So What If The Impossible Happens

Content warning: This story contains gore and depictions of suicide

Allen Rubinstein dangled from the ceiling fan, a bedsheet around his neck, contemplating his failures. Even this suicide note isn't original, he thought, looking at the paper pinned to his shirt. "'The words don't come anymore'—didn't some folk singer use that line?"

After years of writing and six finished novels, he still couldn't find an agent or publisher. Maybe death would finally make him a bestseller. His wife and kids would get the profits, those bastard publishers would kick themselves, and—

"Dad!"

Allen found himself looking up at Stevie, his twenty-something son, who definitely wasn't supposed to be there during Bev's girls' weekend in Reno.

"I was just researching a story about suicide," Allen lied, noticing his soiled boxer shorts. "I wasn't going through with it."

"Don't lie to me, Dad. You were unconscious when I found you."

After much negotiating and a shower, Stevie dragged Allen to his therapist, Dr. Bluffer, who insisted on hospitalization despite Allen's protests about One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

At UCLA's psychiatric ward, Allen's roommate turned out to be Phil Cohen, a successful mystery writer from their college days who was now severely depressed.

"I just can't write anymore," Phil explained in a monotone. "The last few books went nowhere."

Allen realized his problems weren't so unique. After 72 hours and sessions with a brilliant young psychiatrist who'd actually bought his latest novel, he was discharged with a new perspective—and a dangerous new idea forming.

The cancer treatment center became Allen's second home. Three times a week, he sat with the same group of patients receiving chemotherapy infusions. They were an eclectic bunch: Rebecca, a decorated Iraq War veteran battling lymphoma and PTSD; her father Gus, a retired Marine colonel with ALS; Richard, an infectious disease specialist with leukemia; Lisa, an emergency room doctor with melanoma; Seth, a former NFL linebacker turned commentator; Gregg, an ex-senator and lawyer with multiple myeloma; and Mort, an aging radical with a death wish.

Their conversations had grown darker since Ronald Hart became president. Hart's appointment of his wife as Secretary of State was just the beginning. His cabinet read like an NGA (National Gun Association) roster, and his policies grew more authoritarian daily. The recent color ban—making it illegal to wear blue and yellow in support of Ukraine—was the last straw for many of them.

But Allen had noticed something interesting: despite being immunocompromised cancer patients, none of them had contracted the deadly new COVID variant that was killing people in the streets. The combination of their interferon treatments and the new vaccine seemed to make them immune while still allowing them to carry the virus.

"What if," Allen mused during one session, "we could weaponize this immunity?"

While Allen developed his theory, the world crumbled around them. President Hart had turned America into a police state. Ukrainians were herded into internment camps modeled after Russian gulags. Books were banned and burned. The "Ethics Police" arrested anyone violating the dress code, and Hart's private militia enforced his will.

In the camps, Colonel Yevgeny planned a rebellion while Dr. Svetlana tended to the dying. Richard smuggled medical supplies to them, risking his freedom. The conditions were horrific—bodies burned on pyres, families separated, disease rampant.

Allen's son Stevie documented the arrests and camp conditions for his documentary The Siberian Candidate, despite the danger. His wife Sara, a lawyer, grew increasingly worried about the family's safety as the government's fascist grip tightened.

During one infusion session, Allen finally pitched his plan in detail:

"The interferon and vaccine make us immune to COVID while letting us carry it. We get deliberately infected, then use our connections to get close to Hart and his cronies. We become human biological weapons."

The group was skeptical. Richard, the medical expert, couldn't validate the science. Seth had access to Hart through NFL connections but worried about innocent bystanders. Gregg, who'd been offered a Justice Department position, saw political alternatives.

Only Mort, the dying radical, was immediately enthusiastic. "What do we have to lose?"

As Allen pushed his assassination plot, other resistance was forming. Vice President Don Chamor and his wife Shirley (secretly an ex-Israeli intelligence officer) were growing horrified by Hart's policies. Shirley befriended Lisa during a chance encounter at a synagogue, seeking moral guidance as her guilt over helping design the camps overwhelmed her.

