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The Outbreak

The following are a compilation of written documents and voice recordings from the files of disgraced doctor and epidemiologist Fei Jun, currently wanted in 47 countries for desertion, conspiracy, and the willful propagation of infectious disease. Certain elements have been redacted for the purposes of confidentiality and to protect the identities of government officials and agencies mentioned herein.

Log 1. 1.4.24. 4:32.

So I’m being sent to the Himalayas. Got a call just after midnight this morning to inform me about an outbreak of a novel virus in a mining town somewhere near the border between China and Nepal, some [REDACTED] miles northwest from Kathmandu. They didn’t tell me much, just that it was spreading quickly and was dramatically altering the physiology of infected individuals. Someone on the call used the word “centaur”—at first, I thought they were joking. It was April Fool’s Day and, seeing as I’m the most junior epidemiologist among my peers, I figured they were playing some kind of practical joke on me. But practical jokes usually don’t come with six-figure stipends and top-level security clearance, so I surmised they were telling the truth. It was up to me to study the effects of the virus on the population and to, hopefully, devise a cure.

I was told to prepare for a long stay, but I didn’t really have that much time to pack. Not more than twenty minutes after I hung up the call, I received a knock on my apartment door and was escorted out the back entrance of my apartment block into the back seat of a black sedan. Hopefully the few clothes I managed to fit in my suitcase will last me the duration of my assignment.

It was a long drive to the airport—lots of traffic, which was odd for a Monday night, but I guess there’s always traffic in a city like [REDACTED]. Watching people out enjoying the nightlife, it was a little dissonant to me that they had no idea where I was off to and for what purposes. It’s better that way, I guess. No reason to spoil their fun. Especially not after what we all went through a few years ago.

Log 2. 1.4.24. 23:10.

We landed some time just before sunset. It was a long trip—one seven-hour flight followed by getting in and out of identical black sedans on the way to a regional military airport, where one last airlift by helicopter finally delivered me to the camp established on the outskirts of the infected village. Someone in charge asked if I needed to rest, but their tone seemed to imply that they’d prefer I get to work right away. In truth, I was already exhausted, but I’d managed to get some sleep on the plane. I figured I had a few hours in me to at least take some preliminary notes.

Thanks to the village’s small size, they’d managed to completely contain the spread of the virus once the first few cases had emerged. They’d achieved this by erecting a twenty-foot wall around the perimeter of the village, save for a few structures outside of it that were deemed to be uninfected. The only way in and out was through a heavily guarded tunnel at the campsite, which was under twenty-four-hour surveillance and manned by two heavily armed soldiers on either side. Only those with proper clearance were permitted entry in and out of the exclusion zone; any infected individuals who approached the entrance to the campsite would be neutralized. Seems these guys really aren’t messing around.

No one is sure yet how the virus is spread, but initial observations suggest that it’s an airborne pathogen, as anyone who has come within the vicinity of an infected person without the proper protection has contracted the virus themselves. Masks have so far proven effective at blocking the spread of the virus, and so we’re expected to wear masks that cover the mouth and nose at all times—standard protocol, as far as I care. I’ve been provided a small collection of hazmat suits to wear whenever personally interacting with any infected individuals.

So far, though, I still haven’t actually seen any of these infected persons, these so-called “centaurs” like my colleague had described them on our call. For now, though, I’ve been allowed a few hours to myself to rest, but I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to sleep in these conditions. Everything here is so quiet.

Log 3. 2.4.24. 10:37.

I finally understand what my colleague was talking about.

After a night, or more like after about three hours of restless sleep, I was brought to meet patient zero, a one Adas Adomaitis of Lithuania, who’s taken up temporary residence at the clinic at the edge of town since his initial infection.

You’d never believe me just from reading this. I mean, I didn’t believe it myself right away. When I entered his room, I saw Adas pacing in circles around the place (“to keep the mind sharp”, as he later told me), not around the floor, but from floor, to wall, to ceiling, to wall, to floor. He was doing this using the human-sized salamander that constituted his body below the waist. Yes, he was indeed a centaur, but not one of the traditional horse-based ones: from the waist up he was a strong, well-built human man in seemingly good health, and below was the body of a gigantic salamander. Adas was wearing only the top half of a hospital gown that had been torn around his waist, revealing his midriff, leaving the transition between his upper and lower halves clearly visible. I saw a few stains along the tattered hem of the gown, so I surmised that he’d torn it in half himself when the slime secreted by his salamander body had soaked through it. Adas’ skin transitioned from a sunny tan to a dark, murky green with yellow stripes along his back. He had four short legs and a sturdy, thick tail that slithered happily from side to side behind him.

Even though I was wearing one of my off-putting hazmat suits, Adas was immediately friendly toward me, though I imagine being cooped up in a lonely clinic for weeks on end would leave anyone eager for some company. I was surprised to see someone like him in a place like this—not because he was half-salamander, but because, well, how often do Europeans come to Nepal for any reason other than to climb Mt. Everest? Fortunately, we both speak English, so I was able to ask him a few questions about how he got here and what had caused him to end up this way.

