier. I have an idea about what these giant viruses might be. Actually, to explain it properly, I need to start from the beginning—from the cave drawings that brought us to this white continent.”

“How could you possibly know about those drawings? Were you part of Donald’s team?”

“I don’t work with sorcerers,” came Donald’s voice.

The woman’s brows tightened.

“Of course I’m not a spy,” she said.