Cerberus 13

(Note from author: Originally written in 2010. It is updated to reflect events concerning Georgia Guidestones on July 6, 2022)

Thursday morning – 10:37 a.m.

It took me almost a year, but I did it. After earning enough of their confidence, I was given enough security clearance to enter certain areas of the facility and I stole it. The glass vile is only four inches long and is contained in a secure steel box about the size of a small book. It can’t be opened without a punch code – thank God, without that safety measure I wouldn’t have touched it.

I now have a limited amount of time to exit the seven-story building owned by BHO Industries which to the outside world, is an industrial manufacturing plant. BHO stands for Bio-Human Operations. It’s a corporation that’s in the secret business of manufacturing drugs and biological weapons, particularly man-made viruses.

Its semi-government run and headed by one who is believed to be a wealthy philanthropist. His name is James Sorzos. He is attempting to radically redefine and change the world culture for those he works for; the elite of the elite.

Sorzos is starting his own personal militia within the United States and its growing. He’s involved in regulating big business and medicine so he can control what is produced, how much, and who consumes it.

He is also part of The Bilderberg Group and the World Economic Forum (Google them), organizations among others, consisting of world leaders whose objective is to assemble a one world government. Not by the choice of the people, but through forcibly altering the global economy and laws they control. You will own nothing and be happy is one of their tag lines.

World domination, isn’t that always the plot? This time they’re close and most of you don’t even know it. You are more than likely taking part in the plan willingly through the emotional manipulation they instill in you. Fear of death also makes us easier to control. People will easily do as their told when they are afraid.

One of the major goals of the Globalists is population reduction. Less people are easier to control. The target is under 500,000,000 people worldwide. It was even etched on the Georgia Guidestones, a Stonehenge-like structure, the Elite’s very own ten commandments (Google that too). The Guidestones had been blown up by person(s) unknown in 2022. To accomplish this population reduction, millions of people must die. They manufacture viruses and diseases to exterminate the masses. Useless Eaters, they call us.

The virus in the metallic casing I stole is their newest. We still don’t know exactly what it is capable of, but we need this sample to create an antidote.

I know a silent alarm goes off as I walk out of the small containment room on the fifth floor. I’m wearing my uniform and I.D. so those who don’t know the virus is stolen don’t suspect me yet.

Elevators are avoided, so I walk quickly down the hall to the empty stairwell at the back of the building. I descend the steps to the second floor and the light goes out – someone enters the stairwell from the floor above. Rapid footsteps echo throughout as he hurries down the steps in the darkness. Somebody knows.

I speed up and two bullets zip past my ear and hit the wall. He’s using a suppressor by the sound and must have night vision sights. I take the 9mm from inside my lab coat and run faster down the steps. I can’t see in the dark, no point in shooting back, just need to get out to where lay-employees are.

I make it to the first floor, hide the gun and step out into the light of hall. BHO lay-workers walk along as usual.

“Hey there Adam,” Joe says as he walks by.

“What’s up Joe?” I reply.

I look back at the door to the stairwell and see the shooter looking at me through the small glass window. He wears a black leather mask, reminds me of a ski mask but his eyes are covered by dark lenses. His head whips away and out of sight.

Down the hall ahead of me I see my supervisor, Jerry, talking with his boss, they look at me simultaneously. Unfortunately, I need to continue in their direction to get to the cafeteria and out of the back door. I avoid eye contact and speed up slightly to make it to the cafeteria entrance. I glance back to them – they’re gone.

“Hey, Adam,” Jerry says, “Can I talk to you for a moment?” I didn’t even see him walk up to me. I’m getting slow.

 “Hi. Jerry. How are you?”

“Good. I need you to do something for me. The city inspector was here earlier. They’re making sure everything is up to code and I was given some questions to ask one of my managers. Could you come with me just for a second?”

They know, Jerry’s stalling until security gets here.

“Sure, Jer. I’m just going to run in the cafeteria for a sec. Need to get a honey bun and a Coke. I haven’t eaten all day and have a headache.”

