Days, weeks, months, years

of all these i have but the shortest,

i will give my life up for all of theirs

but i am afraid it isn't good enough to get me that which i have asked,

today i shall present my daugther for the test with hope to get a result not a death certificate

today i shall write a letter to my adversary hoping to find a solution after we communicate,

and if all my actions proves abortive

then that which couldn't be honestly achieved shall be stolen,

i know i risk the wrath of war, but the power to end a war i have

but the power to end this plague i am yet to have.

Synopsis:

Firstly, i'll get my scientist to work twice as fast as they're already and make my Daughter a test subject. Secondly i will write a letter to my enemy, hoping to get their vaccine samples and guvng them something in return. And lastly, if nothing if the first and second option deiesn't work. i will steal the vaccine.

Saying that I hate it here, under the current POTUS, is an understatement. And this is coming from a special espionage agent in charge of serving him and his family. He has indirectly killed my family and friends through his incompetant handling of a global pandemic, and now, he expects me to save his own infected daughter. Ridiculous, but I need to keep this good salary and his trust. Who knows what he would do to me if I turned down this assignment? He’s already taken out Bismuth and Kevlar for their failures...

You probably don’t know me, but if you do, you know me only by my code name, Cobalt. (My superior doesn’t even know any of these elements are, by the way.) This next part will sound straight out of a Bond film, but this is all I can tell you about me.

I have been given a very ambitious job- “retrieve” a sample of the COVID cure from one of the following countries: Russia, China, or North Korea. Fun options.

I’ve gone with the Motherland, based entirely off of a game of Eenie Minee Miney Moe (because all of these choices are dangerous for various political reasons and I’ve basically given up at this point).

Everything had been going smoothly: using a fake ID to board the plane, planning with a map of the Moscow biotech lab’s layout, bypassing the surveillance in the middle of the night. What I hadn’t been expecting in a million years for someone to be waiting for me in the pathology center. And that someone was representing their own president too.

The woman was definitely federal security, judging by everything from her outside to her perfect posture and deadpan expression. She stood silently between me and the cabinet supposedly containing vials of the cure, holding up a sleek computer. When she opened up the screen and nodded to me, a video call began that had my jaw dropped.

“Hello, American agent.” I saw the Russian president, the cold-eyed ruler himself, speaking to me from the device. “This will sound a little ominous, but we have been expecting you- we had known that he, your president, I mean, would send someone to steal our or a different country's cure."

His hollow smile made goosebumps crawl on my skin, but I returned the expression. "We really do want to help, though," he continued, adjusting the suit that I was sure he had put together quite hastily. "but we have a condition, yes. We will give out two cures, one for the daughter and one for the president. They must each have one, to confirm how it affects both someone who is infected and one who is not. In truth, it hasn't been tested much at this time, you see."

I nodded slowly, still processing everything. "I will contact him now, if that's okay."

"Of course. I'm positive he will take this."

I made it clear that I was taking out my phone, then pressed a contact labeled "Mogul". "Hello, Mr. President? Yes, this is Cobalt."

I carefully explained my situation, how our political rivals were offering the cure at a suspicious price. I made it clear that the liklihood of their miracle formulas being poison or samples of the living COVID-19 virus were high. That this "deal" was too good to be true.

My mouth had gone dry after speaking so much, and I almost drank some water offered to me by the Russian agent before it occurred that it could be poisoned or infected. (With a job like mine, you always have to be prepared for the worst.)

I was dumbfounded once more at his brief response: "I trust Russia and their cure- we are in very good hands with their government."

When he hung up on me, I hesitated before letting out a quiet sigh. "He says that he'll take it," I told the woman, before remembering that I was supposed to look back at her computer screen.

"Perfect," the Russian president said. "My agent metel' will bring you the formulas right away."

I watch the secret agent unlock the cabinet behind her with the swipe of an ID, the corners of her eyes trained back on me in case I think of anything funny. "My name is Snowstorm, in English." She handed me a heavy briefcase while reading my mind.

"Spasibo." The case opened up with a hiss, and I checked to find two small vials and syringes.

I looked back at the president on the screen. "Once again, I thank you both for the diplomacy regarding this situation and civilized agreement we have reached. America's leader sends his deepest regards."

"And Russia sends love!" I laughed along with his response. "Yes, but to be serious, I hope your president's heir gets well soon. We all have been impacted by this disease, more so in your country however. Safe travels, Agent 'Cobalt'."

Snowstorm pressed "end call", and with a quick wink, walked off into the shadows before I could say goodbye.

I replayed that entire episode in my head on the trip back. The conversation, while painfully awkward and stress-inducing, had gone a bit too well. I knew that the "cure" I was now carrying had to be tested before use.

At least, that's what I and the White House's other workers thought would happen.

As soon as I made it back to Washington, the briefcase was cracked open and a hired doctor was administering the cure to Mogul and Marvel, his daughter.

"Mr. President," I had said. "I believe that you should be aware of the risks this could pose. We don't know the composition of this 'miracle formula', and it may very well be-"

"A trick?" As usual, I was cut off. "Cobalt, do you think that I wouldn't have considered that. What I am doing, for you, the media, and others doubting me, is proving how reliable our good ally Russia is. They have passed beautiful laws, Russia's government."

You mean state censorship and corruption? Discrimination against the LGBT community? If the president could have heard my thoughts, I would have been fired or worse much earlier.

I glanced away as he and his daughter were injected with filled syringes. I'm not afraid of needles like I used to be, but I was dreading the outcome of all of this.

A few seconds after, the president asked his daughter how she was feeling. As she turns to him to smile, my eyes widen. Her thin arms have begun to convulse erratically, and her eyes are cloudier than Moscow's skies.

The doctor, breaking out of her spell of exhaustion, catches the girl as she collapsed. I take a step back, hastily assessing the situation before rushing to the next victim.

"Mr. President!" I support his weight on my shoulders before the other Secret Service agents help me. One other person ran out of the room for more doctors. Social distancing was the least of my concerns now.

I yelled out to the doctor, "what's going on?" while checking my boss's shuddering breathing and empty expression for answers.

"It must be cyanide or something similar, shit." I saw her lay down Marvel on her hospital bed before rummaging through her supplies. "I only have one kit, but we have to be quick."

I shook my head, knowing that only we could decide the fates of the president or his daughter. One was older, the other younger but fattally ill. "Try saving her first."

I felt for the president's weakening pulse as he was led into a nearby seat. The doctor hooked up a machine and strapped its inhaler to the unconscious girl. We listened to her slow breathing and the crescendo of commotion in the hospital's halls, before more medics finally came in.

But it was too late for the both of them: the president was gone before another kit could even be taken out, and his daughter's lungs had become to weak from the virus to recover from the poisoning. The burden of predicting everything correctly, then making a poor split decision, weighed down on me. I didn't know how to feel as I walked out of that room without my country's leader.

Was this all my fault? No- Russia had planned all of this, or at least hadn't perfected their cure enough to be given to anyone. I, along with every other American citizen, was just in the crossfires of a complicated global catastrophe known as the year 2020 again.

There was nothing I could have done about it, right?

(Note: I got caught up in writing this story before remembering that the prompt was supposed to be from the POV of the president specifically, so I hope this is okay lol)