The Tipping Point

The sterile hum of lab equipment filled the air, blending with the rhythmic beep of a nearby monitor. The air smelled of disinfectant, cold and artificial. Victor and Emily stood frozen over the microscope, their faces drained of color. The test results before them confirmed their worst fears.

Emily swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the counter. "It's spreading through skin contact," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not just through blood transfusions—if it touches your skin, even a minor exposure, you're infected."

Victor exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as his mind raced. "That explains why the infection rate doesn’t match traditional bloodborne pathogens… This thing doesn’t need a wound." His voice turned grim. "It just needs contact."

Hours of testing had led them here, but every revelation only made things worse. This pathogen wasn't a simple virus—it wasn’t designed to kill quickly. Instead, it worked in insidious stages, slowly altering brain function. Victims first experienced paranoia and aggression before descending into a violent, erratic state. Only after that did their bodies begin to deteriorate.

Emily stared at the latest microscopic scan—blood cells clumping together in unnatural formations, twisting and shifting —alive in ways they shouldn't be.

"This isn't just a disease," she whispered. "It's a transformation."

Armed with their findings, Victor and Emily thanked Dr. Keller and rushed into their facility’s boardroom, their hearts pounding.

The room was dimly lit, a long metal table in the center, surrounded by men and women in sharp suits. At the head sat Dr. Leland, an older man with graying hair neatly combed, his piercing gaze assessing them with quiet calculation. He adjusted his glasses as they entered.

Victor and Emily explained the situation to them.

Leland leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. "You're telling me we have an infection that spreads through casual contact, turns people violent, then kills them? If that were the case, we'd already be seeing mass hysteria."

Victor placed a vial of infected blood onto the table. "Run the tests yourself. You’ll see the mutations. This thing is highly contagious, and it’s already spreading."

Leland gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Even if this is true, we can’t afford to panic the public. It won’t do any good.”

Emily clenched her fists under the table. "People are dying," she snapped. "If we wait any longer…"

"Enough, Dr. Hayes," Leland interrupted, his tone calm but razor-sharp. "Continue your research. Find a cure and we’ll control the narrative. Is that understood?"

Victor placed a hand on Emily’s arm, silently telling her to back down. He could see it in her eyes—the same fury burning inside him—but arguing now was pointless. He knew they wouldn’t win this fight here.

Days later, the news reports began.

Violent outbursts. People attacking others without provocation. Victims with glassy eyes, their movements unnatural, their aggression feral. They also had cracked lips from dehydration like they hadn’t eaten or drank anything in a while. Hospitals were now sending cases their way as per instruction by the government.

Victor and Emily realized that most of the patients came from a specific area —West 83rd Street, near Jeremy Middle School.

Emily’s pulse quickened as she scanned the patient reports. "This can’t be a coincidence," she murmured. "Everett’s apartment complex is there… Cassie’s school is there."

Victor nodded. "We need to test the neighbors."

Emily hesitated. "Victor, you can’t just go door to door demanding blood samples—"

"We don’t have time for bureaucracy," he shot back. "If we find asymptomatic carriers, we can figure out why they’re not showing symptoms."

Against her better judgment, Emily followed Victor to Everett’s building, now partially locked down by local health authorities. Now under the support of the government they gained permission to conduct the blood samples, although it would have to be voluntary.

Convincing people to give blood wasn’t easy. Some slammed their doors in their faces. Others agreed hesitantly, fear creeping into their eyes as Victor and Emily explained the purpose of the tests.

An elderly woman in a floral robe clutched her hands together. "You're saying this… this thing is in our building?"

"We’re just trying to rule things out," Emily assured her, slipping a needle into a vein and drawing blood into a labeled vial.

They worked methodically—drawing, packaging, and sealing each sample in temperature-controlled cases. It was slow, delicate work, but by the end of the night, they had enough to run a full analysis. By the time the last vial was stored, their hands ached, their minds heavy with exhaustion.

The results stunned them.

Victor stared at the blood samples in disbelief. "Some people are carrying it… but they’re not showing symptoms."

"Asymptomatic carriers," Emily muttered. "They don’t turn violent. They don’t decay. But they’re still spreading it."

The implications were staggering.

And terrifying.

That night, Emily stayed at the lab long after Victor left. Something about the facility had been bothering her for weeks—security was tighter than it should be, and certain files were locked even from her clearance level. Acting on instinct, she bypassed security protocols, hacking into the restricted database.

What she found made her blood run cold.

There were dozen of facilities across the country just like theirs. Each one run by top medical professionals, each one studying this infection. Hundreds of cases had already been recorded. The classified reports stretched back far longer than she and Victor had been told.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Holy shit…"

Turns out the government had known about this for weeks, maybe months.

It could have waited till the next but she had to tell Victor right away.

Emily banged on Victor’s apartment door at 1 AM.

Seconds later, he opened it, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He took one look at her face and sighed. "You found something."

