"The bus is reinforced. Separate containment compartment in the back. But he's strong and we're short handed. Most of our operatives are still sweeping the residential districts. You're the closest available."
"I can't," Zenjiro said immediately. "I'm not qualified for containment duty."
"You're a Shadow Crane. You've been trained for this. We need you."
"Find someone else."
"There is no one else." The operative's voice was getting harder. "This is not a request, Hajidan. This is an order. We have an infected civilian who needs to be transported before he turns and kills everyone on that bus. You're going to help us do that."
Zenjiro looked at Natami, desperate for her to intervene, to explain why this was the worst possible idea. But her face had gone pale, her eyes wide with the same realization he had.
If he got on that bus with an infected person, if he got close enough to smell that chemical scent, to hear their accelerated heartbeat, the thing inside him would take control again.
And this time, there would be nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just a bus full of witnesses who would see exactly what he was.
Natami saw it too. Saw the trap closing around them both. The operative standing there waiting for confirmation, completely unaware he was about to put a weapon inside a containment vehicle. She could refuse on Zenjiro's behalf, claim he was injured, make up some excuse. But that would only delay the inevitable. The order would come again. Someone would ask questions. The investigation would start.
Better to go now and hope they could contain the situation before witnesses saw too much.
"Operative Hajidan," the man said. "We're wasting time. Let's move."
"I'll go with him," Natami said quickly. "Backup for the containment. Two operatives are better than one."
"Fine. Both of you, on the bus. Now."
They had no choice. Refusing a direct order would raise too many questions. Questions Zenjiro could not afford to answer.
They followed the operative to the bus. It was a large transit vehicle, modified with reinforced walls and barred windows. Most of the seats were empty now, the civilians having been transferred to other buses. Only a handful remained, mostly medical personnel and guards.
The infected man was in the back compartment. Zenjiro could hear him before he could see him, the sound of labored breathing mixed with low growls. The chemical scent hit him like a physical force.
Burnt copper. Rot. Infection.
Every nerve in his body screamed danger.
Natami watched him from the corner of her eye. Watched the way his pupils dilated when the scent reached him. Watched his breathing change, becoming shallower, faster. Watched his left hand clench into a fist, knuckles going white with the effort of staying human.
He was fighting it. Fighting hard. But the scent was already working on him, triggering something primal in his modified DNA.
"His name is Takeshi Yamamoto," the operative explained as they approached. "He was bitten six hours ago. We've been monitoring his progression. He's at Hour Eighteen now. Transformation is accelerating."
Through the reinforced glass, Zenjiro could see him. Middle aged, maybe a teacher or an office worker before this nightmare started. Blue veins covered his arms and neck. His eyes were starting to lose focus. His hands were clenching and unclenching, fingers twitching.
"He keeps asking for his wife," the operative continued. "Says he needs to see her one more time before he turns. We told him she's waiting for him at the containment facility. It's a lie, but it keeps him calm."
Zenjiro could not take his eyes off the man. Could not stop smelling the infection radiating from him. His hands were starting to tingle. That familiar burning sensation spreading through his fingers.
Not now. Please not now.
Natami saw it happening. Saw the blue veins on Zenjiro's own chest beginning to pulse beneath his shirt. Saw his breathing synchronize with Yamamoto's labored rhythm. Saw the predator waking up behind his eyes.
She positioned herself closer to the door. Not to escape. To block the exit if he turned. To keep him contained until she could find a way to stop him without killing him.
"We need to get him secured in the transport restraints," the operative said, handing Zenjiro a set of reinforced cuffs. "He's been cooperative so far, but that could change any second. Keep your guard up."
He opened the compartment door.
The scent intensified. Zenjiro could hear the man's heartbeat, too fast, irregular. Could see the way his pupils were dilating and contracting. The veins pulsing beneath his skin.
The infected man looked up. His eyes locked onto Zenjiro's face, and something like recognition flickered there. His nostrils flared.
He knows, Natami realized with cold certainty. The infection recognizes its own kind.
"Mr. Yamamoto," the operative said gently. "We're going to put these restraints on you now. For everyone's safety during transport. Is that okay?"
