Two days before the first recorded human case, 1:26 pm. Westview, Clarkson Uptown, Government Hall.
The hours blended into a dizzying stretch of road. Kael's knuckles whitened around the driving wheel as he drove into Clarkson City's oldest section, where squat concrete buildings stood shoulder to shoulder like vigilant sentinels. Finally, the great but aged government hall appeared, its crumbling limestone front covered with small flags in commemoration of the foundation day. Outside, official automobiles idled in orderly queues, as aides and clerks walked quickly through security checks.
Kael barely managed to park without sideswiping a patrol car. He nearly fell on the front steps, his lungs tight with adrenaline and fear. Inside, the air was colder. Almost oppressive in its bureaucratic stillness. A marble directory directed him to the mayor's office on the second level. As he ran down the corridor, staffers' polished shoes clicked rapidly past him, everyone wearing a pleasant, professional grin. When Kael approached the frosted glass door marked "Mayor Wood," he waited just to draw one strained breath before knocking forcefully and striding inside without waiting for a response.
The massive wood door groaned inward on the well-oiled hinges. Inside, the room felt vast, with the high ceiling and enormous bookcases dwarfing even the large mahogany desk that dominated the middle. Mayor Wood sat at the far end, his back to the room, framed by sunshine flowing through wide glass windows that overlooked the government plaza below. One hand lay on the arm of his chair, tapping absently, while the other clutched an amber glass that caught the afternoon sun.
Wood let out a quiet, controlled sigh when the door opened, as if annoyance were just part of his daily routine. "This had better be important," he remarked steadily, his voice low and somewhat rasped from age. Only then did he pivot the chair around, revealing a lined, impassive face under neatly combed silver hair. His sharp gray eyes took in Kael in an instant, cataloging the sweat at his brow, the tremor at the edge of his jaw.
A faint smirk ghosted across Wood's mouth. "Dr. Ethan Kael. Now there's an unexpected visitor. I take it this isn't a courtesy call about cancer something program project, isn't it?"
Kael stood just inside the door, breathing hard, one hand still on the polished knob behind him. The bright windows painted the mayor's silhouette in a stark glow, making the room feel colder, emptier; as if history itself was watching, waiting.
"Mayor Wood," Kael said hoarsely. I need five minutes. It is about a possible public health crisis. "One that has already begun." Mayor Wood looked at him for a minute longer, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he carefully placed down his drink and indicated to the chair opposite his desk.
"In five minutes, then. Let's see how deep your rabbit hole goes."
Kael sat still in the leather chair, letting the chilly back swallow him up. Outside the windows, sunlight was beginning its gradual descent into dusk, pouring gold across the floor — yet within, the office felt gloomy, nearly shaded by the weight of ancient wood and calm authority. Mayor Wood folded his hands on the glossy desk; gaze fixed on Kael with a predator's calm.
Kael took a hesitant breath. His throat felt like sandpaper. He leaned forward, his voice breaking with intensity. "Symptoms appear early. Mostly weariness, unusual eye webbed red eyes, and skin pallor. However, it is a systemic problem that is becoming worse. If it's what I believe it is, or even near, it's already in your citizens. Especially after today's festivities."
Wood's eyes darkened slightly, but his posture never changed. Kael could hear the faint tick of an old clock somewhere beneath the desk, which grew thunderously loud.
"That's a hell of an accusation to make on a celebratory afternoon, Doctor. You know that panic alone might damage livelihoods, send families scrambling, and destroy local businesses – all for what? Preliminary samples? Farm rumors? "
Kael's hands tightened into fists on his knees. "We watched it jump from vectors we never expected. It is not a rumor, Mayor. It's a biological problem that doesn't care if Clarkson City's quarterly revenue is consistent."
Wood slowly and deliberately breathed through his nostrils. Then he leaned back, the chair creaking and the quiet clink of ice in his drink echoing off the tall ceiling.
"So tell me, Dr. Kael...if we publicly halt poultry sales, shut down processing lines, and quarantine half our neighborhoods without more data, what happens if your 'chain' isn't as robust as you fear?" Could panic be more deadly than the thing itself? "
His words were measured, calm. But beneath that icy precision lay the smallest flicker of something else — doubt? Or fear? Kael couldn't tell. "Besides this will end to panic buying, hoarding… heck even moving out of this city."
Kael swallowed hard.
"If we don't act now, by the time we get statistics, your city will not be concerned about lost markets. "It will be mass graves."
