Chapter Text
OUTBREAK: DAY 0
MARCH 3rd, 2008
On behalf of the Admissions Committee at the University of Tokyo, it is our great honor to congratulate you. After a thorough review of your academic achievements, personal statement, and recommendations, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the University of Tokyo Department of Life Sciences, for the academic year starting on April 1st, 2008.
Your outstanding academic record, dedication to scientific inquiry, and evident passion for plant and human biology distinguished you among a highly competitive pool of applicants. We are confident that your contributions to the university will reflect the same excellence you have demonstrated thus far.
Furthermore, we are delighted to award you the Presidential Full Scholarship for Academic Excellence. This scholarship covers full tuition, university fees, and living expenses for the duration of your undergraduate studies. We are inspired by your vision to explore the applications of plant-based research in environmental restoration and disease treatment.
Please confirm your intention to enroll by submitting the acceptance form by March 20th. Additional information regarding orientation, housing, and course registration can be found in your welcome packet.
We eagerly await your arrival on campus and look forward to seeing all that you will achieve at the University of Tokyo.
Sincerely,
Dean of Admissions Niragi Tamada
Y/N shot up from her seat at the restaurant and gasped.
Heads turned. All at once, the room shifted its attention. But Y/N didn't notice, or maybe she did, but it didn't matter. The stares blurred into nothing. The walls seemed to melt into the floor, and the air grew dense, pressing against her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
Y/N had to blink to make sure she still had eyes. Her legs wobbled and she fell back down, her arms feeling airy and her chest suddenly weightless.
Was this letter a joke? Somehow a prank, or fabricated?
She snatched up the envelope, eyes darting across the seal, the address, the emblem. Her hands trembled as she scanned the signature again and again.
God, it was real.
Y/N had been accepted into the most prestigious university in the country; University of Tokyo. Renowned for its groundbreaking research in science and technology, it awarded full-ride scholarships to only a rare, exceptional few.
And somehow, Y/N was among them. Against all odds, she had met every grueling requirement. What once felt impossible was now hers.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and sheepishly crumpled into the booth of the restaurant, which she was supposed to be attending tables at, being the granddaughter of the owner. . . but how could she, after being accepted into the very top school of Japan?
"I think that family of four will leave soon," said Y/N's grandmother as she emerged from the kitchen. "Those young men are still ordering beer. Hopefully a shorter night, and tomorrow we will buy your hakama for graduation—"
"I got in."
"What?" her grandmother's graying eyebrows furrowed.
Y/N's voice was brittle, and she couldn't get any words out properly. She gathered through her sentence, blinking rapidly while reading; "University of Tokyo. 'We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into University of Tokyo, Department of Life Sciences, for the academic year. . .' "
"My God!" her grandmother cried, catching the attention of the remaining customers once again. "I knew it! I knew that university would take you, honey!"
Her grandmother sprang from the corner booth and pulled Y/N into a tight embrace, rocking her from side to side with surprising vigor for someone her age. Y/N's eyes welled with tears, her cheeks flushing as the sound of her grandmother's joyful celebration echoed through the restaurant.
However, Y/N didn't wipe away her tears or try to quiet her grandmother. Customers came and went every day, but an acceptance letter to the University of Tokyo only came once. Everything she had poured herself into, every late night and sacrifice, had finally, after all these years, been worth it.
Her dream of becoming a scientist would come true. Y/N Hanada will become Dr Hanada soon enough, and she will live a life she has dreamt of ever since she could see colors.
The weight of striving to always be the best, of letting her grades define her worth, of unraveling at the sight of anything less than perfect, especially when someone outperformed her—had clung to her like a second skin. But now, it lifted, light as a breeze, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N could breathe freely.
"University of Tokyo," she whispered, looking down at her letter. "Full-ride scholarship."
Her biggest worry was money. Even if she had been accepted into University of Tokyo, it was never definite. She couldn't even afford one year at the school, let alone pursue even a master's degree.
And somehow, she impossibly squeezed into the smallest margin of where only two or three people received a presidential scholarship—for all applicants, not only in Japan.
How could that have happened?
"We have to celebrate! What about a large bowl of donburi, and I can check if we have leftover manju—"
"Grandma, it's okay. It's already late, we can celebrate tomorrow," Y/N reassured the old lady, placing her hands on her grandmother's shoulders. "The family is leaving. I'll clean their table and close for the night. . ."
Y/N eyed the group of guys and sighed. She consoled her grandmother again, urging her to return to their upstairs apartment and rest for the night.