VOICE LOG. Exceprts from “Interview with Adas Adomaitis – I”. 2.4.24. 8:22.

ADAS: Thanks for coming to see me. I haven’t spoken to anyone in days. They’ve started to just put food at my door, make sure I’m not dead or dying, and leave without saying a word.

DR. FEI: Who exactly?

ADAS: Your handlers—sorry, I don’t mean to lump you in with them. Before you got here, they [REDACTED] this clinic where I was brought after, well, this happened to me (ADAS gestures down toward his salamander body). Then, I… I guess I started turning everyone into centaurs somehow. That’s when they showed up and shut the whole place down. They’ve been keeping an eye on me ever since… Say, do you think I could put in a word with you for some new blankets? The ones they gave me are now all covered in my, uh, slime…

DR. FEI: Of course. Now, Adas, tell me a little about yourself. You’re not a native of this village, are you? What brought you to [REDACTED]?

ADAS: Well, to put it simply, I’m an extreme cave explorer. I knew this region had a robust mining industry, so I thought there might be some new, exciting caves for me to explore here.

DR. FEI: That’s quite an impressive distance to travel to explore some caves you’re not even sure you’ll find. (laughter) I hope your trip was worthwhile?

ADAS: …

DR. FEI: Mr. Adomaitis?

ADAS: Well, you see, I… I did find plenty of caves.

DR. FEI: And did you find anything of interest?

(Silence)

ADAS: I found… I found an altar. It was… It was buried deep in a cave I was exploring, one of the tightest and narrowest caves I’ve ever explored. I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for. Whether I found anything during any of my trips didn’t really matter to me. The real thrill was just seeing how deep I could go before I couldn’t go any more. This cave, though, it was like I was compelled to go even deeper, like something was waiting for me if I could just wiggle a little further. And then I emerged from one of the tightest passages I’d ever explored into a glorious cavern illuminated with glowing crystals. It was warm in the cavern, much warmer than the rest of the cave. As I looked around, there it was… I could hardly believe what I was seeing, it was a little golden box atop a flat rock with glowing crystals of equal height on either side of it. Atop the box was a little golden statuette of… well, it looked like an abstraction of a centaur, with an obvious head, arms, and four little legs, which served as the handle to the lid covering the box. And then I opened it, I… there wasn’t a thing inside.

DR. FEI: Nothing?

ADAS: It was the strangest thing. A carefully carved altar for a box with nothing in it. Anyway, after spending a couple of hours resting in the cavern, I turned around to leave, but all of the passages leading out of the place were too narrow for me to squeeze through. I knew not to panic, but I was seriously starting to worry how I was going to get myself out of there. Then I started to get… sleepy, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor and my legs had turned into… into this! (Adas gestures again toward his lower half)

DR. FEI: You don’t remember anything between your feeling sleepy and waking up transformed?

ADAS: No, not a thing. But you know, if this hadn’t happened to me, I think I’d still be stuck down there. Once I figured out I could walk on walls and whatever, I discovered a passage in the ceiling of the cavern big enough for me to squeeze through to get me back to the surface. Then I came here, people started changing and… well, now here you are, telling me I’m infected with some sort of virus and that you’re looking for a cure.

DR. FEI: That’s what we think so far, at least. All current indicators point to this being some sort of highly contagious virus. With any luck, I’ll have you human again before the end of the year.

ADAS: Human, huh? (Adas sighs and looks down at himself)

DR. FEI: So, do you remember where you found the entrance to this cave?

ADAS: I marked it on a map when I found it, but some soldiers went through my stuff when they got here and took it. It was definitely somewhere to the [REDACTED] from here.

DR. FEI: I see. Thank you, Mr. Adomaitis. Those are my only questions for now. Do you mind if I run a few tests with you?

ADAS: Only if you promise to start calling me by my first name!

Log 4. 3.4.24. 7:17.

The virus claimed one of the soldiers stationed at the camp. It happened only this morning just before sunrise: everyone in the camp had awoken to a loud, pleasured moaning coming from the barracks. Well, everyone except me apparently, since I had to be woken up by a nurse… I guess I’m a heavy sleeper whenever sleep actually finds me. The nurse rushed me out of bed and to the tent that was the source of these ecstatic noises.

It was one of the soldiers who’d checked me back into the camp the night before after I’d spent the day with Adas. The soldier was writhing in his cot, His fingers curled and his back arched, but he looked… happy. His smile was wide and uncanny, displaying a sort of inhuman pleasure I’d only ever seen in the company of those I thought I trusted most.

No one dared wake him—I couldn’t confirm if he might be infected or was simply having a pleasant dream—so everyone stood at a distance while we observed.

His body below the waist expanded quickly and rapidly as two legs ending in dark hooves emerged from his hips. The sudden growth left him wearing only his face mask and sweatshirt, allowing us to see the full extent of his changes: at first, it looked like the soldier’s legs had transformed into the body of a horse, but then we saw a short, ropey tail sprout from his rump and we realized his lower half had become that of a donkey. The soldier was practically braying with pleasure in his sleep as he kicked his hooves in the air until his transformation came to a sudden halt and he once again lay quietly on his cot.

