The Ford F-150 and Camaro sped through the city with sirens wailing and lights flashing. In less than fifteen minutes, they arrived at a residential neighborhood that had already been completely cordoned off by HPD vehicles.
Normally, only one layer of police tape would be set up at a crime scene, but this time there were three. The innermost tape was an ominous red, and police cars were parked three-wide across the road, sealing off every access point.
All the officers were standing outside the first two layers of tape. Most of them had no idea what was really going on and whispered nervously as they glanced at a house that had been completely sealed in transparent plastic sheeting.
Danny led the group to the final line of the perimeter, then went off to get details. When he returned, his expression had grown even grimmer.
"What the hell happened? The officers out here say it started as a routine domestic disturbance," Kono said. She had done a quick loop around as well, but clearly hadn't gotten any useful information.
"Short of waking up a foot shorter, this is probably the worst nightmare I've ever heard," Danny deadpanned, using his own 5'5" height to joke at his own expense.
"The wife called 911 and said her estranged husband was trying to break into the house. HPD officers had just arrived when the guy collapsed on the front lawn—bleeding from every orifice and dead on the spot, his body covered in blisters like a toad's skin.
The CDC's preliminary diagnosis is hemorrhagic smallpox. The governor called me a few minutes ago and asked if we could conduct the investigation as discreetly as possible."
"Discreet?" Jack looked around at the sheer number of police officers. "I'd bet the whole island hears about this so-called 'discreet' outbreak by tomorrow morning."
"I thought smallpox was eradicated last century by the WHO?" Kono asked. Being fresh out of school, she clearly had the best textbook knowledge among the group—an unfortunate but common truth.
Most people, once out of school, gradually forget "useless" facts that aren't part of daily life. That's why older people might seem wise in a sociological sense—but less so in natural sciences.
Still, smallpox—a deadly virus historically ranked alongside the Black Death—was something nearly everyone had at least heard of. Many Chinese people even mistake the little scar on their arm as the mark from a smallpox vaccine—specifically cowpox.
But starting from the 1980s, most Chinese weren't vaccinated for smallpox anymore. WHO declared the disease eradicated in 1980, and China stopped inoculating newborns in 1981. So that mark on your arm? It's most likely from a BCG vaccine—a weakened bovine tuberculosis strain, used to prevent TB.
"So what exactly is hemorrhagic smallpox?" Cheng Hao asked, lowering his voice after realizing how sensitive his question sounded. "A military bioweapon?"
Jack also spoke in a low tone. "Hemorrhagic smallpox, or 'black pox,' is an extremely lethal form. Regular smallpox has a 30% fatality rate. Hemorrhagic smallpox? Ninety-seven percent."
That shut everyone up. They all instinctively took two or three steps back.
"You don't need to be so scared. I've already completed decontamination."
A figure in a full-body hazmat suit waddled over to them and, with a hiss, removed his helmet. Beneath it was a round, chubby face wearing thick, nerdy black-rimmed glasses. His tone was flat and robotic.
Jack raised an eyebrow—another familiar face. The guy looked just like Hiro Nakamura from the show Heroes, the time-traveling office worker.
"Wow, Max, did you borrow that thing from NASA? You look awesome," Danny quipped.
The man—Max Bergman, not Hiro—didn't seem to pick up on the sarcasm and bowed earnestly. "Thank you. I think so too. Though it's making me really itchy."
Kono, ever the kind one, decided to help bridge the gap. "This is Max Bergman, forensic pathologist with the Honolulu Medical Examiner's Office."
As long as he wasn't actually named Hiro, Jack didn't mind. He didn't fear superpowers—he feared convoluted plotlines like those in Heroes, where everyone acted like they were under a 'dumb logic' curse by Season 3.
Jack offered a friendly handshake. "Were you examining the body just now?"
Max nodded stiffly. "A rough inspection, before the CDC moved the body for immediate cremation."
"Cremation?" Kono wasn't surprised by the CDC's quick disposal, but she did look worried. "But without a body, we lose all forensic leads. How are we supposed to investigate?"
"No need to worry," Max replied calmly, holding up his waterproofed camera. "I took blood and tissue samples and documented everything with photos."
—
Leaving the scene to the CDC, the group returned to the Five-O office with Max in tow.
"This... this tastes like Mom's cooking," Max said solemnly as he slurped the noodles Jack had cooked in chicken broth. Jack didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Photos are ready." Kono looked queasy in front of her computer. "I hope you all still have an appetite."
A series of disturbing images flashed onto the conference room's big screen—enough to make anyone with trypophobia pass out on the spot.
"The deceased is Brian Palmer. Thirty-six years old. Retired from the Army ten months ago. He was stationed in Iraq and diagnosed with PTSD. Lived off benefits since then." Kono pulled up his background info.
His ID photo showed an average-looking white male. But the forensic photos Max had taken painted a horrifying contrast.
The entire body was covered in dark red bruises, masking his original skin tone. Even more horrifying were the endless pustules—some ruptured and scabbed, others swollen with yellow-green pus.
His face, arms, even the tops of his feet—every inch of exposed skin was disfigured beyond recognition.
The only two in the room unfazed were Max and Jack—half a pathologist himself. Max, completely unaffected, even finished his soup with a satisfied pat on his belly.
Danny looked ready to throw up and waved at Kono to take the images down.
"As far as I know, soldiers stationed overseas are vaccinated with a ton of stuff. Wouldn't smallpox be one of them?" Cheng Hao asked.
Max dabbed at his lips with a napkin and nodded. "Yes, but vaccines lose effectiveness over time. Early studies thought the smallpox vaccine offered lifelong protection. Later research showed it usually lasts three to five years, depending on individual physiology.
After that, protection diminishes and eventually vanishes."
Danny scratched his head and waved for everyone to pause. He had just recovered from the nausea. "Shouldn't we be asking the real question? How did a man catch a virus that's supposedly been eradicated for decades?"
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