Her grandmother worked harder than Y/N. She and Y/N's grandfather raised Y/N since she could remember; she had no memory of her parents.
Her grandmother retells stories, even the saddest ones, into something cherishable. She always tells Y/N, branded it into her mind now, to celebrate life. Do not cry once something is over; appreciate that it happened.
You only die once, and you live every day. Her grandmother taught her that, and perhaps those were the words that kept Y/N moving through the harrowing hardships. Maybe she wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for her grandmother.
Everything she has done, leading to this very moment, was for her grandmother.
"Another round?" Y/N asked, smiling friendly at the last group of men in the restaurant.
"Nah, we don't wanna get wasted before driving home," one of the guys said, reaching for his card. He grinned at his friends, "Can't you believe it, waitress? My friend here beat cancer!"
Y/N, surprised at the sudden announcement, smiled wider. "Really? That's wonderful! . . . You're real strong," she added more awkwardly, not knowing what to respond with.
She had never met these men before, and unfortunately, Y/N was not the greatest at interactions. Her words never came out naturally to strangers, and you would assume her communication skills had improved over the years of waiting tables. . . but they never did.
That irritated her. She could master any academic subject with ease, but when it came to navigating social norms, it always seemed hopelessly out of her depth.
"Yep! All the doctors said his cancer was untreatable, but this man—" he reached over and threw his arm around his tentative friend, "—proved all those doctors wrong!"
Untreatable? Y/N repeated to herself.
She looked over at the cancer-beating man, no older than twenty. His skin looked pale and a bit clammy. He brought his hand to scratch his neck, where Y/N noticed faint bruising. He tapped his fingers together, and briefly, Y/N noticed his fingertips were. . . purpling.
She shouldn't have observed that much, but it became an instinct to overanalyze.
"I'm impressed," Y/N quickly filled the silence. The embarrassment bubbled in her throat, "Er—how about some taiyaki, to go? On the house, for beating cancer."
"That'll be great! Thank you, waitress!" another boy, very drunk, grinned with all his teeth.
After the men paid and Y/N wrapped their red bean taiyaki, she watched them leave through the glass doors. More specifically, she watched the boy who seemingly beat an incurable cancer.
She wasn't trying to question his credibility, as beating cancer was an incredible feat. But a part of her couldn't help wondering how untreatable cancer could be 'treated'. It was selfish, she knew, this need to dissect every so-called mystery until it made sense.
Maybe that's why she devoted everything to science. So many mysteries to be solved in that field of biology alone, and she got off on the thrill of unraveling human and plant perplexities. The pride of disentangling questions that outwardly seemed unanswerable.
Or perhaps she was just crazy.
Y/N shook her mind off the subject and flipped the sign to 'CLOSED'. She cleaned a few more tables and shut down the family restaurant for the night, making her way upstairs to their apartment.
She should start packing for college. Adachi was not far from the university, and she could easily take the train through the city to reach Bunkyo. . . But fully immersing herself in the school environment seemed most academically efficient.
She also didn't want to wait until she could afford better housing to leave the cramped streets of Adachi. It'd also save her a lot of money on metro fares—and her dormitory is paid, so why was she thinking so much?
Y/N stood by the window, adjusting the humidifier for her little handmade greenhouse, crafted by leftover food containers and plastic. The small greenhouse was stacked on top of overdue books to reach the sunlight, which she had all the pages memorized by heart.
Two gentle knocks came by the door and her grandmother's head peeked in, "Remember to pick up the hakama tomorrow, all right? An old lady like me can barely walk a mile anymore. . ."
Y/N gave her a small smile, "I will, Grandma."
Her grandmother nodded and disappeared into the corridor. Leaving her would be the hardest part of moving to UTokyo.
The metro was always busy in the morning. Especially after the weekend, hungover businessmen and women scattered across the station. Y/N carefully avoided them, terrified to get vomited on.
She plugged in her headphones and slipped the Sony Walkman into her schoolbag, muffling out the noises of the metro. Y/N stared out the window, lost in thought about her future at the University.
Would she make friends? Maybe fall in love? Or would she retreat into old habits by keeping to herself, avoiding connection, and pouring everything into her work as always?
She had friends at school, but they were not close enough to eat lunch together or take trips around the city after class. Not close enough to message outside of school, only when it was something academic.
So, maybe they weren't friends. But Y/N always comforted herself with the idea that she didn't want friends anyway. After all, no one seemed to want her for who she was, only for the convenience of borrowed assignment answers, or about her organization—university, or anything else academically important.