Meanwhile, Gregg accepted the Justice Department position and discovered Hart's constitutional "amendments" were lifted verbatim from the Russian constitution. The evidence of Hart's collusion with President P. was overwhelming—secret payments, shared intelligence, coordinated policies.

Don tried to confront Hart about the camps but was immediately placed under surveillance. When Gregg met with Don to share his findings, General Flintock sent Don a glass of champagne—laced with Russian poison. Don and Shirley realized they were marked for death.

The net was closing on multiple fronts. Lisa disappeared after being followed by government spies. The Ukrainian rebellion was crushed when Yevgeny was captured and tortured. Russian influence had infiltrated every level of government.

Allen's bipolar energy drove him to complete his novel about the assassination plot, which he titled What If? His family and group members begged him to delay publication, fearing it would expose them all. Allen ignored their pleas, convinced his masterpiece would change the world.

The group's skepticism about the medical viability of the plan grew. Richard could prove they might be asymptomatic carriers but couldn't guarantee they could infect targets or protect innocent people. Sam designed special masks with valves, but the logistics remained impossible.

Then tragedy struck: Gus contracted COVID from Rebecca, who'd unknowingly become a carrier after exposure at a veterans' meeting. The old Marine died within days, finally validating their theory—but at a terrible cost.

Gregg, meanwhile, had his final meeting with Hart to discuss his Justice Department role. Wearing his protective mask, he didn't realize he'd accidentally turned off the valve. During their handshake and conversation, viral particles from a mild infection he didn't know he had slowly transferred to the president.

Five days later, while at his Hawaiian plantation with his Russian mistress, Hart began coughing. Within 48 hours, he was hemorrhaging blood into his lungs. The secret service rushed him to a hospital, but the new COVID variant was ruthless. Despite the best medical care, President Hart exsanguinated and died.

Don Chamor became president and immediately began reversing Hart's policies. The internment camps were liberated, the color bans lifted, books restored to libraries. Yevgeny was freed from prison, and Svetlana began her journey to become an American doctor. The Russian investigation exploded into the open, exposing the depth of the conspiracy.

But Allen's novel had already been published and become a bestseller. When Hart's death was announced, conspiracy theorists immediately connected the dots. The fictional assassination plot seemed to mirror reality too closely.

Congressional investigations began immediately. How had the president died so conveniently? Why did a novel describing an identical plot exist? Who was in this "infusion group"?

Reporters traced Allen to his cancer treatment center and identified all the members. Gregg, as the only one with access to Hart, became the prime suspect. Death threats poured in. Protesters surrounded their homes. The GAHA (Give America a Hart Again) fanatics demanded justice.

Under oath before Congress, Allen maintained his novel was pure fiction. The group testified they'd only fantasized about resistance, never planned actual assassination. But the timing was devastating—a novel about COVID assassination published just as the president died of COVID.

The evidence was circumstantial but damning. Gregg had met with Hart days before his death. The group had discussed using COVID as a weapon. Allen's novel provided a roadmap that seemed to have been followed.

Yet no one could prove intent. Gregg had worn a mask and shown no symptoms. The group had abandoned the plan months earlier. The novel was clearly labeled fiction.

The investigations eventually faded. Don Chamor's presidency restored democracy and prosecuted the Russian collaborators. The camps were dismantled, the books unbanned, the Constitution restored.

Allen's novel remained a bestseller, but the controversy haunted him. He'd achieved fame at the cost of nearly destroying his family and friends. Gregg completed his term as Attorney General before succumbing to cancer. Richard and Rebecca found love and continued their research until Richard's death. Stevie's documentary won awards but cost him producers.

America healed, but slowly. The camps were gone, but the scars remained. The books returned to shelves, but trust in institutions was shattered. Democracy was restored, but the question lingered:

Had it been an impossible coincidence—or had life imitated art in the most dangerous way possible?

In the end, perhaps it didn't matter. A tyrant was dead, freedom was restored, and sometimes the universe conspires to give the oppressed exactly what they need, even if they never meant to ask for it.

The only remaining question was whether anyone would learn from the experience—or whether the cycle would simply begin again with a different demagogue, a different crisis, and a different group of unlikely heroes wondering: What if?