"The Vaccinator"
by:
Virgilio F. De leon Jr.MD
Masao was a down-on-his-luck doctor, the kind whose name had become a whispered warning in the corridors of proper hospitals. He wasn’t a bad physician—not exactly. But rumors stuck like oil on skin, and malpractice suits, even ones he could explain, were the kind of stains that never washed out. No one respectable would touch him now, and the only clinics willing to let him near a syringe were nestled in alleyways where the shadows lingered longer than they should.
So when his landlord came knocking—again—Masao did what any cornered man would do: he climbed out the third-story window and disappeared into the city mist. A few hours later, hunched in a ramen shop with one last cigarette and a phone that barely held charge, he found the ad.
“Seeking Medical Technician – West Coast Offshore Platform – Vaccination Protocol – High Pay, Immediate Departure.”
He clicked "Apply."
The job was simple. Fly out. Vaccinate about sixty rig workers. Stay a week for observation. Get paid. The offshore platform floated off the coast of Japan, a steel skeleton surrounded by sea and fog. Isolated. Quiet. The perfect place to disappear for a while.
But things stopped being simple on day four.
It started with strange coughing fits. Then, aggressive behavior. And finally, the screaming.
Masao followed the noise one night down a stairwell slick with sea spray. That’s when he saw it—a man, or what had once been a man, now hunched and twitching, his skin torn open and stretching in impossible places. His jaw hung low, unhinged like a snake's, and his fingers ended in black, sharp hooks.
The creature lunged. Masao scrambled back. In the scuffle, its tattered uniform slipped—and he saw the tattoo. A red snake coiled around a cherry blossom. The same tattoo Masao had noticed on a cheerful deckhand three days ago. One of the first he vaccinated.
A horrible realization gripped him. This thing was vaccinated. By him.
More followed. One by one, the crew turned. Something in the serum? A contaminant? Or was it deliberate?
Now, locked in a supply room with nothing but a med kit, a flare gun, and a fading emergency radio, Masao knows he needs to get off the platform. The supply boat won’t return for three more days. The rig’s radio has been smashed. The helipad's chopper is missing.
And the monsters are learning.
They move in packs now. They wait. They listen.
Masao wipes the sweat from his brow and studies the rig’s blueprint taped to the wall. There has to be a way. Maybe the emergency lifeboat. Maybe the comms antenna on the upper deck—if he can fix it. Maybe something in the lab that caused this mess could also stop it.
The clock is ticking. The creatures are adapting.
And Masao knows: the only way to escape the rig… might be to uncover the truth behind what he injected into all of them.
Masao’s mind raced as he stared at the blueprint, his eyes scanning for any path that might lead to a way out. The lab. It was the only place he hadn’t checked yet, tucked away in the bowels of the rig near the engine room. If there was anything in the system that could explain what was happening—or better yet, reverse it—he had to find it.
But the path to the lab was far from clear. The monsters—no, these were people, once—had been moving in packs now, seemingly aware of his presence. Their twisted forms had become faster, more intelligent. And Masao, despite all his medical knowledge, felt utterly powerless in the face of it.
He moved quickly, his heart pounding in his chest as he crept through the dimly lit hallways. The smell of saltwater and oil hung thick in the air, and the occasional screech of metal scraping against metal sent a shiver down his spine. He avoided the main corridors, ducking into maintenance passages and crawling through narrow crawl spaces to avoid detection.
He reached the lab’s entrance after what felt like hours, the door sealed tight. A security keypad glowed faintly in the darkness.
Masao cursed under his breath. The security system was still intact. He could feel the pressure mounting. If there’s a way to reverse this, I need to find it here.
With no time to waste, he fumbled for the emergency override codes he’d found earlier in a medical manual from the rig’s storage. He’d memorized the numbers, but his shaking hands made it difficult to enter them correctly. A beep confirmed the door was unlocking, and Masao exhaled sharply in relief.
The door slid open, revealing the sterile, fluorescent-lit interior of the lab. It smelled like antiseptic and chemicals—much like any other medical facility. But this one felt wrong, like the calm before a storm.
Inside, rows of sealed medical cabinets and refrigeration units lined the walls. Test tubes, syringes, and vials were neatly arranged, but there was something more disturbing about the place. A faint humming sound filled the air, and Masao’s eyes landed on a large tank in the center of the room, its thick glass obscured by condensation. He stepped closer, and his breath caught in his throat.
Inside the tank was a dark, pulsing mass—an almost organic shape suspended in a fluid that wasn’t quite water. It looked… almost human. Masao couldn’t help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Was this the source of the contamination? What had the rig’s company been researching out here?