Arriving at her high school, she realized how much she wanted to leave. Y/N shut her shoe locker and sighed, staring at the newly painted banner above the main school corridor, congratulating the third-years.
"Hey, Hanada!"
A few girls brushed their hands over Y/N's shoulder as they passed each other in the hallway. They were nice and all, but they did nothing but smoke, deal, and skip school.
Which Y/N wouldn't discriminate if they hadn't tried to shove an edible into her mouth a few years ago. Surely, they didn't necessarily bully her now—and it wasn't considered 'bullying' back in their early years of middle school and high school, as they never physically hurt Y/N.
Though it did tear off most of her confidence, to the point where Y/N never went out of her way to interact with anybody else. She let people come to her, too anxious to pursue a friendship she desperately wanted.
But then again, she never really had the time to form a bond.
Yes, she formed a non-profit organization dedicated to educating people about life sciences and diseases, but that didn't give her any intimate connections. If anything, it just gave her future lab partners. And of course, university interest.
Really, that was what her organization was about anyway. Just to get sponsors, recommendation letters, and whatnot. The students in her organization behaved the same way she did, methodical, almost robotic. Wired to getting into top universities, getting scholarships, no time for friendship. . .
But maybe at university, she'll find connections.
As she cycled through her classes, she drank in the fact that she would never return to this place again. Most of her was grateful she never would, but a slit in her heart yearned to stay young. Although she has never experienced true teenage ordeals, she still wanted to stay focused on one situation: getting into university.
That had been her goal for nearly ten years now, and it was simple. Growing older meant more problems, and she didn't want to face so many more difficult situations as an adult.
She was afraid she'd drown in them and never be able to swim up.
Yet again, she didn't want to relive the experiences of being a helpless, awkward teenager.
"Y/N?" A tap on her shoulder startled her.
She spun around and saw Ms Saito, realizing her teacher had been calling her name a few times now. Y/N had been too deep into her thoughts, which she did rather frequently.
"Ms Saito," Y/N said through a smile.
Ms Saito had always been her favorite teacher. She'd taught Y/N biology every year of high school. She also wrote a compelling recommendation letter, one Y/N was certain to play a key role in her acceptance.
"Why are you not at cram school?" Ms Saito asked rather sternly. "You never once miss cram school."
"I don't need to go anymore," Y/N grinned brightly. "I got into University of Tokyo."
Ms Saito stared at her for a few moments, and then the woman gasped. "You did? Oh my, what an achievement! I had zero doubts about you, Y/N Hanada."
Y/N's fingertips felt tingly as she recited the acceptance letter to Ms Saito, having memorized it overnight by rereading it excessively. Once she finished, Ms Saito had never looked prouder.
"My star student," she praised, wrapping her arms around Y/N. "I knew the moment you snuck into my lab as a first year, you were going to be the brightest."
Y/N laughed awkwardly, blushing pink at the shameful memory. "Yeah, I tried to forget about that. . ."
Ms Saito smiled, brushing her short hair back with a gloved hand. Y/N noticed some kind of dirt around the latex on her fingers, as if she had been digging—but the dirt looked unusual, with hints of purple.
"After that impressive 95.3% on the entrance exam? Graduate school at Oxford is within reach, you know. . ." Ms Saito joked, and Y/N tore her gaze from the gloves. "I bet their application committee hadn't seen such precision in the science track in over a decade."
"Really?" She blushed.
"98% in the Biology section, 95% in Earth Science, and 93% in Chemistry, Y/N," Ms Saito breathed out, still baffled by the score. "Having you in my class was phenomenal. I've never once seen a sharper student."
"You've really helped me, though," Y/N said, trying to chip away at the compliment. "I wouldn't have been able to do all of what I've done without you.
"You humble yourself too much," smiled Ms Saito. "But must I admit, that is what makes you so special. You do not pride yourself in your achievements as much as your peers do. You accept them gratefully as such, and do not rub it in people's faces."
Y/N looked down at her feet and found nothing to say in return. Only, "Thank you."
She didn't have people to show off her marks to, as half of the school disliked her enough for being in the top percent. She never tried to be presumptuous, but people have always been inclined to assume and spread rumors.
Thank God for allowing her to graduate and leave.
"Well, I'm closing the lab early this afternoon," said Ms Saito, digressing from university-praise talk.
Y/N's eyebrows rose. She had been looking forward to cutting off the leaves of her newly planted hemlocks. "Why?"
