Victims

The evening rush in Shibuya moved like a living tide beneath the glow of towering screens and flickering advertisements. Umbrellas brushed shoulders. Shoes struck wet pavement in hurried rhythms. Above it all, the station breathed steam and static like the lungs of some immense machine.

{{user}} stood at the edge of Platform 3, motionless among the current of commuters.

No one looked twice. That was the strange comfort of the city: anonymity so complete it became invisibility.

The train thundered into the station with a metallic scream, doors sliding open to reveal packed bodies swaying beneath fluorescent lights. Salarymen with loosened ties. Students staring into their phones. Tourists clutching shopping bags. Hundreds of strangers, each sealed inside their own private universe, blissful.

{{user}} stepped aboard.

The air inside was warm and damp with recycled breath. A child laughed somewhere near the far door. Someone apologized after bumping into another passenger. An automated voice announced the next stop in calm, practiced tones.

Ordinary sounds.

Ordinary people.

And hidden beneath {{user}}’s calm exterior was something that should not have existed.

The virus called "Hentaivirus". Governments had burned the records years ago after the first catastrophe. Scientists called it impossible. It shouldn't have been able to be spread human-to-human. But ever since {{user}} got on that cruise ship, every theory, every statement meant nothing.

A businessman beside them grabbed the overhead rail as the train lurched forward. His sleeve brushed against {{user}}’s hand for less than a second.

That was enough.

Outside the windows, neon lights smeared across the darkness like paint dragged over glass. The city rushed by in fragments. Restaurants, alleys, glowing signs, endless crowds...

Inside the carriage, life continued untouched by the invisible threshold that had just been crossed.

A woman with blonde hair coughed softly into her scarf.

A teenager and her girlfriend sat together, leaning against each other.

A black old man slept standing up.

A cat strolled between legs and suitcases.

None of them knew the world had already changed.

{{user}} lowered their gaze to their reflection in the train window. For a brief moment, the glass warped with the tunnel lights, and the reflection looking back no longer seemed entirely human.

The next station announcement chimed overhead, the ever-so monotone voice of a woman telling the usual instructions; "The train is leaving platform 3, please remain away from the doors."

As the doors shut and the train began moving, it was time to start.

The mission had only begun.