When Ayn and Aya finally arrived in Osaka, it was already 9 p.m. The city had long entered curfew, its streets unusually desolate. Even so, desolate didn't mean completely empty, cars still occasionally passed through the night shadows. Those vehicles weren't all local to Osaka; Ayn could tell at a glance that many came from the Kanto region. The reason was simple, every car had a license plate, and the regional codes clearly marked their origins.
Beyond ordinary vehicles, patrol cars were stationed at nearly every major intersection along the way. Right as they exited the highway, a police car with flashing lights pulled them over. The officers didn't hassle the two at all, simply following standard procedure for the check: first examining Ayn's passport and Aya's driver's license, then inspecting their backpacks and the motorcycle's under-seat storage box. Next, they asked a few routine questions—"Where are you coming from? Where are you headed?"
Ayn and Aya didn't hide anything, answering truthfully that they'd started from Ikebukuro in Tokyo, heading to Osaka to reunite with family, and after picking up their relatives, they planned to go to Kobe, since they had kin there too. When the police heard "Ikebukuro," they exchanged a glance, inevitably giving Ayn and Aya a few extra looks.
Why the extra glances from the police? Because Tokyo at this point had plunged into total chaos, and Ikebukuro was one of the hardest-hit areas. Zombies roamed the streets, the situation a complete mess. Though government press releases never used the term "hard-hit zone," always claiming "military operations are progressing smoothly" and "large numbers of civilians have been successfully rescued," constantly using positive phrasing to soothe the nation's nerves—online footage painted a far grimmer picture than their words suggested.
The information online wasn't baseless; survivors still trapped in the disaster zones risked their lives to film videos, upload photos, and post pleas for help, and these undeniable proofs piled up like mountains, impossible to fully suppress. Even as the government kept deleting posts and blocking keywords, they couldn't stem the flood of public opinion. So, if the military was truly "progressing smoothly" as claimed, why were so many still crying for help online? Anyone who went on the internet could see Ikebukuro's real state for themselves.
Of course, this didn't mean the government had done nothing. In fact, they'd taken numerous measures to try stabilizing the situation. Self-Defense Forces from across the nation had been urgently dispatched to Tokyo for support, and police forces from various regions were being drawn upon to head to Kanto and maintain order. On roads heading to Kanto, beyond military and police vehicles, one could see trucks loaded with relief supplies. Without a doubt, the government was acting—just that the situation was too complex; even with all that manpower thrown in, they still hadn't eradicated Tokyo's zombies completely.
So, here's the question: why haven't the military managed to eradicate the zombies completely yet? Haven't they deployed heavy equipment like tanks, armored vehicles, helicopters, and artillery? Of course they have. Reality isn't some anime or game—the armed forces aren't holding back. The reason Tokyo's chaos lingers unresolved is actually far more complex.
First, zombies aren't as fragile as people imagine. Based on intelligence circulating online, they share some terrifying common traits: extraordinary regenerative abilities, monstrous strength capable of flipping cars with bare hands, swift and agile movements, and the most deadly aspect of all: intelligence. Yes, they're not like the mindless anime zombies that charge and bite randomly without thought—they can coordinate like wolf packs or hunting dogs.
Precisely because they possess intelligence, zombies won't throw themselves to death against tanks or armored vehicles. They'll choose to retreat, burrowing into high-rises, apartments, malls, or even slipping into sewer and subway networks. Once the military lets their guard down, they'll launch ambushes from the shadows. So, these enemies are far trickier than anyone pictured.
Second, zombies aren't "one shot, one kill." Though bullets can pierce their bodies, if they miss the parasite core inside, the zombies simply won't die. Even if grenades or bombs blow them to bits, as long as the parasite survives, the scattered remains will writhe and reassemble into a twisted, horrific mass of flesh. Even more terrifying, some parasites will abandon their shredded host outright, burrowing into soldiers' mouths, noses, or eyes at astonishing speed to birth a new zombie in a dozen seconds.
And these are just the shared traits of "ordinary zombies"—mutants push far beyond reason: they boast higher intelligence, greater strength, flesh so tough machine-gun rounds can't penetrate; some sprout dreadful tentacles, others spew corrosive acid that melts through car doors and walls. There's even rumor of zombies with "invisibility," unconfirmed but chilling enough to think about.
As time passes, the scope of mutation keeps expanding. Beyond humans, some animals seem affected too. Mutated "animals" include not just cats, dogs, rats, and bats, but also zoo beasts like lions, tigers, cheetahs, hippos, rhinos, monkeys, foxes, black bears, and more. Though no bird, insect, reptile, or amphibian mutations have appeared yet, plenty of netizens speculate that at this rate, even plants might change soon enough.