Ms Saito looked a bit tentative, which was unusual for such a firm woman. "I've been aiding research at the Human Matter lab. It has been overwhelmingly tedious, but no worries. The school's lab will be open tomorrow."
The Human Matter lab, where Ms Saito previously worked before becoming a schoolteacher. It was a research lab specializing in human biology and anatomy.
Y/N had interned at that lab the year before, at Ms Saito's recommendation. But the internship ended after a few months due to mysterious circumstances, and Y/N was certainly bummed at the end of her human biology research.
So, she was moved from the biology lab to a botany research center over the summer holiday. She's been interning there for the past few months now, and she has never loved it more. However, as university loomed over her—she knew her time as a high school intern would end.
University of Tokyo will burn her alive in work and study, and she was ready for it. They might even give her another possibility for an internship somewhere else.
Oxford sounds nice.
"It's all right," Y/N told her teacher. "I don't mind. I hope that project comes along well."
There was a faint twitch in Ms Saito's lips, "Thank you."
With that odd tone, Ms Saito left down the corridor. Y/N wondered what the project could be about, something that requires dirt and purple substances.
Why ever would the human biology lab need to clash with dirt and plants?
The Human Matter lab was quite an enigma. Even as Y/N interned there, she had no idea what the major (even minor) projects were outside of the intern research she was given. As much as she tried to probe and question, no one gave her a direct answer.
She didn't ask further, too scared to get kicked out. Strange things did happen inside those lab walls.
In addition to the oddities, there was an abundance of present human anatomy research happening before her to the point that she became desensitized to blood. Sometimes, the intern work she was given were rather questionable.
Y/N couldn't admit to her teacher that she was a bit glad to leave the Human Matter lab.
With nothing else to do for the evening, Y/N decided she should return home and help her grandmother with the restaurant. She retrieved her school shoes from the lockers, slipping them back on before leaving the building.
Just as she was leaving, Y/N suddenly remembered to drop off her book at the library. She dug into her school bag, her fingers wrapped around the binding of The Metamorphosis.
However, as she walked down the flooded street of Tokyo, she realized she wanted to keep the book a little longer. As she does with all her other overdue books.
Then, at that very moment—"Hakama."
She cursed herself for nearly forgetting, turning on her heel abruptly to switch routes. Luckily, the traditional wear shop was not far from where she was. She stared (not so discreetly) at every passing group of high school students.
Envy was not the word. Neither was jealousy. Perhaps, desperation fell into terms. Ceaseless reiterations of telling herself she was much more radical without friends or distractions became the truth, even if she knew it was not.
How strange was that? Believing in something you know you do not believe in.
Were there psychological explanations behind the contradictions, to put faith in something that is entirely false?
Y/N did not know. It ate her alive. She needed a connection, someone that she could relate to. A friend she could spill all her torrents of scientific, literary, botanical—sometimes mathematical—ramblings and niche knowledge.
Somebody who will not only tell her she is smart, but also engage in her intelligence. Y/N wanted that kind of friend, who did not see her as a verbose, brainy chatterbox.
"Graduation hakama for Minori Hanada?"
"Yes," Y/N nodded, faintly smiling at her grandmother's name.
The tailor placed a neatly folded hakama in a red box. The hakama was deep plum with delicate white blossoms embroidered along the hem, paired with a soft cream kimono that would wrap her in small elegance. Scholarly, and just a little wistful, like a wildflower.
Originally, she was going to wear her standard school uniform, as most of the students did, but when her teachers announced that she'd be giving the valedictorian speech, she decided to make an exception. She was pushed to wear something more traditional.
She really, really tried to escape the speech. She hated speaking; she couldn't. How could she stand in front of hundreds of students—who 20% bullied her, 50% silently despised her—and give a speech about gratitude, resilience, and growth?
"You are the top student, Ms Hanada. If you do not give a speech, you will shame our school!" ordered the very stringent principal.
Y/N hung her head, thinking about it as she returned to the metro station. She had been struggling with what to say, and it infuriated her. So, she decided to just push it all to the side (not procrastinating, because she was realistically on a train) and do it later.
On a Monday evening, the city was full of busybodies. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the narrow streets of Tokyo, golden light reflecting off every shiny surface. The city was alive as always, with honking and salarymen rushing past, groups of students laughing together.
It was a regular scene that Y/N had experienced her entire life. She knew the streets, the path home to her apartment, like the back of her hand; she could walk home blinded—without the thousands of other pedestrians bumping into her.
