The orders come down from China

After a disgraceful second cover-up into the Winnipeg biolab debacle, it's time for a story.

Where to even begin on the latest bombshell developments surrounding the second round of cover-ups into Canada’s Winnipeg biolab fiasco?

We could talk about the Chinese spies who were allowed to conduct Sino-Canadian research and smuggle out samples for years on end from Canada’s only ‘level four’ facility.

I could pour over the documents showing the PRC’s attempts to use Canada to make deadly viruses like Ebola, and we could theorize about the timing of this initial discovery being right before Covid.

We could talk about Public Health cover-up number one (entirely bullshit), or today’s Liberal-NDP coalition cover-up number two (completely batshit).

I could share journalist Sam Cooper’s terrific new piece on said Chinese spies’ expertise in “synthetic bat filoviruses.” (Surely a coincidence!)

I’ll do all that, and I do encourage you to read up on the depths of shared communistic depravity, but I’d rather tell you a story. 

This whole sordid affair has always reminded this newsletter purveyor of the opening of Stephen King’s The Stand: a seminal text to many fans of apocalyptic fiction, from back when we had the luxury of certain elements not leaping to the non-fiction aisle.

In the interest of continuing to try new things here, I invite you to come along, dear reader, at this witching hour, when it is again an utter disgrace to be a Canadian.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental.

Some of it, at least.

“Nothing interesting happens in Winnipeg.”
-Accepted Canadian proverb

“I called the doctor on the telephone,
Said doctor, doctor, please,
I got this feeling, rocking and reeling,
Tell me, what can it be?
Is it some new disease?”
-The Sylvers

An Insanely Dangerous and Deeply Incompetent Liberal Circle Opens

“Keding.”

A snore and a mutter.

“Wake up now, Keding.”

A louder grumble: leeme lone.

She shook him hard.

“Wake up, you idiot. Wake up!”

Xiangguo.

Xiangguo’s shrill voice. Calling him. But for how long?

Keding Cheng yanked himself out of a once-sound sleep.

Quarter past three in the morning. Xiangguo Qiu shouldn’t even be here; she should be on shift in the lab. Then he got a good look at her, and knew immediately something was wrong.

His wife was deathly pale. More so than usual. Her eyes bulged beneath her prescription readers.

“Is it a break-in?” He asked stupidly, not knowing how to best approach the women he first laid eyes upon one balmy fall day at the Wuhan Institute of Virology; his child-like crush developing nine stories below the earth as they weaponized a bird flu soon to be bound for Africa and released by Wagner mercenaries.

“In a way,” she replied. “In a way, it’s worse. You’ve got to get dressed, honey. Grab the baby, we’ve got to get out of here.”