“We need you now, Adam.”

“Give me two seconds,” I say with a friendly smile. Jerry gives no resistance. They probably told him not to get pushy with me because I could be dangerous. I walk into the cafeteria and by-pass the soda and snack machines.

A few co-workers are munching, sipping coffee, and chatting at one of the round tables. Dennis waves.

“What’s up Adam, lunch already?”

I walk past the table.

“Not yet. Just need to get some fresh air,” I say as I head out the exit into the back area of the facility onto a freshly rained on lawn. I see the Detroit River behind the facility and move toward it. That will take me close to a side street into a local neighborhood. Now I run for it.

Pop, pop, pop, three gun shots come from above. Two miss. The third grazes my ear. Warm blood trickles down my face as I duck behind a tree for cover, my 9mm drawn. Peeking from behind the trunk, a fourth shot is taken and would have hit me if I hadn’t jerked back.

In that split second, I saw the shooter – same mask wearing guy dressed in black with a rifle on the roof of the facility. Sirens blare. It’s BHO private security, they’re headed my way.

I run out from behind the tree gun blazing, multiple shots unload at the shooter on the roof. He ducks out of view as I evade his line of fire onto the street and out of range. I ditch the lab coat and run down Howard Street as the sirens get louder. Dammit! Where’s Taylor? My ride isn’t here!

I leave the hustle and bustle of the city streets and make to the nearby neighborhood, it’s an urban, some houses not in the best condition. A few civilians walk down on the sidewalk as a black SUV speeds out from behind the facility after me.

Both security officers in the SUV take shots and I have no choice but to run into someone’s front yard. I jet past a man who paints his front porch. Security holds their fire. It wouldn’t look good for BHO if a civilian is killed by a black truck with the company logo on the door.

As I run along the side of the house, I call Rebecca on the cell.

“Where the hell is Taylor? He should have been waiting,” I shout.

“You’re ahead of schedule,” Rebecca says, “What’s your location?”

“I just ran down Howard Street, I’m in a civilian’s backyard.”

“Taylor is in the area now.”

“I’m going to get off this person’s property and into the alley. Tell Taylor to meet at end of the alley on Sandler Street.”

“Right, be careful Ryan.”

I hang up then hop over the chain link fence and into the alley, all seems clear at both ends of it. The sirens have stopped but I hear classic Tupac blasting from someone’s back yard. I run toward Sandler Street in the direction of the music and glance behind me at the end of the alley – the front end of the SUV slowly creeps from around the bend into view.

I stop at the garage of the house from where the sounds of Dear Mama blare and align my back against the graffiti covered metal garage door. I make myself as skinny as possible in hopes of not being seen. The SUV stops at the end of the alley and the security officers stare down in my direction. I’m not sure if they see me.

A pit bull’s loud growl in the backyard next to me makes me jump. Its front legs are propped up against the short chain link fence and its huge head jettisons out. It eyes are transfixed on me as slobber drips from its sharp, yellow teeth. It angrily barks and I jerk away in reaction, giving away my position.

The black SUV turns down the alley coming at me full speed. I run for Sandler Street alongside the garages and fences belonging to multiple back yards. The SUV’s sirens ring out again but there’s no sign of Taylor. Security starts firing and I shoot back.

There’s no way I can outrun the vehicle, I’m going to have to jump into someone’s yard again. Please God, no pit bulls. The next few backyard fences are too high and if I attempt to climb any of them, I’ll give security a clear shot.

I aim for tires as I keep running and hear a loud pop as a one shot hits its mark. The front driver’s tire is blown and the SUV skids but continues down the gravel stretch. I skip jumping into another yard and finally make it to the end of the alley at Sandler and the blue Dodge Charger stops in front of me, the passenger door swings open.

“Ryan, get in!” Taylor screams. I hop in, slam the door and he floors the gas. We head down Sandler and the SUV stops at the end of the alley as a procession of cars drive by leaving BHO security stuck.

“You were supposed to be at the corner of Howard. What took so long?” I ask.

