Dr. Stephanie Moor

It had taken only a single night for the entire entertainment district to be placed under quarantine and hermetically sealed off. On the main street, in a large parking lot, a disease control center had been hastily established. Temporary tents and containers were converted into laboratories and observation stations. Within just a few hours the first isolation cells were added — thick, armored glass cabins in which the infected were kept under constant surveillance.

Dr. Stephanie Moor headed the medical emergency facility. At 42 years old she had decades of experience dealing with highly infectious diseases. She had worked for the WHO and the CDC and had always been where the outbreaks were worst — always right at the epicenter. She was married to her work. She had no private life. Diseases were her world.

Stephanie had shoulder-length blonde hair that she usually tied back in a simple ponytail. Her body was ordinary and unremarkable — neither particularly slim nor curvy. She wore plain glasses with thin metal frames and never used any makeup. Her face was tired but focused, the eyes behind the lenses alert and analytical.

She sat at the computer studying the latest case numbers. Something like what was happening here in Neo-Tokyo she had never seen in her entire career. It was an aggressive form of disease — or condition — that spread through bodily fluids and within minutes turned the victim into an individual desperate for sex. But only when a fully infected person delivered a bite did the victim become one of them.

Then the body changed radically: the skin lost all color and became cold as marble. The hair turned black. Fangs grew. In women the breasts swelled, the waist narrowed, the hips and buttocks became fuller, the lips plumper, the ears pointed. In men muscle mass increased dramatically and the genitals became longer and thicker. No heartbeat was detectable.

In the first hours after full transformation the infected were driven purely by instinct. No personality, no reason — only the hunger for blood and sex. This state lasted only a few hours in some, longer in others. Then the mind returned, along with memories and personality — though extremely altered. The infected knew neither morality nor boundaries. They still hungered for blood and sex, but now they acted intelligently, set traps, and manipulated.

Stephanie read through her own reports on the laptop once more. Then she raised her eyes.

In three large isolation cells made of thick security glass were infected individuals.

In the first and second cells: a woman and a man who had only come into contact with bodily fluids. The man was a palace guard. During the construction of the barricades he had been dragged to the ground by an infected woman. According to the report she had taken his penis into her mouth and orally satisfied him. His condition was extreme. He begged continuously for sex, masturbated without pause, his hand moving mechanically and desperately. The woman had been partially raped by a man and was in the same state — she pleaded to be taken, preferably by several at once. Neither of them had been bitten. Stephanie was certain: this condition was a preliminary stage designed to make hunting easier for the fully infected.

In the third cell was a bitten woman. Fully infected.

To Stephanie’s regret she knew her personally. It was her assistant Amber — 22 years old, intelligent, kind, a truly good person. Upon her arrival, when the barricades were not yet fully in place, she had been seized by an infected individual and bitten deeply in the neck. Stephanie had tried to help her, but there had been no possibility.

Now she studied her.

Amber stood behind the thick security glass. Her skin was porcelain-white and smooth, almost unnaturally flawless. Her ears were pointed and slightly swept back. Her breasts had become large and full, heavy and plump, the dark nipples clearly visible beneath the thin hospital gown they had put on her. Her waist was narrow and accentuated, her hips wide, her buttocks and hips lush and rounded. Her former shoulder-length blonde hair was now jet black and shone like silk. Her pupils glowed an intense, unnatural red. Her lips were fuller and darker than before. When she opened her mouth, the sharp fangs flashed.

Amber was clear-headed again. Relentlessly she tried to get the guards to open the door.

“I’ll suck your cocks,” she breathed again and again against the glass, her voice deep and seductive. “You can fill all my holes. Come in… please… I need it…”

When she noticed Stephanie, her tactics changed. First she played her old self — the friendly, intelligent assistant Stephanie had known so well. Her voice grew softer, almost familiar.

“Stephanie… please. You know me. Help me.”

Then she switched abruptly. A dark, hungry smile appeared on her full lips. She stepped close to the glass, placed one hand against the pane and slowly ran her tongue across it.

“I can smell that this is turning you on,” she whispered. “Your heart is beating faster. You’re wet, Stephanie. Come to me. I’ll lick you until you’re soaked. My tongue deep in your pussy… I’ll pleasure you until you’re shaking and coming. You only have to come inside. Just for a moment…”

Stephanie felt her breath catch. She forced herself not to look away and continued documenting. Blood tests. Body scans. Hormone levels. Temperature readings. There had to be a way to reverse this condition. To heal the infected.

She stared at the data and at Amber behind the glass — at the being that had once been her assistant and friend.

And for the first time in her long career, Dr. Stephanie Moor did not know whether she could stop this plague at all.