For a minute, the only sound was the ominous ticking of the antique clock. A tiny cheer went up somewhere far away… perhaps in the plaza below, as festive music resumed, unaware. Then Wood leaned forward, steepled his hands, and fixed Kael with a glare that seemed to pierce him to the bone.
"Alright, Doctor. Let us see how deep this goes. You are not leaving town, and you will not speak to any more press, health boards, or ministries until I decide how we will handle this. Understood?
As Kael exited, the heavy office door clicked shut behind him, silencing the stillness once more. Mayor Felix Wood sat still, elbows resting on the desk and hands steepled beneath his chin. His pale gray eyes fixed on the polished wood surface, but he wasn't seeing it. A solitary idea surged at the border of his thoughts, gloomy and nasty. "What in God's name have I just walked into?"
Wood had never felt his feet so near to the edge of an abyss he couldn't quite see the bottom of in all his years of guiding Clarkson City through lean budgets, drug scares, and natural disasters.
He was a man who based his power on calm assurances, on knowing just when to exert pressure, when to relax, when to smile for the cameras, and when to crush a bothersome councilor in private. His silver hair was always precisely parted, his outfits were pressed to seem like they had just come from the tailor, and his shoes clicked with authority on the marble flooring. His austere, gently lined countenance was described by local newspapers as "trustworthy," but he knew better: trust was only the illusion he sold day after day. That illusion slipped now, in this dimly lit room with a faint scent of old books and cologne.
Because Kael's hollow eyes hadn't held the gleam of an over-eager scientist chasing headlines. They'd held something far worse. The stunned horror of a man who'd seen the future cracking open under his feet.
Wood let out a long, unsteady breath, then reached for his glass. The ice inside had nearly melted. As he tipped it back, the last of the lukewarm whiskey coated his throat, doing nothing to steady the chill crawling beneath his carefully maintained calm.
Two days before the first recorded human case, 9:39 pm. Westview, Clarkson, Downtown
After dusk, downtown Clarkson always looked its best in neon. By 8 p.m., the antique lamp posts were hardly able to compete with the flow of buzzing signs advertising anything from karaoke to cheap gin. Laughter poured out of cramped pubs, mixed with exhaust fumes and the lingering aroma of roasted street skewers.
A young woman walked down the sidewalk in low heels that pinched her toes, her black mini dress gripping tightly against the evening wind. Her mascara had smudged slightly under one eye, but it didn't really matter. Men didn't come to the east end for perfection; they came for a fantastic story to tell their friends or to leave at the bottom of a plastic cup. She flicked her cigarette on the sidewalk, her gaze scanning the small crowds of guys outside a pool hall. Drunk. Loose wallets. It's the perfect combo. As she approached, she noticed a pair in work jackets shouting about a sports bet. One of them was older, thicker in the middle, and certainly celebrating payday. The girl's lips curled into a sly smirk, and her gait shifted to a leisurely sway.
"Easy pickings." She whispered to herself.
She strolled up with an easy, seductive grin, her thumb tucked inside the waistband of her skirt.
"Good evening, boys. You look like you could spare a drink or three for a girl who knows how to keep a secret."
One older man glanced at her, shocked, and a sloppy smile began to form. But before he could crack a greasy joke or reach for his wallet, he bent double with a harsh, choking cough. It was not a playful cough caused by swallowing a chuckle. It sounded wet raw, clawing up from somewhere deep. "Hell, why not? Lemme — lemme just catch my breath."
She placed her fingers around his elbow, leading him away from the main thoroughfare.
"Come on, there's an area right down here that's much quieter. We can discuss about how generous you feel tonight."
He followed, tripping slightly. They entered a narrow side lane between two shuttered bakeries, barely lighted by a single yellow lightbulb. The young woman heart increased, but not from terror; this was the easy part. A little play, a little chuckle, a quick lift of the wallet, and possibly a phone if he was too far gone to notice. "Another smooth night."
She leaned close to that weary streetlamp, letting her perfume do half the work, her breath warm against his ear as she giggled at jokes she didn't understand. Every minute, the light above them buzzed and flickered, briefly enveloping them in darkness before resuming with a harsh electric brightness.
By the third round of playful touches, she could feel his shoulders relax, the strain of street caution melting away beneath cheap wine and her easy chuckle. His grin turned greedy, and his gaze shifted to the neckline of her dress. There it is, she thought, her smile tightening.
Hook is set ~.
She gently slipped her hand down his chest, playing with the edge of his jacket pocket.