“You’re early, I was on my way.”

“No. I was sure I was right on time.”

“What matters is that you’re safe and have the virus. You do have it don’t you?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Friday – 12:05 p.m.

 I walk into the briefing room greeted by fellow agents who belong to the same government organization I do – Wraith – a faction that opposes the president’s fascist attempts on increasing his powers.

Colonel Hatcher looks me in the eye extending his hand for a shake.

“Good job,” he says.”

Taylor shakes my hand as well and Rebecca gives me a hug and a smile. I feel her thin frame against me and her long brown hair on my face.

“So glad you made it, Ryan. I knew you could do it,” she says.

“Well, was it worth a year and a half of me as a BHO employee?” I ask as I pull away.

“It was. Sit down, here’s what we know.”

We all sit at the conference table; Colonel Hatcher and Rebecca take the end at the wall. A rectangular space on the wall opens revealing a flat screen monitor. Video footage appears of scientists in a laboratory working in hazmat suits.

“The vile you stole, Ryan, contains a deadly genetically engineered virus created from three strains of pre-existing viruses: hence the name Cerberus 13 from the Greek three –headed mythological hound, Cerberus,” says Rebecca.

“And the number thirteen?” asks Taylor.

“It was on the thirteenth attempt at combining the three strands that BHO succeeded in creating this flesh devouring virus. It spreads fast by simple human skin to skin contact and airborne droplets.” Rebecca replies. “This is what it does.”

Rebecca pushes a button on the remote and new footage appears. We see a front view of three men and two women lay in hospital beds, sheets pure white. Each bed is sectioned off by clear plastic curtains.

“These patients are the first scientists who studied the sample,” says Rebecca.  

Other scientists wearing protective biohazard suits pull away the white sheets of one of the unlucky victims, revealing his condition. Underneath the sheet is a blanket of clear plastic which is also pulled away.

The victim’s face, neck, and shoulders look normal except for the torso which has no skin whatsoever and partially exposed, bloody muscle tissue. His ribs are visible, and his pectoral muscles and abdominal wall have rotted away revealing internal organs. Each infected individual’s sheets and plastic covering is lifted away, their innards revealed. The look on the living one’s face is horrible, he’s alive and suffering.

“The virus causes the literal decomposition of the flesh in the torso area first. It’s excruciatingly painful and the victim will die within twenty-four hours. We are working on the antidote now. Thanks to the sample you took, Ryan.” Rebecca says.

“There’s one more problem,” Colonel Hatcher interjects. “We’ve intelligence that this presidential administration will release Cerberus 13 on a small portion of the local public here in the city. It will spread quickly, killing thousands of people within days. The president will then declare a state of emergency, calling it a terrorist attack. He’ll use the tragedy to infringe on citizens’ rights giving himself and his colleagues more power. They create the problem, then the solution that benefits them. This is how it has always been done.”

“Any idea when they’re going to release the virus?” I ask the colonel.

“Memorial Day, Monday, three days from now.”


“The downtown plaza, at the city Memorial Day festival. Cerberus 13 will be released in an odorless, tasteless, invisible gas.”

“How do we stop it?”

Monday, Memorial Day – 8:00 a.m.

My hair is bleached blonde, cut short, and my goatee has been shaven off. I’m given blue contacts and a false nose. I don’t even recognize myself. I arrive at the BHO industrial plant, an ex-job site of mine. I’m chosen because I know the building like the back of my glove.

The plant is less than a mile from downtown’s square where the Memorial Day festivities will take place at noon when the virus is released. The warehouse is empty except for a few expendable low-level employees. Memorial Day is perfect because it gives top management good reason not to be in the building when the virus is released.

The small, red MX2 airplane was donated by a local airport affiliated with BHO industries. It’s for aerial stunts to entertain the public after the mayor’s speech and is kept in the large warehouses as a temporary hanger.

One of our boys inside BHO was able to get the security codes to the warehouse so getting inside is cake. No alarm goes off and I disable the motion detectors before I enter the makeshift hanger through a side door. The pilot arrives in an hour giving me ample time.

