Inspirations

The Prologue to Patient Zero

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Below the desolate streets of the Minato ward, deep within the tunnels of Tokyo’s sewage network, is a safe haven known as the Underground. You may wonder how a sewer could be viewed as a sanctuary by anyone; it’s difficult to see through the darkness, the only sound to guide one forward is the constant dripping of water through unseen cracks, and the air is thick with the stench of decay and ammonia. Humans could live there if they wanted to, but there’s no guarantee they would be comfortable for long. It’s rare to come across them, at least here, as most humans were killed during the infamous Tokyo Dome incident. However, at the end of the sewer’s dimly lit passages is an enormous flood tunnel that has served as home for a decade to the fungi, a mushroom-like community of survivors created through experimentation and compassion.

The fungi bear some resemblance to humans, although without hair, and stand at the height of a young child, approximately five feet maximum, making it easier to move through tight spaces. Clothing was once considered a foreign concept to the fungi. Upon their swift descent into the Underground, they found a new fascination with clothes after catching glimpses of fashion ads plastered on walls, signs, and abandoned magazines during rare trips to the Surface. Soon, old scraps of cloth became prized possessions that were turned into stylish garments and accessories.

Situated on their heads are caps of varying colors and shapes, more akin to hats than fungal growths. While caps can be round, made of clusters of tiny mushrooms, and even entirely flat, they are used to determine their role within the Underground. Large-capped fungi found themselves taking on work that required strength—builders, guards, and hunters—while the small-capped fungi held positions as cooks, organizers, and occasional scavengers, who would seek out vegetation to pulverize for nutrients. The older fungi, like the highly respected leader Elder Taiki, are exempt from this, whose knowledge and authority go beyond cap classifications. Despite being unable to reproduce, the older fungi act as the keepers of tradition, using their wisdom to guide their people. 

For years, the fungi have lived together in Tokyo’s storm drain—a cleaner place unlike the sewers— in makeshift houses of stacked shipping containers and other salvaged materials. Above ground, or as the fungi call the Surface, dangerous monsters lurk around every corner, eagerly waiting to ravage through their next meal. A sturdy gate and guard tower were built to serve as a protective barrier, ensuring that only those granted clearance by Elder Taiki could enter or leave the city. Flowing through this gate is something indispensable to citizens of the Underground —water, carrying with it sustenance in the form of algae and carbon. It’s difficult to say how long the fungi could survive without it. While most paths to the Surface are sealed, rumors of unexplored passageways remain, tempting adventurous spirits among them, but none dare to discover it for themselves. Besides, they each had work to do. Whether searching for supplies on the remnants of the Surface or repurposing relics of a bygone era, the fungi are mindful of their duty to preserve the Underground.