The soldier was barely awake before two large persons in hazmat suits grabbed him by his arms and lifted them over their shoulders, the poor man’s hindquarters dragging in the dirt behind him. They discarded the poor, half-awake centaur on the other side of the tunnel that separated the village from our camp and sealed the entrance behind them. They’d hauled him away before I had a chance to collect any data aside from what I’d just witnessed with my own eyes.

The soldier stood screaming at the perimeter for hours, demanding he be let out. At first he denied his predicament, claiming he couldn’t really be infected—a blatant lie, of course. Everyone could see that he had a donkey ass. But eventually his screams turned to sobs, then we heard nothing but the sad, slow clip-clopping of his hooves as he turned away from the perimeter and retreated into the village. I decided to collect the soldier’s belongings before they could be confiscated with the hopes of returning them to him whenever I could.

I still don’t know if I’m responsible for transmitting the virus to him. He’d been wearing a face mask and full protective gear, as was I. As far as I know, soldiers don’t leave their station while on duty, so I had to be one of the only people who could have exposed him to it. What sort of responsibility did I have to him now? From what I could tell, those affected by this virus didn’t suffer outside of the changes to their physiology, but what of the psychological stress of being completely exiled from the rest of society like the way of these brutes running the show here?

I need to get to the bottom of this. I need to help these people.

Log 5. 5.4.24. 23:54.

I spoke to [REDACTED] about the cave Adas mentioned in my interview with him. I learned that efforts were already underway to track it down since they’d confiscated his maps, but so far they hadn’t turned up anything. Apparently they’d already found the exact spot Adas had marked as the cave, but couldn’t find anything in that area that that went any deeper than a few meters. It’s as if the cave Adas had explored had vanished from existence, or like it was never even there to begin with. [REDACTED] told me they’d continue their search until they’d exhausted all possibilities.

Speaking of Adas, I’ve been studying some of the samples I took from him. It’s the strangest thing: from what I can tell, everything about them seems completely normal; the viral load of each one is either nonexistent or completely undetectable. No matter how many different samples I inspect, the results are exactly the same: none of them show any signs of being infected with anything at all.

What’s more, the genetic composition of Adas’ samples all have a 99.89% resemblance to human DNA. Which means… I may as well have been looking at samples from a regular, healthy human. Which doesn’t seem possible, since the particular sample I was looking at was from some of the slime I’d collected from Adas’ salamander half.

Just what am I dealing with here? Is this really a virus? Hell, could it be magic?

I almost made myself laugh with that one. Magic? Yeah, right.

I started thinking about the empty box Adas had encountered in the cave. Pandora’s Box, more like it. If it weren’t for his innocent curiosity, people wouldn’t be inexplicably transforming into centaurs and I’d be back home in my big, comfy, lonely bed.

Lonely?

It’s late, and I’m not being fair. Adas has been nothing but cooperative so far, and I’m here to help these people. That’s why I became a doctor. It’s my job.

I’m planning to interview some of the other villagers tomorrow to see if they’ll allow me to collect some more samples for testing.

Log 8. 8.4.24. 22:02.

Today was another bust. After days of trying, I still haven’t made any meaningful progress in my research and I can tell my handlers are becoming impatient. The longer it takes me to devise a cure, the longer the people of the village are stuck in quarantine. What if I never find a cure? Will these people be stuck here for the rest of their lives?

The thing is, none of the villagers seem to trust me. Try as I might, many of them retreat into their dwellings when they see me approaching, or they pretend like they don’t understand me, or they just tell me to go away whenever I try to speak to them. Even the former soldier-turned-donkey-centaur (or “donkeytaur” for short; I’ve started describing infected individuals by the animal that constitutes their lower body with the suffix “-taur”) who’d since taken up residence at a goat farm on the other side of town wouldn’t give me the time of day when I returned his things to him.

My only lead remained Adas, who seemed more interested in socializing with me than offering me any information that could help further my research. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy his company—he was a nice guy, very easy on the eyes, and each time I’d come to visit him he’d show me some new trick he’d learned putting his salamander body to use. But I was still no closer to curing him.

I wondered, though, did he even want to be cured?

Log 9. 11.4.24. 16:41.

Two more people in the camp have been infected. One was the nurse who’d woken me up the morning the donkeytaur soldier transformed. He’d become a beartaur and actually put up a bit of a fight when people came to escort him inside the perimeter, but he was tranquilized before anything got too out of hand. Six soldiers were needed to lift him; he’d gotten so big just overnight. I can’t say I don’t feel sorry for the guy, but I am relieved that the incident didn’t escalate any further.

The other was the camp’s head cook, who woke up with eight octopus tentacles in place of his legs. I managed to exchange a few words with him between his panicked screams before soldiers came to carry him away; he seemed to have no trouble breathing and talking. Perhaps centaurs with the lower halves of aquatic animals are able to survive on land without water?

