Chapter 168: The Tramp
The passageway was thick with smoke. White Cat tossed his cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it out. Scattered around his feet were countless stubs. Mikasa Itsuki, covering his nose, said nothing.
“That’s just me,” White Cat said with a wry smile. “When I’m anxious, I can’t stop smoking. My brother used to nag me about it…” He sighed, his thoughts drifting. He envied his brother—a beautiful wife, a fulfilling life, blissfully unaware of anomalies as an ordinary person.
As for himself? Becoming a monitor had severed ties with his brother. The Special Division offered to protect his family, granting them wealth, but White Cat declined, only arranging a better job for his brother at a larger company. Then, he cut contact. He couldn’t bear his brother learning of anomalies—despairing entities that crushed ordinary hope. Only the strongest could rise above such knowledge.
Seeing White Cat’s mood dip, Mikasa smiled. “Sir, in the Nightmare Space, we should fight to survive and find a way back to reality.”
“Nightmare Space?” White Cat chuckled, fixing Mikasa with a steady gaze. “I was rattled by the anomaly earlier, but now I’m clear. You know this isn’t some Nightmare Space, don’t you?”
Mikasa’s face flushed with embarrassment. Hesitating, he chose honesty—White Cat’s spiritual pressure could detect lies. “I half-believed it at first,” he admitted, nodding. “But after you mentioned anomalies, I started wondering if this train itself is one.”
“Smart kid,” White Cat said, impressed. “If we escape, I’ll recommend you to the Special Division. Or, if you prefer an ordinary life, I won’t push.”
“I’d join the Special Division!” Mikasa’s eyes lit up. “Ordinary life’s boring. I crave excitement.”
“I can tell.”
They chatted, passing time in the passageway. Five hours had elapsed since arriving there, eight since boarding. The hours eased their tension, though White Cat never forgot his monitor duties. Each hourly broadcast prompted him to note the city names on his phone, despite having investigated only one anomaly case—solved using a predecessor’s notes, narrowly avoiding disaster. Still, his training held: the cities might be linked.
He asked Mikasa, but the boy, though sharp, knew little about global cities, especially obscure ones. With no signal on the train, internet searches were impossible. The broadcast crackled: “Welcome aboard the Kisaragi Train. Acapulco arrived. Next stop, Detroit.”
“Detroit!” Mikasa piped up. “It’s in America. I played Detroit: Become Human and looked it up. It used to be the Motor City.”
“Motor City?” White Cat mused. Train-related? A stretch. “Anything else?”
Mikasa thought. “It’s got a high crime rate.”
Crime? White Cat froze, recalling his own arrival on the train—caught in a perverse act. Matsuoka Higashi, too, had killed his wife. A pattern? He fixed Mikasa with a grave stare. “Answer honestly: have you committed a crime recently?”
Mikasa hesitated, caught off guard. “Don’t hide it,” White Cat pressed, frowning.
Gritting his teeth, Mikasa confessed, “No recent record, but a year ago, I killed a delinquent who was harassing a girl.”
White Cat’s expression softened—truth. “You did right, even if it was murder.”
“Can I still join the Special Division?” Mikasa asked cautiously.
White Cat laughed. “Of course.” His mind raced: the train seemed to collect criminals. But with only himself, Mikasa, and Matsuoka as samples, it was inconclusive. He’d question others passing through, having shooed away several already. Next time, he’d interrogate.
Time flew as they talked. Another hour passed, and the broadcast returned: “Welcome aboard the Kisaragi Train. Detroit arrived. Next stop, Mizoram.”
“Detroit,” White Cat murmured. “It confines an anomaly.” Seeing Mikasa’s curiosity, he explained, having spent hours detailing anomalies’ horrors to spark insights into the train’s rules. “It’s called ‘Plague Source,’ disguised as a tramp…”
Footsteps interrupted from the right. White Cat’s heart leaped—finally, someone to question. He turned toward the sound. An elderly man approached, head bowed, filthy and disheveled, clad in tattered rags, greasy in the dim light.
But seeing the tramp, White Cat’s breath caught. The man covered his mouth…
“Don’t breathe!” White Cat’s voice was sharp and urgent. Scanning the area, he yanked Mikasa into the crew room, slamming the door. Stripping off his shirt, he stuffed the door’s seams.
A cough echoed outside. White Cat’s face drained of color.
“Sir, what’s wrong?” Mikasa asked, curious, unafraid.
White Cat, envying Mikasa’s nerve, shook his head, anxiously gesturing to stay silent and hold his breath. Outside stood the anomaly codenamed Plague Source.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 169: Why?! How Can You Be an Anomaly?!
