(The Pharmacist and the Airborne Plague: The Scarlet Helix Hijack)
Panic in the Quarantine Zone
The observation deck was a graveyard of silence broken only by sobs and coughs.
Passengers huddled in terror while mercenaries patrolled with their rifles angled down, boots thudding against the glass floor. The crimson glow of the emergency lights painted every face sickly red, like they were already infected.
Matahiko — was gone.
Akio crouched near the trembling steward still covered in hideous rashes. The persons skin peeled in strips, his fingernails shredded bloody crescents into the walls as he clawed for relief. His eyes bulged, veins crawling black beneath them.
Raka gagged and turned her head away. "Akio... he's... he's rotting alive."
But Akio forced himself to watch. His fingers brushed the wall where the persons blood smeared. The texture clung sticky, not organic decay but resin-like. A chemical irritant. His mind whirled.
He sniffed the bloodied wall and needed to. Beneath the metallic iron of blood lingered a sharper scent: lacquer.
He spoke aloud, his voice steady but grim:
"This isn't disease. It's a synthetic irritant. Matahiko painted this persons body in poison. He's not contagious — he's dissolving."
Riki spat blood from her split lip. "You mean all this panic... all this screaming... it's theater?"
Akio's eyes darkened. "No. Worse. It's a test."
The Bombs in the Engine Room
Sneaking back into the maintenance decks, Akio disarmed the primitive bombs one by one, sweat pouring down his neck. His hands moved quickly, methodically, stripping wires with the practiced precision of a pharmacist shaving a milligram of powder.
But the fourth device — the one wired into the engine coolant system — made him freeze.
The vial embedded in its casing wasn't fake. It shimmered faintly with an iridescent hue, bluish-silver, the same he'd seen in nightmares.
The Scarlet Helix Serum. Crimson Sleep.
He whispered, "Jeez... it's real."
He imagined the scenario: The coolant explodes, the vents pressurize, and in minutes the entire Sky Guardian becomes a floating crypt. No escape. No antidote fast enough.
His nightmare — the Scarlet Helix's resurrection — was not prophecy. It was happening.
Matahiko Unmasked
Back on the deck, a commotion stirred. Passengers screamed as one of the mercenaries dragged someone into view.
It was Matahiko, no longer limping, no rash on his skin, not a single welt. His shirt was clean, his eyes sharp, his lips curled into a smile.
The mercenary shoved him to his knees for show, but Matahiko stood calmly, pulling off his broken journalist badge and tossing it aside.
"Enough theatrics," he said, his voice clear and commanding.
The mercenaries froze. Then, almost reverently, they lowered their weapons.
Raka's eyes widened. "You're... you're with them?"
Matahiko grinned, bowing mockingly.
"Not with them. Of them. The Red Smoke Bandits. The Scarlet Helix's chosen hand."
Akio stepped forward, fury etched into every line of his face.
"You painted those rashes. You faked your collapse. You staged the contamination."
Matahiko's eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
"And you fell for it beautifully, Akio Hukitaske. All of Japan fell for it. They cowered at shadows while we moved freely."
He raised his arm, showing the black residue still caked beneath his nails.
"Not bacteria. Not virus. Just a chemical shell game. Enough to sow terror. Enough to move an empire's worth of pawns into place."
Gore in the Demonstration
To silence doubt among the mercenaries and passengers, Matahiko snapped his fingers. One of his men dragged forward a trembling crewman. The mercenary forced the persons mouth open.
Matahiko, with almost priest-like calm, produced a vial of shimmering liquid. Crimson Sleep. He poured a single drop onto the persons tongue.
The reaction was instant.
The crewman screamed — not words, but guttural shrieks as his muscles convulsed. His veins blackened, splitting like lightning beneath his skin. Foam poured from his lips, then blood. His eyes rolled back white.
He collapsed. Twitching. Then still.
A silence heavier than steel blanketed the room. Parents buried children's faces into hugs. Workers fell to their knees, weeping.
Matahiko's voice was soft, almost tender.
"This is not bacteria. This is progress. Crimson Sleep doesn't spread. It doesn't linger. It strikes clean, it kills quick, and it leaves nothing but silence. The perfect weapon. No cure. No escape."
He stared at Akio.
"And tonight, the world will see it proven."
The True Plan
Matahiko revealed the truth with theatrical cruelty.
The bombs, the panic, the Red Smoke Bandits' theatrics — all distractions. The real goal was twofold:
1. Steal the Automated Pharmacy System. With its algorithms and data, the Scarlet Helix could mass-produce Crimson Sleep in endless variations, untraceable by current medical science.
2. Prove to the world Crimson Sleep's terror. By executing a false-flag attack aboard the Sky Guardian, the Bandits would show governments how powerless they were, forcing them into silence, fear, and compliance.
"The Scarlet Helix Lab was destroyed," Matahiko said, "but its seed survived. And tonight, that seed blooms again."
Raka Infected
As Matahiko spoke, Raka staggered. She gasped, clutching her arm. Red welts spread across her skin, glowing almost as if lit beneath the flesh.
Akio's heart stopped.
"Raka!"
He lunged, catching her before she fell. Her lips quivered, blood flecking her teeth. She whispered, "He... touched me... earlier. When he collapsed. He... planted it."
Akio's hands trembled. His mind raced.
No, no, this isn't Crimson Sleep. It can't be. Too fast. Too uneven.
He tore at her sleeve, sniffing the residue. Black lacquer. Resin-based. Not the neurotoxin. A decoy irritant again.
His relief was short-lived. Matahiko laughed.
"You catch on quickly, pharmacist. Yes, I got her. Yes, she will live. But tell me — what about the others? How long before they can no longer tell hoax from reality? How long before fear kills them before my toxin does?"
Raka clutched Akio's wrist. "Don't... let me slow you down. Save them."
Her tears streaked her face, her voice breaking. "Please."
The Pharmacist Strikes Back
Something inside Akio snapped.
All the years of guilt, of Kaede's death, of helpless patients slipping through his fingers — they condensed into one white-hot spark of rage.
He stood, his white coat torn, his eyes burning.
"You think fear is a weapon?" Akio roared. "Then let me show you what science can do when it doesn't cower!"
He smashed open his satchel. Vials clinked, powders spilled. His hands moved in a blur, mixing compounds with frantic genius. He doused cloth in ammonia, snapped glass capsules, improvised pressurized sprays.
The mercenaries rushed forward.
Akio hurled a vial. It shattered at their feet, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke. They coughed, blinded. One collapsed, foaming at the mouth as Akio's chemical stun mixture overwhelmed him.
Another raised his gun. Akio swung a vial like a sling — it burst against the persons visor, the resin gluing his mask shut, suffocating him. He fell thrashing, blood bursting from his nose.
Akio's voice was thunder:
"I am a pharmacist. And I will not let you kill another soul!"
Matahiko's Escape
But as Akio battled, Matahiko slipped away, dragging the Automated Pharmacy System with him. Nishitani, the reporter, and Ishimoto, the cameraman — his secret accomplices — covered his retreat with suppressed pistols.
"Stop him!" Riki roared, lunging forward. A bullet grazed his arm, sending him crashing to the floor.
Akio gave chase, his lungs burning, his vision blurring with fury. He burst into the Sky Guardian's upper corridor just in time to see Matahiko loading the system into an escape pod.
Their eyes locked.
Matahiko smirked.
"You could have been one of us, Hukitaske. You could have rewritten the world with your knowledge. Instead, you chose... healing."
Akio's fists clenched.
"And that's why I'll always stop you."
🔻 End of Act 3 (Part 3) 🔻