Chapter 0: Protocol for an Unscheduled Variable
The first sound in Jin Nakahara's penthouse apartment was not the gentle chime of an alarm, but the sharp, metallic snap of a katana being sheathed. At precisely 05:00 hours, bathed in the cool, pre-dawn glow of Tokyo, Jin completed his final Kendo kata. His movements had been flawless, each of the one hundred prescribed strikes a testament to a life spent pursuing perfection.
"Morning analysis complete, Master Jin," a calm, synthesized female voice echoed from unseen speakers. "Your father's shipping interests have caused a minor—and I quote the market—'unforeseen ripple' in Nikkei futures. Your mother's presence at the Paris fashion gala has resulted in a 400% increase in social media traffic for the term 'unapproachable elegance'. Both are within expected parameters."
Jin didn't reply, his focus absolute. To him, his family wasn't family; they were sources of chaotic variables he had to account for daily. He was the stoic center of a hurricane of flamboyance and organized crime. His appearance was a gift of their genes—the sharp, handsome features of a model locked in the severe, brooding expression of a man who expects the worst from the universe at all times.
Later, in the kitchen, while preparing a breakfast calculated to the exact microgram of nutrients he required, it happened. A faint tickle in his throat.
A normal person would have cleared their throat. Jin froze. Internal system anomaly detected, his mind raced. Unscheduled irritation of the pharyngeal mucosa. Potential for viral infection: 6.7%. Unacceptable.
"J.A.N.E.," he said to his home's AI. "Cancel my afternoon lecture. I need to acquire medical countermeasures."
"Acknowledged," J.A.N.E. replied. "Shall I have the supplies delivered?"
"Negative," Jin stated, already moving. "Third-party delivery introduces too many points of potential failure."
His garage was a sterile, functional space. In the center sat his chosen vehicle. It wasn't a flashy supercar designed to advertise wealth. It was a statement of intent. A custom, fully-modified Lexus LX 600, its original glossy paint covered in a matte-black, radar-absorbent coating. The subtle, angular lines of custom ballistic paneling disrupted its luxurious silhouette, giving it a menacing, governmental look. It sat on heavy-duty, military-grade run-flat tires that added to its aggressive, practical stance.
He donned his daily attire: a simple black shirt, dark jeans, and his custom-made, lightweight bulletproof jacket. He did a quick systems check on the Lexus, its armored windows humming faintly as they sealed. The Glock 17 was secure in his hip holster. His black, dragon-motif katana was locked in its rapid-release mount by the driver's seat. A final glance confirmed the status of his emergency supplies, neatly organized in custom, hidden compartments. For Jin, this was not an event; it was routine.
At the pharmacy, he methodically cleared the shelves of medicine, bandages, and IV kits, leaving the pharmacist stammering about the apocalypse. Jin's only reply was a cold stare. "I am preparing for a potential fever. The two are not mutually exclusive."
On the drive back, a news alert flashed: UNEXPECTED ROAD CLOSURE ON THE MAIN HIGHWAY DUE TO A FALLEN ANCIENT TREE.
Static Target. Increased Risk. Jin's mind processed. He immediately took the nearest detour, a winding country road that grew older and more desolate with each mile. His high-tech GPS flickered, then died.
He drove over a hill and saw it. A small, quaint town that wasn't on any map. He circled it once, his mind mapping the layout, and tried to leave. The same road brought him back. He tried a second time. Same result. A topographical trap.
He brought the Lexus to a stop in the middle of the street, its powerful engine idling with a low, barely-audible hum. He looked at the setting sun, a grim orange light painting the edges of the strange, imprisoning buildings.
Jin Nakahara, the man who prepared for everything, felt no fear. He felt only the weary exhaustion of being proven right once again.
"Of course," he muttered, killing the engine. "Another unscheduled variable."
His hand rested on the grip of his Glock. "Protocol activated: Secure a defensible position. Establish a perimeter. Begin observation."
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