"You must be doing really well tonight, right? Maybe you can show me how generous you are? I guarantee to make it worthwhile for you.
The man gave a clumsy chuckle, swaying. "Aw, hell… y'know what, why not. You're a real—"He broke off, coughing again, a wet, rattling sound. The lady flinched but quickly masked it with a sultry laugh, fingers dipping deftly inside his coat.
It was right there, inches from closing the deal. She leaned forward, letting her breath pass over his lips and coiling her hand around his neck to draw him closer. She could taste the cheap alcohol in the air and imagined twisting her fingers to lift his watch next. Then, suddenly, the man's body convulsed. A frantic, hollow retch ripped up his throat, and before she could react, a hot, vile gush exploded directly in her face. She staggered back with a strangled scream.
Her vision was filled with crimson and brown half-digested food, caustic booze, and something deeper, coppery, and unmistakable: blood. It adhered to her lips, cheeks, and the crook of her collarbone. The stench was worse than any gutter she had ever prowled. "Ew you T*rd! Ugh!".
She shoved him with both hands, hard. The man's knees buckled, and he toppled backward, hitting the edge of a rusting bin with a hollow ring before crumpling to the ground. For a heartbeat, he simply lay there, gasping in weak, wet wheezes. Then his head drooped to the side, eyes half-open, mouth working on a word that never came. A small streak of pink spittle dripped down his chin.
The woman stood motionless beneath the flickering lamp, her own breath rushing in and out of her lungs. The vomit was hot and sticky, flowing in sluggish rivulets down her neck. The lamp buzzed, then blinked out, leaving her in complete darkness with only the sound of his raspy breaths and the distant blare of traffic.
When it snapped back on, she was already rushing down the alley, gagging and hurriedly wiping her face. Behind her, the man was collapsed in a loose heap, his fingers twitching weakly on the soiled concrete. "Da*n it… I just bought this pair."
A few minutes later, she smashed into the door of a filthy public toilet off the main strip. The area smelled like bleach inadequately concealing pee, and the broken tiles and buzzing fluorescent light just made it feel colder and lonely. She staggered to the sink, clutching the edge so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her mirror was a disaster: filthy rivers of mascara ran down her cheeks, and black flecks of half-coagulated blood, vomited food/alcohol, clung to her hairline and jaw.
"Son of a …" she snarled, her voice trembling. "Piece of… !" She said while profusely cleaning herself with water and bunch of napkins from her little bag.
The lady twisted the faucet till it roared before repeatedly splashing icy water on her face. The coolness sunk into her skin, but it didn't take away the recollection of the heat. The thick, nasty wash of blood and vomit that had dripped down her lips and nostrils. She leaned forward, gagging on a gag and spitting fiercely in the sink. Dark particles swirled about in the drain.
Her fingers trembled as she scratched her flesh raw, her nails pushing into the crusted marks on her collarbone. The cheap soap couldn't quite hide the smell of bile and copper. It clung stubbornly to her nostrils, making the back of her neck itch. She didn't notice right away the faint, raw itch starting along the corners of her eyes. Or the tiny pinprick maroon spots just beginning to spider out across the whites. Her hands hurt from cleaning in the bathroom. She'd managed to put fresh lipstick over her open mouth and style her hair, so it didn't look like she'd been puked on. Muttering profanities, she used her shoulder to push open the bathroom door, just wanting to go home at this point.
Then she stopped dead on her tracks. The identical man stood just a few steps away from the door… far too near. The drunk. The one who had just thrown up all over her. His clothes were still splattered with black stains, and his eyes were hazy and little too wide and red. His chest lifted and sank with faint, irregular breaths. But he wasn't beaming or grinning like some lecher trying to complete what they'd begun. He was just standing there. Waiting. Blank.
"Are you kidding me?" The woman snapped, disdain choking out all fear.
"Look, creep, back the f off, or I'll call the cops. Do you hear me? "
The man did not flinch. Didn't say anything. He just made a short, tentative step toward her, his lips opening slightly as if he were going to say, but nothing came out except a low, rattling sigh. His breath smelled of decay.
"Jesus, what's up with you—back off! "
She scooted sideways, avoiding the wall, her hot palm gripping the phone tightly and struggling with the lock screen. Her heart pounded in her chest, more from repulsion than genuine terror. This da*m city is full of psychos." But as she moved passed, the man's gaze slowly shifted to follow her. His eyes fixed on her with empty intensity, a glance that was devoid of passion, intoxicated perplexity, and humanity.