He walked toward the computer terminal that stood next to the tank, his pulse quickening. The screen flickered to life as he swiped his palm across the surface. He began typing furiously, trying to access the medical logs and anything related to the vaccine. As the data rolled in, his heart sank.
The vaccine wasn’t a vaccine at all. It was an enhancement serum. They’d been experimenting on the workers, injecting them with a virus designed to accelerate their physical and mental capabilities. But something had gone wrong. The virus mutated, turning the workers into horrific, monstrous versions of themselves.
A small, hidden file caught his eye. It was labeled “Subject 92—Viral Mutation.”
Masao clicked it open, and a face appeared on the screen—one of the crew members from the platform. A young woman, smiling, her arm marked with the same tattoo Masao had seen on the creature. The file revealed her name: Mikae Iwasaki.
She had been one of the first to receive the serum, along with several others. The file detailed an escalation of symptoms—aggression, loss of cognition, heightened strength, and finally, full transformation into the creatures now stalking the rig. The timeline of the mutations was disturbingly fast.
Masao recoiled. He had helped administer this experiment unknowingly.
And now, he was living the consequences.
His only hope lay in one of the vials on the counter. According to the logs, there was a cure—a serum that could reverse the effects of the mutation. But it was incomplete, untested, and possibly as dangerous as the virus itself.
Still, Masao knew he had no other choice. He grabbed the vial, slipping it into his jacket pocket. But just as he turned to leave, the lab door suddenly slammed shut, the lock clicking into place behind him.
A low growl echoed through the lab.
He wasn’t alone anymore.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Masao froze. The growl reverberated through the lab like a low tremor, and he turned slowly toward the source.
The creature stood just inside the doorway, its body bent unnaturally, bones jutting at odd angles beneath distorted flesh. Its skin shimmered faintly, like it was still mid-transformation. Its eyes, once human, locked on to Masao with terrifying clarity. Not mindless. Not yet.
It was Mikae Iwasaki.
Her face was still partially recognizable beneath the layers of mutation—cheekbones sharp, mouth twisted but not entirely inhuman. Her tattoo, the red snake and blossom, writhed grotesquely on her bulging arm as though the ink itself wanted to crawl away.
Masao’s instincts screamed at him to run, to hide, to do anything but stay in the same room with her. But something about the way she stood—hesitant, twitching, almost as if caught between two states—made him pause.
Maybe there was still time.
His hand slipped into his coat and clutched the vial of the unfinished cure. He looked at the label: “SERUM D-0.9 // REVERSION PROTOCOL – UNSTABLE”
No instructions. No dosage. No idea what it would do.
Mikae took the full dose of the virus, he remembered from the logs. She was patient zero. If anyone would resist this… it’s her.
He loaded the syringe with the shimmering blue liquid, trying not to let his trembling fingers fumble. Mikae stepped forward, her breath a low rasp, her claws clinking softly against the floor.
“Mikae…” Masao whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m going to fix it.”
She let out a broken sound, somewhere between a snarl and a sob.
Masao lunged.
The needle sank into the side of her neck. She roared, throwing him across the room, glass shattering around him. Masao slammed into a medical cabinet, the air knocked from his lungs. He scrambled up, bruised and bleeding.
Mikae had collapsed, convulsing violently. Veins bulged beneath her skin, pulsing black and then… fading. Her muscles shrank slightly, bones cracking as they tried to realign. Her screams twisted into something more human.
Then—silence.
She lay still.
Masao, panting, slowly approached. Her body was curled on the floor, breathing shallow. The monstrous features had softened. Her claws were gone. The tattoo on her arm now looked faded, like it had aged fifty years in a moment.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“D…doctor?” she rasped.
Masao knelt beside her, stunned. “Yes. Yes, it’s me.”
“I… remember… everything.”
Tears welled in his eyes. It worked. The cure worked. Crude. Unstable. But real.
But the hope lasted only seconds.
From the hallway, a chorus of screeches echoed toward the lab. Dozens. Maybe more.
They’d heard her scream. And they were coming.
Masao stood, his thoughts racing. He had one dose left. Not enough for the whole rig—but maybe enough to prove this could save them. If he could get off the platform, get it to someone who would listen...
He helped Mikae to her feet. She could barely walk, but she nodded when he pointed toward the emergency ladder behind the lab, one that led to the outside maintenance deck.
As the door began to rattle with clawed hands, Masao turned to Mikae.
“You were the first,” he said. “Now let’s make sure you’re not the last.”