Orders were given to dispose of all the current food supplies in case any of it had been infected by the cook. I tried to reason with [REDACTED] to allow me to test it before throwing it out, but [REDACTED] didn’t want to take any chances. I managed to at least convince [REDACTED] to have it dropped off inside the perimeter so the villagers could make use of it. It was better than letting it all go to waste. Of course, that meant we’d be eating nothing but protein bars until we received another shipment of food, but I’ve survived on less before.

Log 11. 14.4.24. 0:01.

I’ve decided to do something drastic. The villagers still won’t talk to me, and every single sample I’ve taken from Adas has yielded the same results. If I were going to make any progress, I needed the villagers to trust me.

So, I put one of Adas’ samples to use another way: I ingested one. Snorted it directly from the petri dish.

I’m not sure what will happen. If they still contain traces of this mystery virus, I’ll certainly end up like one of the villagers. I’ll probably have to finish my research on the other side of the perimeter. If they even want me to finish it after this, that is. For now, I’m going to get some sleep. I’m feeling extra drowsy tonight, so hopefully sleep comes easy.

Log 12. 14.4.24. 13:17.

I’m writing from the clinic in the village. I’ve set up a new workstation there in the room next door to Adas. He seems happy to have a neighbor. Let me tell you, he was quite surprised when he saw me this morning; turns out the sample I snorted last night was still virulent, if virulent was even the right word to use anymore.

I woke this morning from one of the most pleasant dreams of my life to find that my body below the waist had completely transformed while I was sleeping into a black, spotted panther. To say it’s been an adjustment would be an understatement, but I’m not in any pain, and controlling this strange body feels oddly intuitive to me. Everything from my waist down was numb for only a few minutes after waking this morning, but after that, I had full motor control over my new legs and tail.

I have been banished from the camp, though. I’m sure when they heard me moaning in my tent my handlers already knew what was happening, but they didn’t immediately throw me into the village like they did with the donkeytaur soldier. As they gawked at me, someone even said they figured I’d be infected sooner or later since I was the one going in and out of the village the most. As I expected, they said I wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the campsite any longer. They do still want me to work on finding a cure, but I’ll have to do all my work from inside the village from now on.

I didn’t receive any help transporting any of my equipment to my new workstation, so I had to make several trips between the campsite and the clinic in order to deliver it all. It seemed a bit reckless that they’d let me, an infected person, in and out of the campsite so many times, but I guess they didn’t want to risk anyone else going into the village. Everyone was giving me quite a wide berth and I was still wearing a mask, so I guess that mitigated some of the risk at least.

On one of my walks back to the campsite, a couple of soldiers recognized me from a watchtower around the perimeter. Neither of them could believe I’d been infected, that the panther body that had replaced my legs was really me. The events of the past few hours had left me feeling a little brash, so I lifted the hem of my shirt above my chest to reveal my torso blending into the shoulders of the big cat that was my lower half.

“Damn, I didn’t know you were such a pretty human! Not anymore, looks like it,” they said through mocking laughter.

Funny, I’m not quite sure I agree with them. I think I look rather pretty as I am.

Log 13. 14.4.24. 21:32.

I took an afternoon stroll through the village to stretch my new panther legs. It’s incredible how natural it all feels. I especially enjoy the chill of the cool stone streets against my paws.

It was a productive stroll, too, since I finally made contact with one of the villagers.

As I sauntered past the village café, I saw its owner—Binsa, as I came to find out—who’d been transformed into a monkeytaur, sweeping the café entrance with a broom held with her forepaws, a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in another. I’d tried speaking with her dozens of times by now, but each time she’d either ignore me or shoo me away. She didn’t recognize me at first—so far she’d only seen me in masks and hazmat suits—but once she figured out who I was, she beckoned me inside. I sat at one of the tables, lowering myself and curling my legs beneath me—I guess you could say I was “loafing”. Binsa served me a plate of dumplings and poured me a cup of tea from a kettle she held with her prehensile tail. All free of charge, might I add—she wouldn’t accept any money when I tried to pay, so hopefully she noticed the 6,000 rupees I left as a tip after my meal.

As I ate, Binsa explained that everyone in the village had come to mistrust anyone associated with the [REDACTED] operation outside. Apparently some of the soldiers liked to harass the villagers they encountered while on patrol, so most residents had moved deeper into the village to be as far away from the perimeter as possible. As Binsa continued, I asked if she’d mind if I recorded our conversation, and she agreed.

VOICE LOG. Excerpts from “Interview with Binsa (Café Owner) – I”. 14.4.24. 14:27.

BINSA: Sorry I never gave you the time of day before. Like I said, those goons at the perimeter don’t play nice.

DR. FEI: That’s quite all right. Thank you very much for the meal, by the way.

BINSA: Hey, now that I know you’re one of the good guys, I couldn’t let you visit [REDACTED] without trying some of the local cuisine!

DR. FEI: Thank you again. Now, Binsa, I wonder if you could direct me toward anyone who might be willing to work with me now that I’ve… joined your ranks, so to speak? You understand that I’m here to find a cure for what’s happened to you—um, to us, correct?

BINSA: Oh, never mind about that. No one I know seems to care about finding any cure. You’re a doctor, right?

DR. FEI: I am.

