One year ago.
Military Training Academy.
"Based on current research data, Cordyceps utilizes only two transmission vectors, which are—"
A balding man in his thirties stood at the front of a tiered lecture hall, white lab coat slightly rumpled, chalk clicking steadily against the blackboard as he rattled off information.
Behind him, rows of young trainees sat at rigid attention—hands folded on desks, expressions deadly serious, absorbing every word.
"Now. Let me walk you through the currently known stages of Cordyceps infection in humans."
The instructor set down his chalk and gripped both edges of the podium, his gaze sweeping across the room.
"Stage One of Cordyceps infection: Runners."
"Typically entered within one to two days of initial exposure."
"Runners retain certain human characteristics. They occasionally produce human-like vocalizations, and their appearance doesn't undergo dramatic visible changes."
"The primary way to identify them is their eyes—the infection turns them a deep, bloodshot red. The fungus has begun affecting their visual system, but at this stage, their sight remains relatively intact. Vision is still one of their primary methods of locating prey."
"When a Runner has no target in sight and hasn't detected any sounds, it will stand motionless in place, sometimes contorting into bizarre, unnatural postures. Our research suggests these movements may result from remnant human consciousness fighting against the Cordyceps for control."
"The fungus has seized their bodies and motor functions, but the person inside may still be aware—trapped, watching helplessly as they commit acts of violence. That... is perhaps the cruelest aspect of all."
The lecture hall fell absolutely silent. Every trainee seemed to be thinking the same thing: What if it happened to me? Trapped inside my own body, watching myself hurt people...
A collective shudder rippled through the room. Most of them shook the thought away. If it ever came to that, they'd rather eat a bullet first.
Clap, clap.
"Focus. Eyes up here."
The instructor snapped them back to attention, then continued:
"When a Runner spots an uninfected human—or detects a sound—the fungus commands it to attack. And Infected have a strong tendency to operate in groups."
"If a Runner spots you, eliminate it before it can vocalize. Once it screams and calls others, your best option is to run and pray you find cover before they surround you."
"When Runners exist alongside higher-stage Infected, their intact visual system makes them extremely effective at detecting threats. They essentially become sentinels—spotters that relay targeting information to the more dangerous forms, enabling coordinated attacks."
"So if you ever find yourself forced into a direct engagement with Infected, prioritize eliminating the Runners first. Reduce your chances of being detected."
He took a photograph from the podium and stuck it to the blackboard with a magnet.
The image showed what appeared to be a disheveled figure—clothes tattered, hair wild, head bowed, frozen in some grotesque posture. But the bloodshot eyes staring out from the photograph told the real story.
No one in the room was unfamiliar with that look. They'd all seen Runners in the flesh during the initial outbreak. They knew exactly how terrifying these things were.
The instructor returned to the podium.
"Stage Two of Cordyceps infection: Stalkers."
"Typically entered within one week to one month of initial exposure."
"At this stage, the fungus has deepened its control over the host body. Stalkers retain Runner-level mobility, but are significantly more dangerous in close-quarters combat."
"As the infection spreads through the head and face, fungal growths begin emerging from the eye sockets, further degrading the visual system. However, Stalkers still retain partial sight."
"Key identifier: they produce a distinctive hissing sound, and they possess rudimentary echolocation. Their hearing is roughly equivalent to a normal human's."
"Unlike Runners, Stalkers don't charge screaming at their target. They observe from concealment, shadow their prey's movements, and close the distance patiently. When they're close enough, they strike."
"They prefer dark, damp environments—sewers, basements, underground spaces. You almost never see them on open streets."
Another photograph went up on the board. This one showed a creature crouched in a corner—hunched, limbs pressed to the ground like a predator about to pounce. Half its skull was wrapped in mushroom-like fungal growth. The image was viscerally unsettling.
Then the instructor pulled a small audio device from his coat pocket and pressed play.
"Hssssss—!"
The eerie hissing sound filled the lecture hall. Goosebumps erupted across every trainee in the room. A few visibly flinched.
"Remember that sound. If you ever hear it, check behind you."
He took a sip of water from his mug, then set it down with deliberate emphasis.
"Finally. The last known stage."
He picked up a third photograph—but this time, instead of posting it on the board, he stepped off the podium and walked it through the rows, holding it up for everyone to see.
The image was nightmare fuel. The figure still had a vaguely humanoid shape, but its entire head was engulfed in bloated, mushroom-like fungal masses. Exposed gums and teeth jutted from the growth at impossible angles. Even in a photograph, it was enough to make your skin crawl.
"Stage Three of Cordyceps infection: Clickers."
"Typically entered approximately one year after initial exposure."
"This is currently the only known Infected form capable of posing a lethal threat to an armed human soldier in single combat."
The room erupted. Every trainee stared in open shock. A single soldier with a firearm could mow down a dozen Runners. Even Stalkers, if you knew they were coming, weren't much of a threat. But now they were being told that one Stage Three Infected could kill an armed combatant?
The instructor remained unfazed.
"Due to prolonged infection, a Clicker's body has been extensively remodeled by the fungus. The brain is fully compromised. Compared to Runners and Stalkers, the face is completely obscured by fungal growth, and the visual system has been entirely destroyed."
"But in exchange for losing their sight, Clickers possess dramatically enhanced echolocation—far superior to Stalkers. When a Clicker 'hears' its prey, it will patrol the area relentlessly, 'checking' every corner and crevice, emitting a constant clicking sound to map its surroundings until it locates the target."
"Their bodies have been significantly reinforced by the Cordyceps. They possess strength that far exceeds normal human limits."
"Most critically: when a Clicker detects a target, it launches a frenzied charge. The fungal growths on their heads can deflect small-arms fire, and they're almost always accompanied by packs of Runners and Stalkers. If you encounter one—go around it."
He returned to the podium and set the photograph face-down.
"Um... sir? If Infected become Clickers after a year, doesn't that mean the outside is full of them by now?"
A brave trainee raised his hand during the silence that followed.
"No, not at all."
The instructor pushed his glasses up. "Time is merely a prerequisite for advancing to the next stage. Whether an Infected actually transitions depends on numerous factors—most importantly, the original host's physical constitution and willpower. Clickers are actually quite rare compared to Runners. Whether you'll ever encounter one is honestly a coin flip."
Ding-ding-ding—
The class bell rang from the wall-mounted speaker.
The instructor gathered his materials and headed for the door without waiting for the trainees to recover from their stupor.
At the threshold, he paused and turned back.
"If any of you are unlucky enough to encounter a Clicker out there... take my advice. Either shoot it dead or stab it from behind. Never try to fight one head-on in close quarters. You will die badly."
...
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