In Fukushima, a woman wearing transparent spectacles stared at the television, her arms crossed, her eyes burning into the screen.
'It's been nine days. Eleven days since I sent them into that dungeon, and there has been no feedback. Are they dead?'
Mrs. Fukushima almost cursed as she turned and slammed her palm into the wall with a loud screech.
She panted and shook her head several times. This couldn't be happening. Just how did she get into this tight spot?
Reports were flying in. Shibuya reeked of the smell of burnt people. According to the last estimate, over a million people were infected, and at least half of them were dead, and the number of infected and dead increased by the minute.
Statistics showed that at least a thousand people were infected every twenty minutes. This meant seventy-two thousand people would be infected and swarming with centipede eggs by the end of today.
Her breath shook.