(Binsa pulls out a cigarette from her apron and lights it)

BINSA: People here just want to know that they’re in good shape, whatever they’ve become. Give ‘em a checkup, make sure everything’s working all right since their changes. I can give you the names of some people who’d appreciate your medical expertise, but whether they want to help you with this whole ‘finding-a-cure’ business, well, that’ll be up to them.

Log 14. 16.4.24. 1:23.

Following Binsa’s leads, I spent the day traveling around the village to meet with those she said were in need of a checkup. Though most of my medical training was concerned with human anatomy, I was confident I’d at least be able to identify any problems anyone might be dealing with and I’d just fill in the gaps as I went. It was a busy day, but I found that my new panthertaur body came with a great deal of stamina, so navigating the steep streets of the village wasn’t a problem for me. I was able to make the acquaintance of numerous villagers and discovered quite a lot of new information regarding the effects of this alleged virus, information that will hopefully put me closer to finding a cure.

The first patient I met with was Batsal, middle-aged widower who owned the goat farm where the donkeytaur soldier had taken up residence. Before his wife’s passing, Batsal had fathered five children who had all since grown and left the village for their own prospects, so I imagine that was part of the reason he’d invited the donkeytaur to stay with him. He was probably lonely.

Batsal had transformed into a goattaur and, when I first approached him, I was surprised to see that he had two horns atop his forehead. It hadn’t occurred to me that this “virus” was capable of causing any changes above the waist. He said he’d gotten used to his horns quickly—apparently they weren’t as heavy as they looked, and he told me he liked the way they seemed to crown his head. I’ll admit, I’m a bit jealous now that panthers don’t have horns of their own.

Batsal invited me into his home where I began his physical exam. Everything was going fine at the start, but I noticed him tense up as I moved to inspect his rear end. I tried to comfort him, assuming perhaps he was uncomfortable being naked in front of a stranger. I made a joke about how technically I was half-naked myself, as, only wearing a sweatshirt, every part of my panther body was on full display. But as I got a view of his rump, I realized what might have been the source of his anxiety. Though he’d had fathered five children in the past, it didn’t look like he’d be fathering any more, at least not until a cure was found. Below Batsal’s tail were the female sex organs of a nanny goat, and he had two healthy, plump udders that dangled heavily between his hind legs. Gingerly lifting his sensitive udders to inspect his underbelly—I heard him yelp when I touched them—I couldn’t find any sign of a sheath, and there were no other male sexual characteristics on his lower half to be found.

And yet despite this, Batsal’s body above the waist still appeared completely male. I reinspected his chest and found no traces of gynecomastia. His shoulders were broad and his hips were narrow. It seemed this “virus” could completely alter the physiology of an infected person’s lower body, right down to their sex organs. Regardless, it seemed Batsal was completely healthy. I concluded the physical and assured Batsal that he was in fine shape. He breathed a sigh of relief and thanked me for my discretion during the exam. He offered a jar of milk—his milk, actually—as thanks, which I accepted, albeit reluctantly. He joked that in all his years of raising goats, he never thought he’d use any his equipment on himself.

As I left the goat farm, I turned to see Batsal and the donkeytaur standing side by side, waving goodbye. Having seen the full extent of Batsal’s transformation, I started to wonder if there were another reason he’d invited the donkeytaur to come live with him.

I passed by an old, defunct gas station while walking to my next patient. One of its walls were lined with tinted windows; I could see my reflection in them. With Batsal’s physical still fresh on my mind, I started to think about what was between my own hind legs. I realized that I’d never actually thought to check. I turned so that my rear end was facing the wall of windows and hesitantly lifted one of my hind legs, half-afraid of what I might find. I remember breathing a sigh of relief when I saw a couple of semi-familiar jewels dangling in the air at the rear end of my underbelly. It wasn’t that I was scared of my lower half being a pantheress. I just couldn’t imagine adjusting to a change like that while also getting used to being a centaur. Honestly, it was quite impressive just how comfortable Batsal seemed with himself, even despite his brief anxieties during his physical.

However, my next patient had undergone a similar transformation as Batsal, but I quickly discovered that she was significantly less comfortable with her condition than he. She was Dhanvi, the well-to-do heiress of the village’s lucrative mining company and lived in a large house nestled between two steep mountains. When I arrived, I found her holed up in her private chambers, covered in blankets and surrounded by empty food containers. It took a bit of cajoling for her to come out from under her covers, requiring all sorts of assurances from me that this physical would remain confidential. I of course promised her that it would, though I suppose even documenting it here in my private journal is a bit disingenuous. Hopefully she never reads it.

When she finally revealed herself to me, I could surmise why she was so reluctant to be looked upon: though Dhanvi was an attractive young woman, her body below the waist was covered in blue and green feathers, and she had the most beautiful tail dotted with the unmistakable green-and-gold eyes of a male peafowl. A peacock, that is. Apparently she had been quite the showoff after she first transformed, putting her brilliant plumage on display at any opportunity she had. It wasn’t until her fiancé—a slothtaur, I realized when I discovered him hanging from the rafters above—pointed out to her that only male peacocks have such colorful feathers that she understood the full extent of her transformation, and she’d been hiding herself away ever since.