She walked for another ten minutes before stopping by the convenience store a few minutes away from her apartment. Before she entered, she glanced at the Human Matter lab across the street, sitting between two corporate buildings.
The science lab was not that well-known, and she never even knew it was a science lab until she got the internship. There was no clear sign indicating that the monotone, dull building was a lab. Then again, she never walked too close to the glass doors to look at the tiny font of the logo.
She lingered her gaze over the lab again before stepping into the 7/11. As she shopped through the corner store, she pondered what Ms Saito's research could possibly be about.
Evaluating a new disease? Creating a cure for it? Researching whether parts of the ear were necessary for bodily function or merely a vestigial (true story, Y/N stumbled upon it!). Maybe it was something entirely beyond, something of which she could never compute.
She didn't like being stumbled upon or left questioning.
So, she tried to stop thinking about it. . . which was near impossible for someone as analytical and pensive as her.
"Thanks," Y/N took the receipt from the store clerk, shoving the KitKat bar into her bag and popping open the Coca-Cola can.
She took a long sip of the soda, and a few moments later, her phone buzzed in her hand. Flipping open her device, she saw two new messages from her grandmother. She was surprised to see messages, knowing her grandmother was prone to new technology.
With a few mistakes—possibly too annoyed to cycle through the letters again—her grandmother wrote; Your great-aunt is coming for dinner. Don ot (do not) panic once you see another pair of slippers. Make svre (missed the 'U') you restock the sake.
Y/N quickly and as efficiently as possible messaged back with a smile: Great, can't wait to see Aunt Mio again!
Then, it happened. A catastrophic, roaring explosion rocked the world.
Y/N stumbled forward from the blast, falling over the pedestrian in front of her. Her drink tumbled from her hand and smashed on the ground, glass shards scattered beside her.
She whipped around in shock, her eyes widening at the plume of smoke and flames billowing from the science lab. Chaos erupted like mice darting from an open cage.
Screams bounced off buildings, deafening. People were trampling others over, cars honked and crashed at the dozens of citizens sprinting away from the explosion. Y/N was frozen for a few seconds from sheer startlement.
Until she saw what the people were running from.
Five rogue men and women emerged from the debris. They were covered in blood, barefoot as they were in hospital gowns. Their mouths were smeared with blood and foam, teeth bared and seething. Inhumane was the word, utterly beastly—animalistic.
She briskly realized she was thinking of adjectives to describe these psychotic people instead of running.
One woman's eyes were bulging out of her sockets, half of her arm scorched by the flames, yet she did not seem to care—or affected by it. She lunged onto a fleeing man and sank her teeth into his neck, tearing his flesh. Blood spewed all over her face and his, a shriek of agony burst through every other sound.
Y/N's breath hitched, and she gathered herself, kicking off the ground and unfortunately pressing her hand into a shard of glass without realizing. She bit back a scream as crimson flowed from her palm.
What the fuck? What is going on?
This had to be a nightmare because Y/N refused it to be real, as none of this would make sense. What kind of eruption spews out cannibalistic, wildly aggressive humans?
Blood trickled down her forearm and rolled down her shoulder, her schoolbag secured tightly between her arm and side. Suddenly, as she began to run, something tackled her to the ground.
A primitive force overtook her as she screamed, saliva and blood dripping onto her face. A man—a creature caged her body. His suit was torn, his face twisted in an unnatural snarl, his lips peeled back over bloodstained teeth.
Strange purple petals surrounded his mouth, contrasting with the crimson.
Panic flared across her chest as the man bared his teeth, attempting to bite off some part of her body. His milky, bestial eyes locked onto hers and she had never felt more terrified. His weight was overwhelming, unable to resist his crushing attempts to eat her alive for so long.
Her hands scrambled across the concrete—then closed around something sharp.
Shattered glass.
Just as her left arm buckled and the man's teeth were centimeters from her chest, she swung her arm without thinking. The jagged end of the broken Coca-Cola bottle sunk into the man's throat, slicing through decayed flesh.
The man gurgled, momentarily recoiling and Y/N seized the opportunity. With a desperate yell, she shoved the man off using all her force and tumbled away. She hastily returned to her feet, the glass clutched in her bloody hand as she stared at the man's throat—spurting blood over the pavement.
For a moment, she couldn't move. A sickening wheeze from the person below her made her still and terribly sick. She knew he would not survive, but she wondered if he was already dead.
