I hadn't slept properly in days.
At first, I blamed the simulations.
The system kept feeding them to me every time I so much as let my guard down scenarios where I died screaming, trapped beneath collapsed buildings, torn apart while trying to save a stranger, shot by someone I trusted. They weren't just dreams. They were visceral, agonizingly vivid experiences. Like dying a hundred different ways without ever leaving the four walls of my room.
But it wasn't just the simulations. Something in me had started to shift. Subtle at first—easy to ignore. Then it got louder.
The city hadn't changed. Osaka still moved with the same chaotic rhythm: the swarm of salarymen surging through train stations, the laughter of students clustered outside convenience stores, couples whispering to each other beneath neon signs. The same city I grew up in. But I was seeing it through new eyes. Or maybe I was just seeing it for what it really was.
Every alley, every traffic bottleneck, every glass storefront became something more something tactical. An escape route. A choke point. A place to barricade. I walked the same streets I always had, but now I was a rat studying a maze built by invisible hands.
Twenty days until zero hour, and already I felt like I wasn't part of this world anymore. Like I'd been cut loose from the script everyone else was still following.
My friends were the first to notice.
"Yo, Ren, you good?" Haruto had texted one night. "Wanna hit up Den Den Town this weekend? New figure shop opened. Might be your thing."
I stared at the message for a long time. One minute. Maybe two. Then I locked my phone and placed it face-down.
I didn't respond. Not because I didn't care. I did. God, I did. But the system had made things crystal clear:
[WARNING: Attempting to involve friends or family will result in simulation enforcement.]
Last Simulation Outcome: Emotional Breakdown / Betrayal / Death
It was cruel in how direct it was. Cold. Efficient. And effective.
I couldn't protect them. That was the truth I kept choking on. And if they came to me when it all fell apart if they begged me for help I'd hesitate. I'd falter. I'd die.
So I ghosted them. One by one. Conversations dried up. Messages went unanswered. I unfollowed. Muted. Disappeared into the static.
And with every step I took away from them, I felt something peel away inside me. Something warm. Something human.
I spent my nights hunched on the floor of my room, face lit by the blue haze of my laptop. I didn't browse like I used to. No shows. No games. Just data. Tutorials the system injected straight into my brain like pressurized hoses.
How to sharpen and reinforce a crowbar for structural breaching.
How to preserve food long-term without refrigeration.
How to build a rudimentary water filter using charcoal, sand, and a two-liter bottle.
How to set a broken bone with minimal tools.
How to tell the difference between a hoarder and a threat.
I consumed it all. Obsessively. Because every time I even thought about stopping about pretending it wasn't real the system would boot up another simulation. Another failure. Another death.
The news started to trickle in, too. Quietly. Like whispers in a crowded room.
A strange incident in Kyushu a man was found gnawing on a wooden park bench, growling at responders like a rabid animal. Days later, a report from Nagoya a businessman on the morning train went berserk, bit two people, and threw himself onto the tracks. He didn't scream. He didn't plead. Just... leapt.
They blamed it on drugs. Psychosis. Delirium. But I knew better.
I waited for the system to say something. Some kind of confirmation. An alert. A warning.
Nothing.
Just silence.
Like it wanted me to witness how long it would take the world to wake up.
So I stayed up each night, doomscrolling through local feeds, news sites, anonymous forums. Searching for patterns.
"裸足の男,駅で暴れる:幻覚剤か?"
(Barefoot man causes panic in subway: hallucinogens suspected?)
"3 Hospitalized After Violent Outburst in Kobe Market"
"Doctors Baffled by Sudden Neurodegeneration in Bite Victims"
At first glance, they all looked unrelated. Background noise. But if you looked closely, read between the lines, a pattern started to form.
People weren't just getting violent. They were staying violent. For hours. No sedatives worked. No tranquilizers brought them down. One report described a patient who bit through a hospital gurney's straps and shattered a mirror with his bare forehead—then got up again.
I couldn't ignore it anymore. I asked the system directly:
"Are these infected?"
[Query recognized. Cross-referencing live global health feeds...]
Confirmed: Early Stage ZV-23 Behavioral Symptom Cases Detected.
Mutation Type: Aggression-Only Strain.
Current Transmission Mode: Bite-to-Fluid Contact.
Airborne Transmission: Not Yet Achieved.
Estimated Mutation Probability (Next 14 Days): 63%
My blood turned to ice.
They were already here. The virus had arrived it just hadn't announced itself yet.
The next morning, Osaka felt exactly the same.
Kids biked to cram school. Salarymen fought for seats on the train. Pachinko parlors flashed and rang and laughed in every corner of the city.
But underneath it all, I felt it. The rot, quietly spreading. I saw a man twitching in front of a vending machine, whispering to himself in sharp, erratic breaths. I saw a mother shove her child aside at a crosswalk without even looking back. It was subtle. But wrong. Deeply wrong.
And no one else saw it.
That night, I sat cross-legged on the floor of my apartment, silence pressing in around me like cotton soaked in cold water. My only light came from my laptop. A half-eaten konbini bento sat beside me. I hadn't spoken to anyone in days. Just the system.
