While We Were Away | BINI OT8 AU

How It Started

Day Zero: Manila

It started quietly—just a few reports buried in the evening news. Isang mantandang magsasaka sa Baguio was the very first one to be reported, as few people could recall. First, he got sick after niyang buksan ang isang imported na sack of grain, and that same night, he was found acting violently, attacking livestock and neighbors. His skin was pale and his eyes vacant.

A local doctor suggested it was rabies, but when three more cases surfaced in nearby provinces, panic began to ripple through rural communities. In a matter of days, the infection spread with terrifying speed—much faster than anyone expected.

By the time Manila and other major cities caught wind of the outbreak, it was already too late. The National Food Authority had unknowingly distributed imported sacks of flour and rice contaminated with the fungus. Large bakeries, fast-food chains, and street vendors turned out thousands of pandesal and pastries every morning—each batch laced with the Cordyceps fungus.

People fed the infection to themselves.

Day One: The First Signs

At first, it felt like a flu—fever, chills, headaches, and a few even had muscle spasms. Office workers shrugged it off, thinking it was just the changing weather. June had just arrived, after all, ushering in the wet season after the scorching heat of the dry months. People crowded into MRT trains, packed so tightly that coughs and sneezes spread like wildfire, but no one thought much of it. Commuters clung to railings, brushing shoulders with hundreds of strangers, unaware that the infection was already taking hold inside them.

Meanwhile, classrooms are filled with weary bodies. Some students complained of dizziness but pushed through their day, chalking it up to fatigue or the damp weather. In homes and workplaces, people reached for pandesal and instant noodles for breakfast or lunch, unknowingly ingesting the mutated Cordyceps fungus hiding in the flour. Every bite carried spores that grew quietly inside their bodies, ready to take control.

By midday, emergency hotlines started lighting up with strange reports. At first, it was dismissed as a series of violent incidents—a construction worker suddenly attacking his co-workers, a jeepney driver collapsing mid-route, only to lunge at passengers minutes later.

Around 3 PM, the first viral footage emerged on social media: a tricycle driver crashed headfirst into a sari-sari store in Tondo. Onlookers rushed to help, only to be attacked when he stood up—his arm twisted unnaturally to the side, bones clearly broken, yet moving as if the pain didn't register. He sank his teeth into the shoulder of a bystander, who screamed and convulsed on the pavement. In under ten minutes, the injured rose with empty eyes, now driven by hunger for the living.

Day Two: Manila Falls

Authorities responded too slowly. The first cases appeared in crowded barangays, but no one realized the infected were created by something as common as food. Mayors issued curfews and set up checkpoints along EDSA, but it was already too late.

The infected spread silently through Quiapo's alleys, Tondo's markets, and the wet stalls of Divisoria—where food exchanges are constant. Families shared meals together, unaware that breakfast might be their last moment of normalcy.

Quarantine orders blared on radios and TVs: "Manatili sa inyong mga tahanan."

But how do you quarantine millions of people in a city where homes are stacked on top of each other? In cramped barangays, one infected inside a building turned it into a death trap. Victims didn't need to be bitten—one contaminated loaf, one bowl of noodles, and the Cordyceps would start taking over. The fungus crept silently through people's veins, sparing no one who ingested the tainted food.

The first quarantine zone in Quezon City crumbled within hours. Military personnel, overwhelmed by the sudden outbreak, abandoned their posts and retreated to Fort Bonifacio, leaving civilians behind. Looters stormed supermarkets and food stores, desperate for untainted rations, not realizing they might be carrying the very thing that would kill them.

Panic spread faster than the fungus.

Day Three: The Collapse

Entire districts burned as fires raged out of control. The power grid failed, plunging the city into darkness. Hospitals overflowed with patients, but within hours, even the doctors and nurses began to turn. From the southern regions, ferries packed with refugees arrived in Batangas and Cebu, spreading the infection to the Visayas and Mindanao. Airports closed, and flights to and from the Philippines were grounded—too little, too late.

With no functioning government to coordinate a response, it became every man for himself. By the end of the week, Metro Manila became a warzone. Most families turned against each other, not knowing who was infected until it was too late. Survivors started hoarding food, unsure if it was safe, while the infected roamed the streets with terrifying coordination, drawn to any signs of life.

And with the fungal tendrils creeping beneath the ground, one wrong step could trigger a horde from miles away. There was no safe place left—even the food in your hands could betray you.

And those who survived the first week? Well, they most likely fled to the mountains or hunkered down in makeshift shelters, praying they wouldn't be found.