The warehouse is dusty, has an extremely high ceiling of about forty feet and is filled with large 6 X 4-foot boxes packed with parts for various machines. I disappear behind one of these large boxes and scope the area. The plane is near the large shipping and receiving entrance, the huge garage-like door locked shut.

I was given a crash course in airplane mechanics last night, specifically the MX2. My photographic memory makes me perfect for this type of work. I learned how to access the storage unit underneath the plane that holds the Cerberus 13 storage tank. I have a special protective casing in my black leather bag that hangs over my shoulder to contain it.

Everything is clear as I make my way to the plane along the dirty cement floor bringing tools in the bag. It’s too quiet, which allows my other senses to become heightened. I see movement, ever so slightly, atop a 15-foot shelving unit that holds the big boxes packed with parts. Immediately, I dive behind a parked hi-lo as the tink, tink, tink of gunfire bounce of the metal.

He’s up on the high shelf near the ceiling, crouched next to a box. It’s the same asshole dressed in black who almost killed me when I stole the vile. He still wears that black mask and has his rifle again. With the 9mm I fire from behind the hi-lo. I let go four rounds as my rival ducks behind other boxes.

His turn, he shoots back before jumping off the top shelf onto lower shelving unit, five feet across from it. He lands on the middle shelf and uses another box for cover. He’s getting closer for a better shot. I can’t let that happen – I’ll have to have to take him out before I disarm the plane.

From behind the hi-lo, I keep an eye on the box that covers him. I know how the parts are packed inside, I used to work here. There’s nothing but air in between cell spaces that separates the contained parts. If I can get a shot through one of those spaces, there’s nothing but cardboard protecting him.

I aim at the weak areas of the box and release a barrage of rapid fire, but he jumps out from behind it, this time landing on the ground floor behind another parked hi-lo. He leaves his rifle, too bulky, so he uses a side arm. We exchange fire, neither of us hitting our target. I’m low on ammo.

The nose of his pistol peeks out from the back end of his hi-lo. I have to make the last shots count so I use one of the oldest tricks in the book. I fling one of the tools from my bag across the warehouse. He changes the aim of his gun toward the echoing sound which gives me a shot.

I let my last rounds go, hitting the barrel of his gun, knocking it out of his hand. It lands on the cement floor and slides behind a stack of wooden pallets. He steps out from behind the vehicle motioning his top four fingers toward himself in a Bruce Lee – come here – fashion. He wants to do this hand-to-hand, and I have no choice.

I leave the tool bag on the floor and step out from behind the hi-lo and we get into stance. By his style I see he’s trained in Muay Thai, an aggressive form of kick boxing from Thailand. So am I. We face off and step closer to one another. He throws a handful of screws at my face he found someplace in the warehouse. I flinch, giving him a few seconds that he takes full advantage of with a swift front kick to my stomach. It hurts and I’m taken a few steps back as I fight the pain.

He sends fist after fist my way, I block and slip as soon as he gives them. He’s fast. I strike back with a jab and a cross, but he dodges. I get closer and tag him with an elbow to his chin. It pisses him off. He delivers a quick round house kick to my face. The blow shocks me and I lose my balance. My back falls against the side of the plane near the wing.

He pulls a knife from his belt, jabs it at my face but I dodge it left and right as the blade strikes the metal of the plane; Tink Tink. The next jab is at my chest, I parry blocking his arm with my right. I grab his knife welding wrist twisting it back, almost breaking it, which forces him to drop the knife. He succumbs to the pain.

With his wrist now in a lock, I snatch the blade from the floor and slam it sideways through his leather suit between his ribs. I repeat the stab again and again then pull it out quickly so that blood doesn’t slide on my gloved hand. I wipe the blood from the blade on his back, put the knife into my inside jacket pocket and drop him to the ground on his stomach.

His wounds are deep and he’s too weak to fight back. I want to see his face. I notice something odd about the suit he wears when I turn him over – it’s bulky – like padding. It’s probably a type of Kevlar armor but not strong enough to take a blade at close range. His frame is smaller than I had thought; the armor makes his body look much bigger than he really is.