Plague Source, confined to Detroit, Michigan, appeared as a tramp. Its killing rule was simple: every ten seconds, it coughed, releasing countless pathogens in a twenty-meter radius for five seconds, carrying every known virus. Inhaling them doomed victims to three days of agonizing diseases, culminating in a gruesome death.
But how was it here, on the Kisaragi Train? Records confirmed the U.S. anomaly agency had trapped Plague Source in a custom maze using a counter-rule item. Five seconds passed. White Cat exhaled, then barked, “Strip your clothes—block the gaps. If you hear a cough, hold your breath. Breathe after five seconds.”
Holding breath for five seconds sufficed, but White Cat wasn’t reckless. Inhaling those pathogens meant three nightmarish days. He’d seen footage of Plague Source’s victims—grotesque, unrecognizable, wracked by countless ailments, moaning until silence. Even suicide couldn’t end the three-day torment. A note in the file speculated the anomaly warned humanity of its own excesses.
Mikasa, gasping from the sudden rush, handed over his school uniform. As they held their breath, another cough sounded, indistinguishable from a human’s. Mikasa couldn’t fathom its deadliness but trusted White Cat’s fear of anomalies’ inevitability, freezing in place.
White Cat, ignoring Mikasa’s expression, grew grim, heart pounding. Why wasn’t it leaving? Plague Source didn’t target victims—its cough was an indiscriminate debuff, spreading viruses passively. The U.S. trapped it in a populated maze, as it roamed aimlessly but stayed if humans were nearby. Yet here it lingered outside, unmoving.
White Cat’s composure frayed. The passageway’s hope was now a trap, despair sinking in. “Any ideas?” he asked Mikasa, eyes pleading, during a five-second gap.
Mikasa, still reeling, had none. White Cat’s hope withered. After a pause, Mikasa ventured, “Maybe… we stay in the crew room until the final station, then rush out?”
White Cat considered it, exhaling slightly. “Good thinking. It’s our only shot.” He started timing with his phone—guessing was reckless. Each cough jolted them, fearing a misstep into the killing rule. They adapted, syncing breaths to the rhythm, but exhaustion loomed.
Leaning against the door, White Cat sweated in the stifling room. Overused spiritual energy, hunger, and mental strain blurred his focus. He glanced at Mikasa, smiling faintly, envious. “You’ve got stamina.”
“Maybe I’m just bold,” Mikasa said, scratching his head, breathing in a gap. “I don’t fully grasp anomalies, so I’m not that scared.”
White Cat nodded. Ignorance dulled fear. Despite his explanations, Mikasa’s brief exposure limited his dread, unlike his own deep-seated terror. Mikasa likely feared grudges more.
Silence fell. White Cat, too drained to speak, grew wearier. Hours passed—over a dozen since boarding. Their eyelids drooped. White Cat’s overtaxed spiritual energy demanded sleep, but the train showed no end. Despair gripped him. The relentless coughs, programmed every ten seconds, numbed them, keeping them awake. Their phones died, forcing them to count mentally.
“I can’t take it,” White Cat snapped, at his limit—exhausted, thirsty, hungry, dehydrated in the cramped, sweltering room. The “final station” was a guess, its existence uncertain. Gritting his teeth, he flung open the door.
He froze. Beyond the tramp stood a girl in black-and-white, an odd old woman, and… his mother, dead for years. A chill snapped him alert. Slam! He shut the door, collapsing, trembling, eyes vacant. “One… two… three…”
Four anomalies outside. Despair crushed him.
Mikasa spoke. “Sir, I have a way we might escape.”
“What?” White Cat clung to hope, staring at him.
Mikasa’s face, pale from dehydration, held calm resolve. “It needs your help, sir.”
“Speak!”
“I need to borrow your body. Can I?”
Use me as a test? White Cat’s eyes bored into Mikasa. “Say that again.”
“I have a plan, but it requires your body. It’s our best shot to escape together.”
No lie—his spiritual pressure confirmed it. Relief washed over White Cat. Despite exhaustion, he smiled, comforted. “Fine. Tell me what to do.”
But as he agreed, unease hit. Sitting, looking up, he saw Mikasa’s body… growing. No—his own was shrinking. Horror dawned. Pointing, he stammered, “You… you…”
Mikasa’s ordinary face twisted, morphing into White Cat’s likeness. “Why?! How can this be?! You can’t be an ano—”
Before finishing, White Cat collapsed, his body now a small doll in a red kimono, exquisitely crafted, eyes smiling, face vibrant yet eerily lifelike. To Kamihara Shinji, it would be unmistakable: the anomaly that once mimicked Chihaya Mashiro, slipping from his grasp.
Should we start a group?
(End of Chapter)
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