The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 37

The entire top floor of the research department at Metropolitan General Hospital was dedicated to Project Vitas.

This was the primary site for Garrison Foster's clinical trials. The project had already advanced to Phase 3, with over fifty participating patients occupying specialized rooms lining both sides of the corridor. They were cared for by dedicated nurses, and family members were strictly restricted from entering.

At the end of the hall were two high-security labs: one for cultivating the phagocytic microbe colonies, and the other for drug development.

There was also a private office belonging exclusively to Garrison.

At 8:00 PM, Garrison wrapped up his data analysis for the day and stepped into one of the rooms for his rounds.

"Dr. Foster... um..."

On the bed, an elderly patient named Mr. Chen clutched his blanket, his fingers trembling slightly. "I heard from the guy in the next bed that... whatever that White Microbe is called... we're running out? Is my treatment going to stop?"

Garrison, who was adjusting the IV pump, paused for a fraction of a second. His face remained completely impassive.

When he spoke, his voice was rock-steady. "Don't listen to rumors. We have enough medicine. Your treatment will proceed exactly as planned. Just rest."

Looking into Garrison's calm, unwavering eyes, the tension in Mr. Chen's shoulders finally melted away, and he broke into a relieved smile.

"Right, right! Dr. Foster, hearing that from you puts my mind at ease! You're the one keeping us all going!"

Garrison gave a short hum of acknowledgment, double-checked the vitals on the monitor, and walked out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Assistant Dawson hurried over in the hallway, lowering his voice anxiously.

"Boss, inventory just updated the numbers. The main suppliers for the White Microbe have officially cut ties with us. Our current stockpile... will only cover three months of standard use. Our attempts at expanding the culture medium internally... failed again. The R&D team is basically at a standstill."

He stood up, pulled an official red-stamped document from his drawer, and slid it across the desk.

"The government has officially launched Project Deep Ice. The objective is to travel to Antarctica, locate, and safely extract a massive, stable supply of the White Microbe."

Garrison's pupils contracted. He instantly picked up the file.

"Hold your horses, let me finish." The Dean slowly poured him a cup of tea. "They're not messing around this time. Geological surveying and ice-core analysis will be handled by the elite polar research team from Northgate Institute of Technology. As for the most critical part—the subglacial lake diving and sampling..." The old man smiled, a hint of pride in his voice. "They're pulling from the Metropolitan Sports Bureau. These are national-level professional divers with extreme experience and ironclad psychological resilience. It's the absolute best team this country can put together."

He patted Garrison's shoulder. "Just hold on a few more months, Garrison. Once we bring back our own microbial strain and establish a stable cultivation system, we'll never have to answer to corporate suits again, and we won't have to worry about our patients losing their medicine. Have a little faith in our country!"

Garrison gripped the thin file, his eyes scanning the detailed operational plans and the bright red official seal at the bottom. The crushing weight that had been sitting on his chest for days finally loosened just a fraction.