"You have no idea," she muttered, stepping inside.

Victor’s apartment was surprisingly neat—too neat, like someone had only recently learned how to make it look ‘lived in.’ Emily glanced around, her eyes catching a study guide on slang phrases sitting on the coffee table. Next to it was a half-eaten sandwich, water and a physics book.

"Victor," she said slowly, "why do you have a study guide on slang?"

He blinked. "What?"

She held up the book. "Are you… learning how to sound normal?"

Victor hesitated—then let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. "I didn’t grow up around a lot of casual conversation, okay?"

Emily raised an eyebrow but decided to let it go—for now. "Never mind that. We have a bigger problem." She pulled out her laptop and showed him the files.

Victor’s expression darkened. "They knew."

Emily stepped toward the fridge, her throat dry. She needed water—but as she pulled the door open, her breath hitched.

Blood bags.

Neatly stored.

For a moment, her brain refused to process what she was looking at. It wasn’t just one or two bags—it was a supply. A controlled, methodical stockpile, tucked between two pieces of meat.

Her fingers twitched on the fridge handle. A cold knot formed in her stomach.

She could feel Victor behind her, still watching the files she had pulled up, oblivious to the fact that she wasn’t moving.

Slowly, she shut the fridge and turned around.

Emily forced a casual expression, leaning against the counter like her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest.

“Huh.” She exhaled a quiet breath, tilting her head. “You take your work… quite seriously. The bags are they from sample or something?”

"Yeah, um… I’m sorry.” Victor stiffened. “I forgot they were even there. If I knew you were coming, I would have stocked up on food."

A quiet beat stretched between them.

Emily studied him, her mind racing through possibilities. If she pushed too hard now, he’d shut down. If she acted too afraid, she’d never get real answers. But it might just be nothing. She herself had a few samples in her purse so she shouldn’t judge.

Instead, she let out a small chuckle—controlled. She flicked her hair slightly, giving him a look that said: Fine. I’ll play along.

Victor just intently stared at her. She noticed for the first time he had a pair of bright green eyes, a beautiful colour, she thought.

Emily licked her lips. "It’s fine, Victor." Her voice had softened. She flicked her hair slightly.

“I-I should be going,” she said slowly walking towards the door.

She should leave.

She should.

Every logical part of her brain screamed at her to walk out the door, to put distance between herself and Victor. But she didn’t move.

Because something about him drew her in—not just the mystery, not just the danger. It was the way he was always composed, always in control—except for now.

Except for when he looked at her like this.

She stepped toward him, her pulse hammering in her throat. Victor didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact. His fingers flexed slightly, like he was restraining himself from doing something—from closing the space between them, from touching her, from letting go of that carefully maintained control.

Emily swallowed, barely breathing. She reached out—not touching him, just closing the space.

“Emily,” Victor murmured. A warning. A plea.

She ignored it.

Her fingers traced the edge of his sleeve, barely skimming fabric. He inhaled sharply, muscles tightening under her touch.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, before he could stop her—she kissed him.

Slow at first, tentative but it ignited like a flame.

Then the restraint broke.

Victor responded instantly, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her against him. The heat between them ignited like a fire catching air—fingers moving, fabric shifting.

Emily gasped as he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist out of instinct. He carried her across the room like it was the easiest thing in the world, their bodies pressed together, breath mingling in the dim apartment light.

This wasn’t her original plan or maybe it was, she just didn’t know it. because right now, all she wanted was this.

The bed was only a few feet away when his lips found her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Emily shivered, threading her fingers through his hair.

She felt something deep in her stomach—a thrill, a hunger, a fear—but she pushed it aside.

Because this was happening.

And she didn’t want it to stop.

The sun shone through the curtains, golden light spilling over Emily’s face. She blinked, momentarily disoriented by the warmth of the sheets, the quiet hum of the apartment. She smiled, slowly turning her body to the left side of the bed. But Victor was not there.

A moment later, the apartment door opened, and he walked in, arms filled with grocery bags.

“Hey," he said, smiling softly. "Hungry?"

Emily sat up, stretching watching him closely as he set the bags down.

"Yeah… I could eat."

She flipped on the TV.

And froze.

A nearby medical facility—the largest in the region, second only to theirs—had an incident.

A lab technician, unknowingly infected, went into a violent frenzy, attacking his colleagues before security managed to subdue him.

Victor and Emily watched in horror as the news anchor delivered a heavily sanitized report:

BREAKING NEWS.

"An altercation in a medical research facility is currently under investigation. Authorities assure the public there is no cause for concern."

Victor’s hands curled into fists. “Are you kidding me? They’re still trying to cover it up."

Emily grabbed his arm. "It doesn’t matter anymore. This is the tipping point."

Because even as the government tried to control the narrative, new cases were emerging.

And this time, no one could stop it.

The state of emergency was just the beginning.