Earth’s Chosen: The Aryan Protocol

Seven days after the first unexplained viral outbreaks, the world stood on uneasy footing. Streets in New York, Beijing, and Berlin were eerily empty beneath storm-gray skies. Grocery shelves were stripped bare; pharmacies rationed masks and antiviral kits. Hospitals in Tokyo and London had converted convention centers into makeshift wards. Yet, amid the chaos, an unlikely consortium of scientists—public and private—raced against time.

South Block, New Delhi

In South Block's Situation Room, the Prime Minister watched a digital map pulsing with red hotspots. He turned to Aryan Dev, already surrounded by virologists and data analysts. Ravi stood close by, eyes shadowed from sleepless nights.

"The hotspots have shifted," the PM said. "Some cities are stabilizing—Seoul, Singapore—but others are worsening. India's R₀ is holding at 2.1. We need your next move."

Aryan nodded, lifting a tablet to display genomic alignments. "The virus carries synthetic insertions—engineered stability. Our soil microbes can be adapted to disrupt its protein shell, but so far we've only slowed replication by thirty percent in cell cultures." He tapped to show growth curves. "In animal models, we see a delay of viral uptake by several hours. Not enough to curb community spread."

A health official interjected, voice taut. "World Health says we need a fifty-percent reduction before any emergency authorization. Seven days, Aryan—what's your plan?"

He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm combining our bacterial strain with localized delivery aerosols—younger lungs respond best to microdroplet deposition. But I need safety data."

Washington D.C., USA

Across the world, reactions varied. In Washington D.C., a classified meeting convened in the Situation Room of the White House. The CIA, NIH, and State Department sat behind closed doors. On screen, India, China, and Russia glowed with simultaneous outbreaks.

CIA Director (stern): "We're seven days in. Casualties rising. Our intel flagged Aryan Dev as a brilliant but untested wildcard. Could this be his retaliation for earlier sabotage?"

NIH Lead Scientist (exasperated): "Come on—that's conspiracy talk. His soil microbes have never been inside a human before this crisis. No mechanistic pathway. We need immunological evidence, not innuendo."

Under Secretary of State (cautious): "Still, public perception matters. Social media is exploding: #AryanVirus, #Godschemist. We've seen rumors he started this outbreak to sell a cure."

Director: "If enough of America believes that, our global cooperation fractures. Flag this as disinformation from unknown sources."

Berlin, Germany

Meanwhile, in Berlin, German virologists at Charité identified a similar genomic footprint—synthetic codons that hinted at outside tampering. But they credited Aryan's team when Indian samples showed parallel adaptations in their aerosol prototypes.

Mumbai, India

In Mumbai, local news anchors balanced caution and confidence. One broadcast declared, "As global labs scramble for a breakthrough, one man's organic approach offers hope. Yet skepticism runs deep: can earth-born microbes heal human lungs, or will they mutate the virus further?"

On Twitter and Weibo, hashtags collided: #SoilHealer, #VirusVillain, #BarefootBiohazard. Influencers posted memes of Aryan in sandals and biohazard suits. Some called him a messiah; others demanded his arrest.

AIIMS, New Delhi

Back in New Delhi, Aryan's makeshift BioLab at AIIMS hummed with activity. He and a small team—an immunologist from Japan, a geneticist from Germany, and his own microbial engineer—ran trial after trial. Each evening, they reviewed data exhaustedly.

"Replication delay up to forty-five percent," the Japanese scientist reported one night. "But only at high bacterial concentrations—unsafe for human lungs."

The German geneticist added, "If we target the unique spike-protein glycan sites, we might achieve specificity without overload. But we need time to engineer the binding peptides."

Ravi exhaled. "Time is what we don't have."

Aryan placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "We'll adapt. We always do."

Delhi Quarantine Ward

By mid-week, India's first field trial began in a Delhi quarantine ward. Patients with mild symptoms received Aryan's prototype mist under careful supervision. For a day or two, fevers reduced; viral loads dipped. Then, distressingly, two patients saw a rebound—higher viral titers and unexpected inflammation.

Osian, Rajasthan

In Jodhpur, Baldev Singh's nephew, after showing promise, suffered a relapse too. Barefoot at the pilot headquarters, Baldev stood with Neelam, face drawn. "Is this medicine or madness?" he asked Aryan, voice brittle with hope and fear.

Aryan knelt beside the boy's cot. "This is science. It advances through iteration—and sometimes through failure. We learn." He looked up. "I need more data on the immune response. We'll refine the protocol."

Neelam's eyes glistened. "You must. My people need more than hope."

AIIMS Security Office, New Delhi

That night, Ravi reviewed security footage from the AIIMS lab. A junior assistant had lingered near the bacterial stock before the failed batch. No forced entry, no stolen vials—just a silent presence.

He froze the frame. On the glass door behind the assistant was a faint spiral, barely visible. Ravi's heart thudded. "They're still here," he muttered.

MEA & Vajra Mission Control, New Delhi

The next morning, a video conference connected Aryan with international partners. Via Vajra's secure channel, Singaporean, Canadian, and Brazilian scientists shared their findings. Some reported similar setbacks. Others found minor successes in antibody-microbe synergies.

A UN health official spoke up. "We commend India's leadership, but we need open data sharing. Patients are dying. The world cannot wait for proprietary protocols."

Aryan replied calmly, "We will publish results weekly. The last thing I want is for this to become a race for profit. Humanity must collaborate, not compete."

A tense silence. Then the Canadian virologist nodded. "Agreed."

Aryan's Quarters, New Delhi

By week's end, the world had mobilized thousands of researchers, yet no one had a definitive cure—only partial treatments, masks, ventilators, and hope.

That evening, in his quarters, Aryan poured over ancient texts—Ayurveda, Traditional Chinese Medicine, Unani manuscripts. Flipping through pages of neem, tulsi, ginger, licorice root, and other botanicals, he found common threads: antiviral properties, immune modulation, anti-inflammatory effects.

He drafted a bulletin for global distribution:

> "COMBINED ANCIENT-MODERN PROTOCOL FOR RESPIRATORY VIRAL STRAINS

1. Mask Usage: N95 or multi-layer cloth mask to reduce viral inhalation.

2. Nasal Rinse: Saline solution with neem extract (Azadirachta indica) to reduce mucosal viral load.

3. Herbal Decoction: Daily infusion of tulsi, ginger (Zingiber officinale), turmeric, and licorice root—antioxidant and immunomodulatory support.

4. Probiotic Spray: Oral aerosol of modified soil microbial strain for gut-lung axis support.

5. Rest & Hydration: Emphasize water intake with lemon and honey to maintain electrolyte balance."

He attached references from Sushruta Samhita, Materia Medica Sinica, and modern pharmacological studies validating each ingredient.

The bulletin went live on the WHO portal at midnight. By dawn, news outlets in Paris, Washington, and Tokyo ran headlines: "Ancient Wisdom Meets Modern Science: Global Health Turns to Herbs." Streets saw a rush on basil plants, ginger roots, and neem leaves.

South Block, New Delhi

In South Block, the PM read the advisory on his tablet and smiled. "A grassroots solution," he mused. "This is the kind of leadership the world needs."

Aryan's Quarters, New Delhi

Aryan stood by the window, watching Delhi awaken under wary skies. The battle against the invisible enemy continued—but now, humanity wielded every tool at its disposal, from silicon to sandalwood.

And as the sun rose, the world breathed a cautious sigh of relief, united by the ancient protocols of healing and the relentless promise of science.