I pull off the mask from behind the neck and strands of long hair fall to the floor. I thought I was seeing things when I saw her face. She looks at me with those gray eyes.

“Rebecca? You’re a double agent…”

“Of course…” she says in a weakened voice, “who do you think sent Taylor to pick you up late yesterday?”


“We’re going to win, Ryan. The New World Order is just around the corner. You will all take the Mark of the Beast. It’s just a matter of time. Cerberus 13 won’t be the last contagion created… you know that.”

She closes her eyes and dies in my hands, by my hands. I need to hurry so I leave her on the floor while I retrieve my tool bag and the tool I threw across the room. Underneath the plane I find where the Cerberus13 tank located and remove it – extremely carefully. I place it in the special containment unit in the bag.

Just in case they have another tank of the virus I open the front engine of the plane and dismantle it pieces by piece. I leave the defunct engine visibly exposed, so they’ll know not to fly it. They’ll know something’s wrong when they see blood on the floor too.

I’m not going to leave Rebecca in the warehouse. I wrap my jacket around her wound to prevent a bloody mess and drag her body to the door I entered. I call Taylor and he pulls up within seconds. Not sure if I can trust him either. The slightest indication that he’s a threat and I’ll fill him with bullets. Rebecca’s body is put into the trunk, and I sit in the passenger seat, my pistol aimed at Taylor from inside my jacket pocket, just in case. We get away, not a soul watching, as far as I know.

At base. One hour later:

 I don’t know what they did with Rebecca’s body, no use worrying about it – it’s out of my hands. Makes me wonder who else can’t be trusted. Colonel Hatcher? Taylor didn’t try anything funny on the way back to base, but I’ll keep my eyes open.

I’m told the antidote for Cerberus 13 is almost complete and should be ready in three days, they work fast.

From the conference room Colonel Hatcher, Taylor, a few others, and me watch the Memorial Day speech by Mayor Grant. He stands behind the podium in the downtown plaza in front of a sizable crowd waving American flags. A green tarp covering a large object is erected behind him. The sky is a bright blue, not a cloud in it, perfect for BBQ ribs, soda, and potato salad.

Channel 2 news reporter Kimberly Salidos appears on screen holding a microphone in front of the crowd. The mayor in the background gives his final words and the reporter provides us with the news:

“Mayor Grant finished his speech today by thanking United States Veterans for their service and sacrifice. He told us to remember those who have died for freedom. He also promised an exciting new addition to the city’s downtown landscape, let’s take a look,” Salidos says.

The camera zooms past the reporter to the twelve-foot object behind Mayor Grant. The tarp is removed by three city workers and falls to the ground unveiling what’s underneath. The cameras zoom closer, and we see a bronze statue of the one who is believed to be the current president of the United States. His image stands and is sculpted wearing a suit and tie. One arm is to the side, the other waves and the face displays the most benign smile. To think, he was the one behind the Cerberus 13 aerial plot and they adore him. He can do no wrong in their eyes.

He’s been the media’s darling since his campaign and this statue only adds to the fuel. The crowd cheers and I think: what does this politician have to do with Memorial Day? Nothing, it’s just another publicity stunt.

The reporter speaks again.

“We’ve just received word that the airplane that was supposed to entertain the crowd this morning with an aerial demonstration was found to have mechanical problems and won’t be flying.”

Just after her statement two loud blasts were heard somewhere in the crowd. Screaming is heard as people scatter in multiple directions throughout the plaza. The camera shakes as the reporter flees the scene toward her media van among terrified citizens running in all directions. Her voice quavering, the reporter speaks.

“It seems two explosions were just set off here downtown, probably by domestic terrorists! One bomb went off near the river and the other within the crowd! There doesn’t seem to be much – cough, cough – physical destruction…I’m having a hard time breathing and so is my crew. I’m getting a severe headache. Many people around me are vomiting. Everyone’s getting sick.”


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