"Will I see Keiko?" the man asked. His voice was slurred, like his tongue was too thick. "At the facility? Will my wife be there?"
"Yes. She'll be waiting for you."
"Good. That's good." He held out his wrists. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Please don't let me hurt anyone."
Zenjiro stepped into the compartment. The space was small, maybe six feet by six feet. The walls were reinforced steel. There was nowhere to run if he lost control.
Don't black out. Don't lose control. Stay conscious. Stay human.
He approached the man with the restraints. Yamamoto's eyes locked onto his. For a second, Zenjiro saw recognition there. Not of him specifically, but of what he was.
"You smell wrong," Yamamoto said. "You smell like us."
"I'm here to help you," Zenjiro said, his voice shaking. "Just hold still."
He reached for the man's wrist.
Yamamoto lunged.
Not at Zenjiro. At Natami, who was standing in the doorway.
Natami saw it coming a fraction of a second too late. She had been watching Zenjiro, monitoring his transformation, and failed to track Yamamoto's shift in attention. Her blade was coming up but too slow, she was too slow.
The thing inside Zenjiro took control.
But not completely.
Natami saw it happen in real time. Saw his left eye ignite with red light while his right eye stayed normal. Saw black claws erupt from his left hand while his right hand stayed completely human. Saw his left leg tense with inhuman strength while his right leg remained unchanged.
Half transformed. Half human, half monster.
Split down the middle like two people fighting for control of the same body.
Zenjiro moved faster than thought. Grabbed Yamamoto's arm before he could reach Natami. Threw him against the wall with strength that dented the reinforced steel.
"Hajidan, stop!" Natami shouted.
But Zenjiro could not stop. The thing inside him was screaming eliminate, eliminate, eliminate.
The infected man was getting up. Still conscious. Still dangerous. The infection in his blood was screaming at Zenjiro, demanding to be purged.
He lunged forward. His clawed hand going for Yamamoto's throat.
Natami saw what was about to happen. Saw the killing strike forming. Saw witnesses through the compartment window, all of them watching with wide eyes. Saw the end of any chance they had of keeping this secret.
"ZENJIRO!" She used his first name, not his operative name. Used the voice that had pulled him back before. "Remember who you are!"
Something flickered in his red eye. Hesitation. Recognition.
And in that split second of hesitation, Zenjiro felt it. Felt every second of what he was doing. Felt his claws puncture skin. Felt the hot blood on his fingers. Felt Yamamoto's pulse racing against his palm.
But he also felt himself pulling back. Stopping just before the fatal cut.
The infected man collapsed, unconscious from the impact against the wall. Not dead. Bleeding but not dead.
Zenjiro stumbled backward, staring at his hands. His left hand still had claws. His right hand was completely human. His left eye was still burning with red light. His right eye was normal brown.
Half transformed.
He looked up.
Everyone on the bus was staring at him through the compartment window.
Medical personnel frozen in shock. Guards with hands on weapons they did not dare draw. Civilians with phones raised, some of them recording.
All of them had seen.
All of them knew what he was.
"What the hell is that?" someone whispered.
Natami moved immediately. Stepped between Zenjiro and the window, blocking their view of his transformed state. Her hand went to her radio.
"Code Black," she said calmly into the comm. "Containment breach. I need a full security lockdown on Bus Seven. All personnel, all civilians. No one leaves until I give clearance."
The operative who had brought them looked between Natami and Zenjiro, his face pale with understanding. "What is he?"
"Classified," Natami said flatly. "You just became part of a classified Shadow Crane operation. Congratulations. Now help me secure this compartment before anyone else sees inside."
She turned to look at Zenjiro. His transformation was reversing slowly. The claws retracting. The red light fading from his left eye. But the process was visible. Painfully, obviously visible to anyone still watching.
And outside the compartment, she could see phones still recording. Could see witnesses whispering to each other. Could see the security guards looking at each other, silently asking if they should intervene.
The secret was out.
Not completely, but the containment was failing.
And Natami had maybe five minutes to decide who lived and who died to keep it from spreading further.