Despite all this, the military still holds the advantage. After all, they have tanks, armored vehicles, helicopters, artillery, and can even call in airstrikes or missile support. Tokyo's setbacks aren't because they can't beat the zombies—it's the advance that's too slow. And behind this "slow advance" lies a key reason—concerns. Remember, Tokyo still has countless survivors scattered throughout the city; if they fired cannons recklessly, no one could guarantee the blasts wouldn't hit innocents. Because of this, the military has no choice but to balance offense and rescue precariously. So, Tokyo's prolonged unrest isn't due to military incompetence, but enemies too strong, terrain too complicated, and far too many concerns.
As for "why the police gave Ayn and Aya a few extra glances," the reason was actually quite simple: of course they went online too, and they followed the situation in Tokyo closely, naturally knowing that Ikebukuro was now one of the "hard-hit zones." Precisely because of that, upon learning these two had somehow escaped from Ikebukuro all the way to Osaka, the officers couldn't help but feel shocked.
However, their shock stopped there. The police didn't treat Ayn and Aya as "potentially infected, zombie-turning dangerous individuals." After all, the government had long publicized the key information about the "parasite": an infected person would turn into a zombie within sixty seconds, and once the eggs were exposed to air, they died within five minutes. In other words, managing to flee alive from Tokyo to Osaka was proof enough in itself that they weren't parasitized hosts.
And precisely because they knew the pair had fled from Ikebukuro, the police couldn't resist asking a few more questions. They wanted to know: what was the situation like in Ikebukuro when they set out? Had they encountered any zombies along the way? How exactly had they escaped? Why had it taken them so late to reach Osaka? They even chatted idly about things like "are your friends in Tokyo safe now?"
Faced with these questions, Aya and Ayn were well prepared. Aside from "Transcendent," "system," and "those extremely erotic things that happened along the way," they answered almost everything truthfully. They even candidly admitted riding along the train tracks to escape Tokyo. Why say it outright? Because there was no hiding it anyway. After all, many stations along the route had surveillance cameras; sooner or later, someone would spot that they'd passed via the rails. Since that was the case, it was better to come clean from the start, lest it raise suspicions later.
After hearing their account, the officers actually laughed, even giving thumbs up and praising them as "really smart." After all, the zombie outbreak had hit in the dead of night, Tokyo's trains had shut down completely, and zombies weren't the type to idly wander onto tracks. Escaping along the rails had indeed been a brilliantly wise choice.
As for "riding a motorcycle in the train travel area," the police just chuckled it off. After all, in such an emergency, that could easily count as "emergency evasion." If it were them, they might have done the same. So, no one uttered that chilling line, "Come on, come with us, you've violated traffic laws."
The police asked Ayn and Aya many questions, and in turn, they seized the opportunity to pose a few of their own. The most important one: after picking up their family in Osaka, they planned to continue on to Kobe, but with the city under curfew now, could they still go? At this, the officers exchanged a glance, and one replied in standard official tone: "It's best to stay home at night; heading to Kobe at dawn won't be too late."
Ayn and Aya's expressions turned visibly downcast upon hearing this. Though they said nothing more, that silent disappointment was plain as day, as if silently pleading, "We really want to reunite with our family in Kobe as soon as possible." In fact, as Transcendents, the two could easily influence others' emotions, infinitely amplifying this "genuine pitifulness" to subtly soften the police's hearts.
Precisely because of that, one officer sighed and said something far less "official": "Curfew's curfew, but no one's going to stand next to you, watching to force you to stay indoors, right? If other patrol cars pull you over along the way, they'll at most ask a few questions like we did—won't actually haul you back to the station for a few days. Truth is, we're swamped right now, no time for petty stuff like this. So, if you're set on going to Kobe tonight, just be extra careful."
In truth, even without asking the police, Aya and Ayn could roughly guess the current state of law enforcement—the officers were likely stretched too thin, and managing checks at highway exits was probably their limit already. Why guess that? Because the Japanese government was drawing police from across the nation to support Kanto, undoubtedly straining manpower in other areas. Add to that the outbreaks of social unrest popping up everywhere, and the national security situation was already precarious. Reports of stores being looted weren't limited to supermarkets, convenience shops, or electronics malls—even roadside eateries and small pharmacies had become targets.
So, when that officer said with a wry smile "we're swamped right now," it wasn't mere politeness—it was the unvarnished reality; they truly had no spare energy to deal with "curfew violators."
However, even though they'd already guessed as much, Ayn and Aya still chose to ask. Why? The reason was simple: they wanted to confirm if their speculation was accurate. If they were wrong—if the government was strictly enforcing the curfew and even deploying police to forcibly detain anyone out at night—then they'd have to readjust their plans. In that case, the safest move would naturally be to wait until dawn before setting off for Kobe. After all, they had no desire to stir up any unnecessary trouble at a time like this.