“That explained the lack of eggs,” her fiancé joked. She didn’t seem to appreciate it.

I conducted her exam. There wasn’t much I could offer Dhanvi in the moment aside reassuring her that she was in perfectly fine health, at least physically. I also told her about Batsal. I know I really shouldn’t have—doctors shouldn’t reveal personal information about their patients—but since it was plain for anyone to see who stood behind the man, I assumed it was information he wouldn’t mind me sharing, especially if it could help someone. I told Dhanvi that if it could happen to her and to Batsal that it could have easily happened to plenty of the other villagers. That actually seemed to improve her mood, if at least just a little. After conducting a quick physical for her slothtaur fiancé, I said my goodbyes and hoped my visit would be the first step in pulling her out from her slump.

My next few patients’ physicals were a bit less complicated than my previous two, but each of them had their own idiosyncrasies that they wanted me to inspect.

One was a snaketaur who was having a hard time adjusting to his fangs, informing me that he’d bitten his lip at least twice a week since his transformation. I told him to pay attention when chewing and offered him some lip balm.

Another was a former tour guide who’d had to retire early after a severe leg injury left her wheelchair-bound ever since. She had become a horsetaur—that is, a traditional centaur. All four of her legs worked just fine and she was happy to be able to walk freely again.

I met an entire family of foxtaurs: the mother had become pregnant by her husband since their transformations and both of them seemed excited for their vulpine family to grow. Their enthusiasm was somewhat surprising since they already had a rambunctious and playful brood of kits, each of them a foxtaur like their parents, who were chasing each other around their small home the entire time I was there. I suppose some people do dream of having large families. The foxtaur children pawed at my forelegs and asked me if I knew when they’d be able explore the forests outside the village again.

Soon, I hoped. Cure or not, those kids don’t deserve to be cooped up like this. No one in this village does.

I met with a woman who’d transformed into a fishtaur—a mermaid, I suppose—who’d discovered she could breathe underwater just the same as she could above. Keeping herself hydrated was a bit of a problem, though, as since the village had no large body of water for her to swim in, she had to spend most of the day in her bathtub. I’m going to inquire with the horsetaur woman to see about having her lend the mermaid her old wheelchair to allow her some mobility on land. Note to self: I should track down the former camp cook, the one who became an octopustaur, and introduce him to the mermaid. Maybe they could exchange notes?

Arguably the most unique case of my day was my last—and that’s saying a lot, considering I had an entire day full of unique cases. I came to a small, three-story home that I realized was actually quite near the clinic. A sweet, elderly beetletaur—her lower half resembled a cute, red ladybug—greeted me at the door and told me that her grandson needed to be seen upstairs. All the way upstairs. I’d gotten some practice in today going up and down stairs with four legs, but this was really putting my stairclimbing skills as a centaur to the test.

When I finally reached the top, I at first didn’t see any sign of this grandson the beetletaur had told me about. I half-expected her to rob me now that she’d cornered me in her attic. But after I called out a couple of times, I heard the groggy sounds of someone stirring coming from above.

I’d seen plenty of unbelievable things over the past few days, but when I looked up, it took me a second to realize what I was looking at. Hanging from the ceiling by a shiny, green cocoon was an adolescent boy of about sixteen named Taral, apparently just waking up from a nap. His upper half dangled from the end of what I eventually realized was a chrysalis! He yawned, pulling the shirt that had fallen over his face during his nap back down—or up, I suppose—to cover his midsection, holding it in place with one hand as we spoke.

Taral was far too high up for me to conduct a proper physical exam—I’d only be able to reach him if I could stand on my hind legs, but I couldn’t hold myself aloft like that for more than a few seconds before losing my balance. Of course, my primary concern was the risk of blood pooling in his head. But when I learned he had been hanging up there like that for the past week without problems, I assumed his transformation had altered his internal physiology in such a way that hanging upside down like that posed him no health risks.

I learned that Taral had initially transformed into a caterpillartaur—that explained the chrysalis around his lower half, then. Like the other villagers, he went about his life as normally as he could, mentioning that he had quite the appetite during that period. Then, the same day that the lockdown had begun, he’d woken up to find he’d crawled halfway up the wall while he slept and that he had no control over his lower half. He described himself spinning silk from spinnerets located just below his hips—I was happy to hear that, as, from what I know, caterpillars usually spin silk from around their mouths; I imagined that would be quite unpleasant—and he’d woven the chrysalis he now hung from around his caterpillar body, involuntarily affixing himself to the ceiling. Presumably his lower body would emerge from the cocoon in a few weeks having transformed into a butterfly—as if one transformation wasn’t enough for this poor kid—but under these circumstances it was impossible to know for certain. Taral admitted he wasn’t in any pain or discomfort, but he said he’d been numb from the waist down since the day he’d finished weaving his chrysalis. I was happy Taral at least had his grandmother around to take care of him during his metamorphosis, but I promised to continue my checkups with him to ensure he remained in good condition.

