The Moscow winter had not prepared Mikhail Volkov for the humidity of Bangkok. Five months into his research fellowship at Mahidol University, and he still felt like he was drowning in the thick air every time he stepped outside. Today was no exception as he hurried down Sukhumvit Road, lab coat stuffed into his backpack, sweat already beading on his forehead despite the early hour.
His phone buzzed with another message from Dr. Supachai.
'Where are you? They're waiting.'
Mikhail quickened his pace. The epidemiology conference wouldn't start without him—he was presenting the keynote—but Professor Harrington from the CDC had specifically flown in to see his findings on the unusual fungal samples they'd been studying. Samples that defied classification within any known genus.
He was nearly at the university when screams erupted from a street vendor's stall ahead. A woman collapsed, convulsing, a strange grayish foam bubbling from her mouth. Nearby pedestrians backed away in horror, but Mikhail rushed forward, his medical training kicking in.
"I'm a doctor," he said in broken Thai, kneeling beside the woman. Her eyes had rolled back, revealing yellowed sclera. Dark veins spread visibly beneath her skin, racing upward toward her face.
"Don't touch her!" A voice shouted in accented English. An elderly street vendor pulled at Mikhail's shoulder. "Same as the others. Started three days ago. Hospital won't take them anymore."
Mikhail froze. "Others? What others?"
The old man gestured vaguely toward Chinatown. "Many sick. They change. Become... not human."
The woman's convulsions stopped abruptly. She lay still, unnaturally still. Mikhail reached for her wrist, searching for a pulse.
Her eyes snapped open. No longer human eyes, but clouded, fungal growths sprouting from the tear ducts. She lunged at him with impossible strength, teeth bared.
Mikhail stumbled backward as two men in hazmat suits appeared from nowhere, subduing the woman with practiced efficiency. One of them turned to Mikhail.
"Dr. Volkov? I'm Agent Chen, World Health Organization. Your presence is requested at a secure facility." His voice was muffled behind his mask. "The situation has... escalated."
"What is this?" Mikhail asked, watching as they loaded the woman into an unmarked van. "Is it related to the fungal samples?"
Chen's expression was unreadable behind his visor. "That's classified. But yes, we believe your research may be relevant. The pathogen appears to be spreading faster than anticipated."
Mikhail's phone buzzed again. This time from an unknown number. A single image: a satellite view of Bangkok with expanding red zones. The infection was spreading from multiple points.
"How long has this been happening?" Mikhail demanded.
"Officially? It hasn't. We've managed to keep it contained and out of the media." Agent Chen handed him a mask. "But we're losing control. The infected... they're not dying. They're changing. And they seem to be coordinating."
Mikhail thought of his lab notes, still encrypted on his laptop. The unusual properties of the fungal samples, their ability to hijack neural pathways in the petri dish tests. He'd theorized it could potentially create a hive-mind effect across infected organisms, but had dismissed it as academic speculation.
"I need my research," Mikhail said, shouldering his backpack. "And I need to contact Moscow. My sister—"
"Communications are being restricted," Chen cut him off. "And I'm afraid Russia has its own problems right now. This isn't isolated to Thailand."
In the distance, sirens began to wail. Military vehicles rolled past, heading toward the city center.
"How bad?" Mikhail asked.
Chen's voice dropped. "We estimate we have seventy-two hours before total social collapse. Unless your research can provide answers."
Mikhail looked at the woman in the van, watching as fungal blooms sprouted from her skin. He thought of the winters in Moscow, how they had always complained about the cold. The spores would struggle to spread in such temperatures.
"Winter slows them," he muttered, an idea forming.
Chen looked at him sharply. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Mikhail said, pulling on the mask. "Take me to your facility. And I need access to a secure line. There's someone in military research I need to contact."
As they climbed into the van, Mikhail glanced at his phone one more time. A final message from Dr. Supachai had come through:
'Don't come to the university. They're everywhere. The fungus is intelligent, Mikhail. It remembers.'