The WHO facility turned out to be an abandoned hotel repurposed into a makeshift research center. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter while medical personnel in various stages of protective gear rushed between floors. Mikhail noted the crescendo of panic in their movements—this wasn't a controlled situation anymore.
Agent Chen led him through a series of security checkpoints to a conference room on the fifth floor. The windows had been covered with thick plastic sheeting, and the air smelled of disinfectant and fear.
"Dr. Volkov," a silver-haired woman greeted him. "Dr. Eleanor Harrington, CDC. We've been following your research with great interest."
Mikhail recognized her immediately. She was the world's foremost expert on fungal pathogens, her papers on cordyceps revolutionizing understanding of parasitic fungi. He had cited her work extensively in his doctoral thesis.
"Professor," he nodded. "I would say it's an honor under different circumstances."
"Circumstances have a way of finding us whether we're ready or not," she replied, gesturing to a seat. Around the table sat five other scientists and what appeared to be military personnel. "We don't have time for formalities. What do you know about Mycelium Protocol?"
Mikhail blinked. "Mycelium Protocol? I've never heard of it."
A man in a general's uniform—American insignia—scoffed. "Of course he hasn't. The Russians have their own version. What did they call it, Petrov? Project Moroznik?"
From the corner, a man Mikhail hadn't noticed stepped forward. His face was vaguely familiar.
"Colonel Viktor Petrov, Russian Military Intelligence," the man introduced himself in Russian. "We met briefly at your sister's wedding, Mikhail Ivanovich. Katya speaks highly of you."
Mikhail felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. "What does my sister have to do with this?"
"Nothing directly," Petrov replied, switching to English. "But she did recommend you for the research fellowship here. We needed someone with your expertise outside of Russia."
The realization hit Mikhail like a physical blow. "This wasn't a coincidence. My placement here... you knew about the fungus?"
Dr. Harrington interjected. "Nobody knew it would spread this quickly. The samples you've been studying were supposed to be inert. Something activated them."
"Or someone," the American general muttered.
Harrington shot him a warning look before turning back to Mikhail. "The pathogen you've been studying is the result of a multinational bioweapons research program—Mycelium Protocol. It began as a theoretical exercise: create a pathogen that could incapacitate enemy forces without destroying infrastructure."
"By turning them into..." Mikhail couldn't finish the sentence.
"We never called them zombies," Harrington said quietly. "The term was 'redirected hostiles.' The fungus was engineered to take over neural pathways, leaving basic motor functions intact while suppressing individual consciousness. The infected would become part of a collective, theoretically controllable through specific frequencies."
"That's insane," Mikhail whispered. "You created a parasitic hive mind?"
"We created a prototype," Petrov corrected. "The Americans, Chinese, and Europeans all had their versions. None were supposed to leave the lab. But three weeks ago, synchronized breaches occurred at facilities worldwide."
"It wasn't an accident," the general said grimly. "This was a coordinated attack."
Mikhail struggled to process the information. "The woman on the street—she wasn't just mindlessly attacking. There was... intent."
"Yes," Harrington nodded. "The current strain exhibits concerning adaptations. The infected retain fragments of memory and intelligence. Worse, they appear to be communicating across significant distances."
"Like a fungal network," Mikhail said, thinking aloud. "Mycorrhizal associations can span kilometers underground, connecting entire forests."
"Precisely," Harrington pushed a tablet toward him. "These are infection patterns over the past week. Notice anything?"
The screen showed a map with spreading red zones across major cities. Mikhail studied it for a moment, then felt his blood run cold. The pattern wasn't random—it resembled the branching structure of mycelium.
"They're creating a network," he said. "But why? What's the purpose?"
"That's what we need to find out," Harrington replied. "And quickly. We've got reports that the infected are gathering resources—not just food, but technology, communications equipment."
"How many are infected globally?" Mikhail asked.
"Conservative estimate? Six million," the general answered. "Doubling approximately every 36 hours."
Mikhail did the mental calculation. If that rate continued..."Complete societal collapse within two weeks."
"Hence the urgency," Petrov said. "Your research on neural inhibitors might provide a solution. Your notes suggested the fungus struggles to propagate below certain temperatures?"
"Yes," Mikhail confirmed. "In laboratory conditions, growth and spore production virtually ceased below 5 degrees Celsius. That's why I believe winter regions will have a temporary advantage—"
A thunderous explosion rocked the building. Alarms blared as dust rained from the ceiling.
"They've breached the perimeter," the general announced, drawing a sidearm.
"How?" Chen demanded. "We had triple security!"
A soldier burst into the room. "Sir, they used explosives. Coordinated attack from multiple directions. They're... they're using weapons, sir."
The implications weren't lost on anyone in the room. The infected weren't just mindless attackers—they were organizing, strategizing.
"We need to evacuate," the general ordered. "Get Dr. Volkov and his research to the secondary location."
"Wait," Mikhail said, an idea forming. "You said the infected were originally designed to respond to specific frequencies?"
Harrington nodded quickly. "Yes, but the control mechanisms were theoretical. We never successfully—"
"I need access to my samples and a radio frequency generator," Mikhail interrupted. "The fungal structures I observed contain unusual resonance chambers. If we can disrupt their communication network..."
Another explosion, closer this time. The lights flickered.
"You have ten minutes," the general said. "Chen, take him to the lab. The rest of you, prepare for evacuation."
As they hurried from the room, Petrov caught Mikhail's arm. "Your sister is safe," he said quietly. "We extracted her to a secure facility in Siberia three days ago."
"The cold," Mikhail nodded. "Smart."
"Not just the cold," Petrov replied grimly. "Katya is working on a countermeasure. The Russians and Americans may not agree on much, but neither of us wants a fungal apocalypse."
Chen led Mikhail down an emergency stairwell toward the laboratory levels. Through windows, Mikhail caught glimpses of the chaos outside—infected individuals moving with disturbing coordination, some wielding weapons, others operating equipment. They weren't attacking randomly; they were executing what appeared to be military tactics.
"This is worse than they told you," Chen admitted as they descended. "The highest-functioning infected retain approximately 70% of their previous intelligence. We've observed them adapting, learning. Whatever consciousness is controlling them, it's... evolving."
"Not controlling," Mikhail corrected, thinking of the fungal networks he'd studied. "Connecting. The human minds aren't gone—they're being integrated into something larger."
They reached the laboratory level, passing through heavy security doors. Inside, a young woman in a lab coat was frantically packing specimens.
"Dr. Volkov, thank God," she said, relief evident in her voice. "I'm Dr. Areeya Surin. I've been continuing your work since you were redirected to the conference."
"Show me what you've found," Mikhail said, immediately moving to the nearest microscope.
As Areeya brought him up to speed, Mikhail's mind raced. The fungal structures were unlike anything in nature—engineered to interface directly with human neural tissue. But there was something familiar about the design...
"These frequency modulators," he said, pointing to structures within the fungal cells. "They're similar to resonance chambers in certain sound-producing insects. If we broadcast at the right frequency—"
"We might disrupt their network," Areeya finished. "But we'd need to know the exact wavelength."
Mikhail turned to Chen. "Get me access to a secured communication line. I need to talk to my sister in Siberia."
As Chen worked to establish the connection, Mikhail continued examining the samples. The fungus wasn't just parasitic—it was transformative. Human cells weren't simply being consumed; they were being repurposed, integrated into a new type of organism.
"What are they becoming?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
"That's the question, isn't it?" Dr. Harrington said, appearing in the doorway. "And more importantly—what do they want?"
The building shook again as another explosion hit closer still. Time was running out.