My fingers tapped the air, muscle memory pulling up the interface in a smooth motion.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE READY]
"Show me more features. Anything I've missed."
[ERROR: Advanced Features Locked]
[Notice: These will unlock after societal collapse has begun.]
I frowned. "Why lock features that might help?"
[Response: Entertainment Value Increases With Delayed Access.]
Of course. This wasn't about helping me survive. Not really. It was about keeping things interesting. For them. Whoever "they" were.
I leaned back against the wall and exhaled through my nose.
Then, without prompt, the interface pulsed again. A suggestion.
[Suggestion: Purchase Large-Volume Water Containers]
[Projected Utility: 97.2%]
[Rationale: Municipal Water Supply Failure Probability: 82%]
I blinked at the message. "…That's going to happen?"
[Confirmed. City infrastructure will be disrupted within 10 days of outbreak.]
[Secondary Suggestion: Water Filtration Tablets, Gravity Filters, Bleach for Purification.]
I ran a hand through my hair and rubbed at my temples. Of course. The taps. How had I missed that? The system was right. This wasn't the kind of apocalypse you survived by buying beans and hiding in a closet.
This was the long game. Systemic failure. Water. Power. Food chains. Human psychology.
That night, I researched every type of water container I could find.
The blinds were closed, my phone on silent. The only sound was the low hum of my old electric fan and the soft taps of my fingers against the keyboard. My food sat untouched again. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt hungry.
I pulled up the system interface for the third time that hour.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE READY]
I hesitated, then typed the question that had been sitting in the back of my throat for days.
"What are the main forms of transmission?"
There was a brief pause. Then the familiar sterile blue text filled the screen.
[As previously stated: Exposure to infected fluids particularly saliva and blood can result in transmission. This includes bites, open wound exposure, and mucous membrane contact.]
That much I already knew. But I wanted more. Needed more.
"Give me the full list," I typed. "All of it."
The screen dimmed for a moment, and then the system responded:
[Request acknowledged. Compiling extended list of known and potential ZV-23 transmission vectors…]
PRIMARY TRANSMISSION METHODS:
– Human bite wounds (highly infectious)
– Saliva contact with open wounds or mucous membranes
– Blood-to-blood exposure
– Ingestion of contaminated biological matter (high viral load)
– Exposure to aerosolized infected blood in confined spaces
– Use of contaminated medical instruments
– Sexual transmission (confirmed but less efficient)
– Eye contact with infected fluids
SECONDARY / INDIRECT METHODS:
– Scratches from infected individuals (if contaminated with blood/saliva)
– Shared needles or personal hygiene tools
– Consumption of untreated water contaminated with corpses or runoff
– Contact with infected animals (documented: rats, dogs, birds)
– Mosquito bites (mutation-dependent: not yet observed in current strain)
– Fecal matter exposure (poor sanitation conditions)
– Infection through damaged skin contact with contaminated surfaces (rare)
– Use of communal towels, utensils, or bedding (in unsanitary conditions)
Tertiary Considerations (Mutation-Dependent):– Airborne particle infection (projected if respiratory tract mutation occurs)
– Mother-to-child vertical transmission (unconfirmed but likely)
– Long-term asymptomatic carriers (rare, monitored)
I stared at the list. My eyes scanned each bullet point like they were knives aimed at my lungs.
Mosquitoes?
Fecal runoff?
Communal towels?
The virus didn't just spread through chaos. It could spread through everyday life. Through ignorance. Through trust.
I felt my skin crawl as I looked around my apartment at my shoes, my sink, my toothbrush. It all suddenly felt… contaminated.
And then something else occurred to me. Something I hadn't asked yet.
I swallowed and typed, fingers shaking slightly.
"Where did it come from?"
The system hesitated.
Longer than usual.
[Query recognized… processing classified origin data.]
[Note: Origin details carry psychological risk. Proceed?]
I didn't even think. I just typed:
"Proceed."
[Acknowledged.]
[ZV-23 Virus: Synthetic prion-rabies hybrid. Engineered pathogen. Origin site: Unknown laboratory complex – formerly designated as ██-███, location redacted. Initial outbreak timestamp: T-minus 10 days from current date, internal China.]
[Initial Host: Modified mammalian carrier, species identity removed.]
[Transmission to humans: Confirmed via containment breach involving fluid-contact exposure.]
[Public narrative: Contained bioterror incident / disinformation campaign ongoing.]
[Note: World governments are unaware of full viral potential. All current mutation forecasts hidden under Level-6 Containment Protocols.]
I sat frozen.
A lab-engineered virus. Deliberately altered. A pathogen built to bypass the immune system and hijack the brain.
And now it was bleeding across borders, riding train tickets and plane cabins, slipping through crowds unnoticed.
I stared down at my hands.
No one knew.
No one but me.
And this thing watching over my shoulder.
The system didn't care about prevention. It didn't send warnings. It wasn't a guardian. It was just… recording. Testing. Watching how long I could last in a dying world.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard again. Another question burned in my chest.
"Why are you helping me?"
[Answer: You were selected. Your performance contributes to global survival modeling and viewer engagement metrics.]
[Your success is not guaranteed. But your failure will be valuable.]