Selfishly, she started to sprint. The chaos was merely growing, and she knew better than to stay and stare at a rotting murderer's body. She desperately tried to justify killing the man; after all, he tried to tear off her limbs.
She weaved through the growing stampede, the smell of blood and rotting flesh inundated the air. She gasped for air as she turned onto her apartment street, her heart pounding so violently she thought it might explode.
Shock and panic jolted through her body, making her hands tremble uncontrollably as she struggled to draw in steady breaths.
She had to find her grandmother.
Y/N bolted to the restaurant, the red flag swaying in the wind alongside the wooden sign. She pushed through the doors, stumbling inside. The restaurant was strangely empty, with oddly uncleaned tables.
Her heart spiked as she ran toward the kitchen, where her grandmother should be.
"Grandma! We—we have to—"
She froze at the sight of blood. Her hands gripped the wall as she realized the intensity of the blood smeared all over the kitchen. A horrifying trail of crimson seemed to have originated from the back door, where she heard the cracking of bones and disgusting snarls.
She should not have kept moving forward, but her legs betrayed her. She took two shaking steps forward and pushed aside the kitchen curtains.
Her heart seized violently at the sight. Her grandmother's eyes were wide with horror, her entire body trembling as a man tore into her throat. Twisted into an unnatural contortion, the man's limbs bent in ways no human should, his hands digging into Y/N's grandmother's chest as he devoured his feast.
"Y/N. . ." her grandmother wheezed through a destroyed throat. Her dilated pupils traveled in spasms to the man-eating her alive, drowning in blood.
Y/N's lips parted, and it felt impossible that she was still breathing. She took a step backward, her shoe squeaking against the blood on the tiles. At the sound, the man whirled his head around.
Y/N recognized him. He was the young man from the previous night, the man who had miraculously beaten an untreatable cancer. Purple flowers emerged from his mouth, the veins around his face had been subjected entirely to violet.
Yesterday night, merely twelve hours ago, the man's fingertips were faintly purple. Now, his entire forearms were splotched in deep violet.
The innocent, cordial man had lost his purity. He gawked at her with wide, dangerously starving eyes. Y/N caught a look at her grandmother, who could not look back at her anymore.
The man's mouth twitched and within a blink, he charged forward. His body smashed into a metal tray of dishes, but he ignored the collision and kept surging.
Y/N ran, throwing an abandoned plate full of food at the man. Yet again, he dismissed the hurtling object that smashed into his face and kept sprinting. She slipped but kept running, curving around the wooden tables and out of the restaurant.
She slammed the door shut. Futile as it was, because the man broke right through the wood. He tumbled into the street and lost his footing. Suddenly, he began dragging his forehead against the concrete, using his own head instead of his hand to push himself onto his feet.
What the hell??! She kept repeating in her head, and she was not the type to curse often.
She had no car, as she lived in Tokyo. She had a bike, but she doubted the wheels were even inflated. How could she escape this hellish nightmare?
She heard the thundering footsteps behind her growing closer and closer with dangerous speed. Y/N saw the end of the backstreet, and maybe she would lose the man in the crowd.
"Y/N!"
A voice startled her as a car drove hazardously down the narrow street. The silver Honda accelerated past her, purposely driving straight into the man chasing her. The car crashed into a stone pillar, ultimately crushing the man.
There was no possible way his stomach and lungs were still intact, as the crash had been so deliberate. The man crumpled against the hood of the car, spewing blood from his mouth.
At once, the car reversed and turned. In that moment, Y/N realized who was driving.
"Ms Saito?!" Y/N cried and ran forward to hop into the car.
"Yes, it is me," Ms Saito breathed, looking into her rearview mirror to see if the man had reanimated to his feet. "Did you get bit?"
"No," Y/N muttered, shaking violently. "What's—?"
"Your hand. Did any of their blood get into it?"
"N-No? I don't think—"
"YOU HAVE TO BE SURE!"
Startled by her aggression, Y/N shook her head. "No! No, none of their blood got into mine!"
How could she be sure, though? Her hand had been gushing blood, the cut itself not particularly deep. Both of the cannibalistic men she fought had no open wound on them, save for her grandmother's blood. . .
But visibly, no blood eluded from the body of the "cancer-beating" man, none that she knew of. She looked down at her palm, blood staining the cuff of her white uniform.
Her grandmother was dead. She had been murdered, viciously and brutally. She died without seeing Y/N go off to university, she died without seeing Y/N become the scientist she had ever so dreamed of being.
