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Aris stared at the wooden duck on his screen. Its red eye blinked once. Then the feed cut to black.

Suddenly, the duck’s empty eye socket flickered. A red light bloomed from within. The image sharpened, and Aris felt his blood run cold. The duck wasn't just a marker—it was a collector . A rudimentary, low-tech drone built from scrap wood and stolen servos. Someone had programmed it to sit, motionless, for weeks at a time, sampling the river water every twelve hours. quackprep.rg

Aris rubbed his eyes. He’d been dozing off over a half-eaten bagel and a stack of old virology journals. For the past six months, his team at the CDC had been chasing a ghost—a biological signature that appeared in a single blood sample from a remote village in the Amazon, then vanished without a trace. The sample’s file tag? QUACKPREP.RG . Aris stared at the wooden duck on his screen

The duck’s beak opened wide—not to quack, but to whisper the beginning of the end. Suddenly, the duck’s empty eye socket flickered

Aris leaned closer. The duck’s beak was slightly open. And inside the beak, barely visible, was a test tube wrapped in lead foil.