She had almost passed him, clutching her phone, when the man suddenly shifted.
A abrupt, unnatural movement, his arms springing out with a rapidity that belied his dead-eyed expression. His hand clenched around her wrist in a painful squeeze. She let out a strangled cry and twisted frantically. Her phone clattered upon the concrete and skittered away. "Let go of me, you crazy son of a *" But he did not. His fingers drove in deeper, his claws cutting at her thin jacket sleeve. His breath was wet and shallow, bubbling in his throat. Without warning, he lunged closer, mouth opening, not in a shout or a groan, but wide, as if to bite.
Panic surged through her. She kicked hard at his shin, breaking free for a half-second before colliding with the edge of a neighboring garbage can. Her gaze wandered rapidly, landing on a sprinkling of loose gravel and palm-sized boulders along the sidewalk. She fell to a squat, grabbed two, and stuffed them into her bag. As he approached her again, she swung the improvised bludgeon with both hands. The first strike struck squarely on the side of his skull.
A horrible, hollow thump reverberated up her arms, a sound that seemed strange. The man reeled but did not scream out. Just turned those blank eyes back to her.
She hovered over him, her chest heaving with sobs and perspiration. Her hands trembled so terribly that she nearly dropped the improvised weapon. For a long time, neither of them moved, until the man's chest clenched in a short, jerky gasp.
"Oh, god… god… f" She did not wait for him to rise again. She dashed, her boots pounding the pavement, the stink of blood and old vomit still burning her nose. The noises from the event resonated in the distance, blissfully unaware.
Her heart thumped brutally against her ribs when the guy stirred. He moved on the ground, his head lolling, before pushing himself upright with a hideous shudder. His eyes met her instantly: blank, feverish, and unrelenting. "No, no—Sh…." She whirled on her heel, nearly hurting her ankle, before bolting back into the public restroom.
The door banged open so fiercely that it bounced against the tiled wall. She dove into the nearest stall, slammed the door shut, and pushed the lock so hard that it clicked twice. The main bathroom door flew open in an instant Heavy footfall slammed against the dirty floor, sluggish and dragging.
For a minute, there was stillness. Only the buzzing overhead light and a small trickle of water from a busted pipe. Then—BANG.
The whole metal door jerked inward.
She smothered a scream, gripping her purse as a barrier.
BANG.
BANG.
The hinges moaned with each strike. She could see him through the crack in the stall door, half of his face covered in blood, mouth slack, eyes wide and almost ravenous. He didn't yell. Didn't say anything. He just repeatedly banged his shoulder into the door. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking down her cheeks, forcing her breath to slow. After what felt like an eternity, the banging paused. Heavy breaths rattled on the other side with heavy grunted growls. The young woman frantically searches her phone to call for help only realize that she accidentally yanked the phone to the deranged man along with her purse, cursing herself for being stupid.
After what felt like an eternity, the banging paused. Heavy breaths rattled on the other side, then silence Minutes crawled by. Finally, she dared to peek through the crack. The bathroom was empty. She waited a minute more before she even thought about moving, her muscles trembling so hard she almost couldn't stand.
The distressed lady edged out of the stall, her breath shallow and every nerve strained. The restroom was empty and silent, but for the buzzing light and the drip, drip, drip of the ancient sink. "He's gone. He's gone." She almost cried with relief. Her legs felt like rubber, but she managed to take a quivering step forward. A chilly hand clamped down on her shoulders.
She swung around, eyes wild, and yelled directly at the man's slack, blood-flecked face.
His pupils were suddenly enormously red and bawled out, consuming practically all color, and as she yelled, he lunged. His cracked, grimy fingernails slashed over her cheek. Hot agony flared under her eye, and she felt warm blood stream immediately. He pushed her backward with incredible power. The woman's back struck the stall door so hard that it swung open, pushing her inside. Her head cracked the toilet tank, and blinding stars appeared behind her eyes.
The guy followed, pushing into the cramped cubicle, hands clawing and mouth straining. The door swung back. Then came the cries. High, desperate, interrupted by gasping breaths. Her feet kicked violently against the toilet, creating a deep metallic clang that resonated. Blood stained the cheap tile floor, pouring through small rivulets that ran beneath the stall walls.
Outside, the city celebration raged on. Music wafted sweetly and carelessly across the streets. Children giggled nearby as fireworks crackled in the sky, drowning out the final desperate appeal from that dirty lavatory.