She died, thinking Y/N would too. She died in anguish, in unimaginable pain that is beyond comprehension; being torn apart by another human being, ripped to flesh and bones by bare teeth.
Y/N was crying before she knew it. Her breaths came in pathetic pants, choking over her sobs. Each breath she took was shaky, hyperventilating, and difficult to succumb. She pressed her clean palm to her eyes, smearing away the tears, only for more to spill.
"Your grandmother?" Ms Saito croaked.
"She—that—creature killed her," Y/N broke through troubled sobs. "He was eating her. . . What the hell is going on?"
Ms Saito clenched her jaw. Upon closer examination, she looked horrible.
The flesh of her right torso was torn, scorched into painful blisters, and she was somehow still moving. She wore her dirty, burnt lab coat with frizzy, unruly hair. Her pale skin glistened with sweat, and she swayed slightly against the wheel.
A completely different woman from merely an hour ago. Her eyes were wide with panic, but Y/N noticed something else in her gaze.
Regret, or was it fear? Perhaps both.
"Ms Saito," Y/N ventured. "What happened?"
Ms Saito was silent for a few moments, her breathing erratic and labored. She looked horrified by Y/N's question, squeezing her eyes shut despite driving. Quickly, she opened her eyes and swallowed,
"We have made a terrible mistake," she admitted, her voice wavering between torment and wrath. "It—it was supposed to be subtle, the results. Someone injected too much into the experimentees, and they knew—they knew that too much wisteria causes irreversible consequences!"
She slammed her hands on the wheel. For all the years Y/N had known Ms Saito, she never once felt unsafe with the woman. Suddenly, that trust withered at the sight of her teacher's pugnacity.
Y/N wondered if she had made a terrible mistake by entering a car with Ms Saito.
"Wisteria is meant to heal," Ms Saito continued, babbling on as she drove through the backstreets, and Y/N wasn't sure where they were going. "Wisteria, in the smallest amount. . . can heal. We placed an abundance of effort, and we came across the right amount and formula to heal cancer. Cancer, Y/N, cancer!"
Almost instantly, Y/N's memories darted back to the group of young men from the previous night.
"My friend here beat cancer! . . . All the doctors said his cancer was incurable, but this man—" he reached over and threw his arm around his tentative friend, "—proved all those doctors wrong!"
Wisteria. Oh, why hadn't she made the connections before?
The man did not beat cancer. He was poisoned, deliberately. The consequences surfaced within hours, and with such dire effects. It explained the purpling tone, faint bruising, clammy skin.
She didn't know wisteria could cause such violent corollaries. Y/N knew wisteria was slightly poisonous, not enough to kill someone or cause. . . whatever the hell was happening to those infected.
"How—how could wisteria cause this?"
Ms Saito didn't answer, or she ignored it. She redirected around Y/N's question and answered, "Too much causes the neurons in the brain to damage and mutate, effectively starting a ripple effect of excessive apoptosis, yet the body manages to regulate itself freely. . . These strange abnormalities appear in the amygdala."
"The part of the brain that triggers fear and aggression," Y/N finished, remembering her anatomy studies as an intern. "But, that shouldn't—"
"Cause cannibalistic characteristics? Yes, I know, Y/N. It should not, which is why we are so careful with wisteria," Ms Saito snapped. "It's infectious, a disease. It overtakes our comprehension, mutates our DNA by categorical measures. . . transmitted through blood and saliva, all that I know of now."
Y/N tried to gather all she knew about wisteria. Their seed pods contain toxins that cause gastrointestinal effects, like vomiting and nausea. She never knew it could stimulate brain-altering infections.
She never even knew it could heal.
"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, realizing Ms Saito was turning around to drive back right into the outskirts of Tokyo City.
"Mount Mitake," she answered, cursing at the number of people running in front of her car. "There's a cabin at the foothills, near a temple village. It should keep us safe for a while."
Y/N nodded and kept quiet, too afraid to voice her opinions in fear that Ms Saito might attack her. She looked down at her bleeding palm, squeezing it closed for some odd, instinctive reason.
"There are bandages in the glovebox," Ms Saito informed without turning her head. "Wrap it tightly, do not let any external fluids in."
I know, Y/N wanted to spit out but she kept it to herself. She reached for the glovebox in front of her, pressing it open. Inside Ms Saito's glovebox was a roll of bandages, a stack of files, and a handgun.