I finished the day at the café with Binsa where we relaxed over a couple of beers. I thanked her for guiding me toward the people I met with today. Getting to know some the villagers has made me all the more motivated to help them in whatever way I can. Though everyone I met seemed to be getting along all right, I could never have imagined how many of them were living in such uncertainty… to wake up one morning in an unfamiliar body and have no one around to explain how or why. I asked Binsa if she had any theories as to why everyone had transformed the way that they had, if there were any reason behind which animal became one’s lower half.

“Isn’t that your job?” she responded with a laugh.

I’ve been thinking about it all night. Was there really any rhyme or reason to how people transformed? Adas is a caver and had became a salamandertaur, which is perfect for exploring narrow, twisting caves; Binsa runs a café and became a monkeytaur, able to get twice as much done at once with her extra sets of hands. Batsal owns a goat farm and now he’s half-goat himself. Could the animal of one’s lower half have something to do with one’s job? If so, that implied certain psychological and sociological aspects as to how this “virus”—if I can even really call it a virus anymore—affected people. But then was there any reason I became a panthertaur? Why was Dhanvi a peacocktaur, or Taral stuck in a cocoon? Each new discovery I made only left me with more and more questions, questions I wasn’t certain I’d find all the answers to within the confines of this village.

I had a warm glass of Batsal’s milk to help me fall asleep. I don’t know if I’m developing feline tastes or what, but it was… actually really delicious. Fortunately, I know where I can get more if I want it.

Log 26. 21.5.24. 18:33.

I’ve been living in the village now for a little over a month working as a physician. I’ve continued my studies on this virus, this phenomenon, whatever you want to call it, not so much in the hopes of finding a cure, but instead simply to deepen my understanding of our situation, to watch out for any indicators of illness or injury. So far, everyone seems to be in fine health, and none of us have suffered any adverse effects since our transformations. Still, I continue to share frequent updates with my handlers outside. I don’t want them to become impatient and ruin what little tranquility we’ve managed to establish here in the village.

Adas and I have moved from the clinic into an empty hotel in the village square, far from the watchful eyes of the guards stationed around the perimeter. I’ve set up a makeshift practice in one of the rooms there where residents of the village can feel safe to visit me without being accosted by any soldiers.

The thing is, as time has gone by, there’ve been fewer and fewer soldiers left at the perimeter to bother us. Not because they’ve up and left, but because by now, well, so many of them have become centaurs! It seemed like two or three times a week I’d see a familiar face stumbling into the village square using a set of legs they were still getting used to—soldiers, nurses, government agents. Sooner or later Binsa would direct them to come see me for a checkup where they’d fill me in about the situation outside.

Apparently the population at the campsite had dwindled significantly since I’d moved inside the village. As more and more people at the camp had become infected—that’s the word the soldiers were still using, at least—some had deserted their positions out of fear of being infected themselves. All that remained were enough soldiers to enforce the perimeter, a few government workers, and the lingering expectation that I come up with a cure.

If only I could desert that expectation as easily as those who’d deserted the camp.

Log 28. 26.5.24. 3:45.

I have a theory about what causes people to transform into centaurs, but it’s still in development. It isn’t a virus. That’s been abundantly clear for a while now. It’s not spread by air, or by physical contact—at least, not in the way illness is spread. No, I think this is a social phenomenon that effects the mind. I’m not a psychologist, so bear with me on this.

When Adas went into the cave where he discovered that box, he had no expectations that he would ever find something like that in there. It would be reasonable for anyone to assume that there must have been something in that box. That’s what boxes are for, usually. Maybe there was some sort of ancient, transformative powder that’s invisible to the naked eye that caused his change. Or maybe, just maybe the simple idea that that centaur-handled box had to contain something was enough to alter Adas’ own cognition that, when it was empty, Adas imagined what could have been inside a box like that, and that’s what caused his transformation. Almost as if when Adas opened the box in the physical world, he simultaneously opened something in his own mind. That could possibly explain the wonderful dreams people describe having on the mornings that they transform.

So then, once Adas had returned to the village and people saw who he’d become, suddenly the idea of a centaur existing in the real world didn’t seem so impossible, and then those people would undergo transformations of their own as they came to accept centaurs as part of reality. There would certainly be those that wouldn’t believe what they were seeing at first, but as more and more people around them began to transform into centaurs, the truth of their existence would become too much for them to deny and they would eventually transform as well. This would explain why so many people in the campsite have become centaurs, and why those who want to undo these transformations—groups like [REDACTED]—have remained human, even after witnessing people turning into centaurs right before their eyes. It could also be the reason why I didn’t transform into one until I’d decided I had no other means of progressing my research unless I become one myself. If that’s the case, then… well, I wish I hadn’t resorted to snorting that sample I got from Adas.

Looking at this as a social and cognitive phenomenon could also be an insight as to why people transform into the specific centaurs that they do. I’d originally posited that the animal of a centaur’s lower half may be determined by the centaur’s job, but perhaps it is instead a reflection of the centaur’s inner psyche? Like I said, I’m not a psychologist, but I feel like I may be on to something. I’ll need to do some self-reflection to determine if there’s any reason why I became a panthertaur, though.

