Monday August 17, 2026 [8/8 +9]
Washington D.C., United States of America
Twenty-seven hours later, Marius Johannsen touched down in Washington D.C.
He wondered what he was getting himself into.
During the long flights and interconnections getting him from an obscure island off the coast of India to the seat of power of the most powerful nation in the world, Marius read. And read and read.
The media reports on the phenomenon were extremely voluminous and highly conflicting. Mere hours after the phenomenon hit on August 8th, the Chicago journalist Matthew McBride brought forward the hypothesis that the people who were struck down by this mysterious coma were past and present killers. McBride’s prime evidence came from the prisons, where a preponderance of inmates who were struck unconscious had killed in their past.
But it was the prison data that was most confounding. Several rival journalists had attacked McBride’s theory by pointing out a handful of convicted killers who had not fallen into a coma. Also, there was a confusion over why so many political leaders had been struck down by the phenomenon. Was the President of the United States really guilty of murder? And the Italian President as well? Why did the Canadian Prime Minister escape this… coma?
Marius stepped outside of Reagan National Airport and flagged a non-descript cab. He always traveled cheaply, and insisted on low-profile transportation options. They made their way to Marius’ hotel.
Marius’ phone rang, with an “Unknown” descriptor for the caller.
“Marius Johannsen,” he said.
“Please hold for the President.”
Marius immediately straightened in his seat. The cab swerved suddenly to avoid a collision. Marius’ stomach churned slightly, partly due to the motion and partly because of who he was about to speak with. It’s been a really long time, Sherri… he thought.
The phone beeped softly. “Marius, is that you?” came the familiar, yet tired, voice into Marius’ ear.
“Sherri… it is good to hear from you. I just landed in D.C. Are you doing OK? I can only imagine…”
President Sheridan Kelly sighed. “Marius, I am so glad that you came. I really need your help. I know that you just came in from the middle of God-knows-where doing your vaccine work, so I appreciate that you would like a little rest before we meet…”
“Sherri, believe me I am fresh and rested. You wouldn’t believe what I have been eating in the Anduman Islands, and where I was staying. A cramped economy airline seat is luxury in comparison.”
“Marius, you really need to start treating yourself to business class. You’ll be travelling a lot, I think, for the challenge that I hope you are ready to take on.”
“Yes, that is what I am here to talk about… this Consortium.”
“That’s right. So once you are settled in, please come over to my place so that we can chat. My staff can make the arrangements.”
“Your place, you mean the White House,” Marius said with a laugh. “It will be good to see you again, Sherri.”
“Yes, Marius. I can’t wait to see you too.”
The call clicked off.
Marius had thought long and hard about what he was potentially saying yes to.
The past few years as head of Vaccines International had been the most rewarding years of Marius’ professional life. He had personally vaccinated 31,561 people in the poorest nations on Earth. His organization had reached herd immunity in the high ninetieth percentile for measles, mumps, and polio. Recognition came with his successes, but he did not care for accolades. Marius, through his leadership of Vaccines International, had made a colossal difference in the lives of the neediest people on the planet. He had made his mark on humanity forever.
Now Sherri was asking for him to take a leadership position in solving the greatest mystery the world has ever known, to try and explain a phenomenon that apparently struck down the vilest, most criminal people on the planet. It seemed like a less noble effort than what he had accomplished with Vaccines International.
Marius sighed. If it was anyone other than Sherri, I would have already said no.