She was shocked to see her teacher in possession of a gun, but nonetheless Y/N was relieved to see a weapon that they could defend themselves with. She reached for the bandages and began to tightly wrap her palm, affirming that no blood of hers was to leak.
Suddenly, Ms Saito slammed on the brakes. Y/N flung forward from the force, nearly hitting her head against the dashboard. She gasped, grabbing onto anything to stabilize herself.
Ms Saito was cursing, turning her entire torso around to begin rapidly reversing. Y/N leaned forward and saw what her teacher was severely trying to avoid.
A dozen infected people sprinted right at them, brutal and vicious. Their skins were different shades of pale, but Y/N noticed the commonality: purpling fingertips.
Ms Saito sped through the neighborhood streets, ignoring the pedestrians. Y/N turned around in the passenger seat to see the swarm of infected, which they had not slowed down. She gnawed her lip nervously.
Then, in a blink, it all changed.
Some kind of debris fell from the sky and struck the infected, erupting in a violent blast that tore through the streets. Fire surged like a tidal wave, crashing through houses and shops in a roaring blaze. The shockwave hurled Ms Saito's car forward—she gripped the wheel, struggling to keep it from flipping as the world around her burned.
A glass shattered, maybe Y/N's window. She heard a scream, was it hers?
She was trembling from shock, surprised she was still breathing and alive. But then she realized the car was not moving. Ms Saito was shrieking curses now, yelling how the wheels were stuck in the debris.
Shots plummeted through the air. Military forces, already? Overwhelming pain engulfed her, and she did not know where it originated from. Everything was muffled, or maybe her ears were slowly detaching.
Her body felt impotent. She lifted her head, seeing Ms Saito claw at her arms. An infected had grabbed her teacher through the window, and she was fighting it—futilely, her actions were.
"Gun! GET THE GUN!" Ms Saito screamed.
Y/N acted as such, shaking profusely. She opened the glovebox and seized the gun, the weapon foreign and strange in her hands.
Oh God, what if she shot Ms Saito by accident? What if they were all going to die now, eaten alive?
She froze for a moment, terrified.
"Y/N!"
Y/N lifted the gun and pointed, eradicating all fear.
Ms Saito dropped her head, and she pulled the trigger, the infected's head flying backward and releasing Ms Saito from its reigns. The force of the gun was impeccable, and Y/N felt frightfully fascinated.
"We're stuck," Y/N said breathlessly, her eyes wide. She turned to Ms Saito, "How—"
A bite mark on Ms Saito's throat, prominent and conspicuous. Blood spewed from the gash, teeth-like wounds surrounding the skin.
"God. . ." Ms Saito whispered, bringing a shaking hand to her neck. She pressed her fingertips to the wound, pulling back to see blood. "Incredible."
The brutalizing shock in Y/N's face was painful, fused with dismay and horror. She subconsciously edged farther away in her seat, uncontrollably shuddering.
"There's a map in the glove box, it'll show you where the cabin is—marked in red," Ms Saito spewed abruptly, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Everything inside the cabin will last you a few months. I made it in fear of this occurring. . . The potential threat of wisteria poisoning was apparent. I suppose this is my punishment."
She retreated to the door.
"Ms Saito—" Y/N breathed.
"I'm so sorry this has happened," Ms Saito warbled wistfully. "I trust, with your remarkable intelligence, you will find an end to it all."
"No!" Don't leave me to survive on my own.
Ms Saito leaped from the car, screaming and shouting at the infected to distract their attention way from Y/N. Ms Saito slammed on the car, pulling out the debris and allowing leeway for the car.
"Go!"
Y/N quickly shifted into the driver's seat, the controls and wheels all anomalous and alien in her grasp. She stared at it for a few moments before pressing her foot against the gas, leaving Ms Saito.
Her screams accumulated to the thousands of shrieks discharging all around her.
Y/N could not mourn Ms Saito. She could not mourn her grandmother.
Not until she made it out of Tokyo, not until she ascertained her safety. Her chances of survival were slim—but hadn't she always played with the odds? She could beat luck and has once before.
She will make it out of Tokyo alive. She will make it to Mount Mitake.
She had to. For Ms Saito, her grandmother. Y/N thought of Ms Saito's final words. . .
Put an end to it all?
Wisteria was beautiful, as it was clever. The effects of its poison, whatever the lab created, went against all forces of nature. It was intentional, Ms Saito claimed. Humanity was always going to be its own greatest enemy.
Ms Saito, Y/N thought, you had too much hope.
It was easier to imagine the end of the world rather than a cure.
𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