I understand this might not be a very convincing explanation. I probably won’t be able to test any of these theories for as long as we’re under lockdown anyway.

Log 28. 31.5.24. 20:20.

I’ve continued offering medical services to the people of the village. Since then, I’ve met some new centaurs, but I’ve also seen a few familiar faces as well.

Dhanvii dropped by a couple of days ago. I was happy to see that her spirits had improved since I last saw her. She wasn’t feeling ill, thankfully. Instead, she’d come to thank me for the comfort I’d offered her last month and to drop off a little gift of flowers and a box of expensive confectioneries, all of them delicious. She told me she’s been getting out more, how she’s become much less self-conscious about her body since meeting other villagers who’d had transformations like her own. Once again she was out proudly displaying her tailfeathers, making frequent appearances in the village square and strutting her stuff wherever she went.

Speaking of villagers like Dhanvi, Batsal had come to see me about some weight he was gaining in his goat belly and increased milk production in his udders. After just a few quick tests, I concluded that he was undeniably, irrefutably pregnant! It came as quite a shock to us both—Batsal wasn’t elderly, but he struck me as a bit too old to be getting pregnant, and of course the fact that until a couple of months ago he didn’t even have the proper equipment to become pregnant meant it was something he’d never even expected for himself. But we both heard the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat when I performed an ultrasound, we saw the baby on the sonogram, and the excited kicks I felt against his goat belly proved that he was indeed with child.

Batsal admitted he’d only had relations with the donkeytaur soldier that had moved in with him since he’d become a goattaur, which meant that he was the one responsible for getting Batsal knocked up. I had no idea what that meant for the baby—would it be half-goat? Half-donkey? A hybrid? It’s true that our centaur DNA resembled that of humans, but I never expected it would mean centaurs of apparently different species would be able to conceive. Batsal didn’t seem to care about any of that, though, as he was clearly overjoyed by the news, so I’ll leave finding answers to those questions to myself. I can only imagine what his other, grown children will think of the whole situation when they find out.

Oh, and guess who finally hatched from his chrysalis? Taral! Just as I’d predicted, his lower half had transformed into a human-sized butterfly, with six elegantly thin legs and a set of large, colorful wings of yellow and orange on his back. He was happy to be mobile again, and happier still once his wings had dried off and he discovered that he could fly. The other avian centaurs of the village cautioned Taral not to fly too high as to not catch the attention of the guards who remained in the watchtowers, but even just watching him fluttering above the ground so effortlessly was quite the sight to behold.

It’s like Binsa said: these people didn’t care about being cured. They’d already grown used to their new lives and, honestly, they seemed to be thriving in them. And the truth is, so was I. I really had no intention of becoming human again, whether or not it was even possible.

If only we weren’t confined to this village. With all the new centaurs moving in from the campsite, space was becoming limited, and we were all beginning to get a bit restless under this lockdown. But I suppose we can’t just leave. They’d never let us, anyway. Plus, I know there are people out there who probably wouldn’t want to become centaurs if we were to live among them. Even though none of these villagers had a say in it when they transformed, there were no guarantees that everyone who became a centaur would take to it as well as they all had. If anything, it’s a miracle everyone here seems to be so well-adjusted to their new circumstances.

If none of us wanted a cure, then perhaps I could at least devise a means to prevent people from transforming who didn’t want to? It was worth a shot if it meant we could get back to our normal lives. Though I guess “normal” means something different for us all here now, doesn’t it?

PHONE RECORD. DR. NAME and [REDACTED]. CALL RECEIVED 3.6.24. 4:37.

[REDACTED]: Time’s up, Fei. [REDACTED]’s getting tired with your dilly-dallying.

DR. FEI: What are you talking about? This is an unprecedented situation here. It could be weeks—hell, months before I have anything to show you. Need I remind you that I’m still the only doctor who’s been assigned to work here?

[REDACTED]: Don’t talk back to me. This was supposed to be a quick operation. Now I hear you got yourself infected, along with more than half the people stationed at the campsite. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do when you get back to [REDACTED].

DR. FEI: Sir, if I come back the way I am, there’s a chance this, uh, this virus could spread. In a city like [REDACTED], that could be… well, you might describe it as catastrophic.

(Silence)

[REDACTED]: Well, I suggest you hurry up, then. Finish the job, or we’ll take care of the infected population a different way. You included.

CALL ENDED 3.6.24. 4:41.

Log 37. 3.6.24. 8:01.

Bad news. [REDACTED] has given me only until the end of the month, or it’s lights out for this whole operation. And I’m not talking about them shutting off the power.

I broke the news to Binsa over our morning coffee. She took it about how I thought she would: she laughed, but not because she didn’t believe me. She told me she figured it would probably come to this. Something happens that the powers at be don’t understand and they want it fixed sooner than later whether they understand it or not. I guess she was right. I just feel partially responsible for what we’ve come to. If only I’d spent more time working on a cure instead of playing doctor, these people wouldn’t be in danger.

But I did help these people since I came here. That’s worth something. It has to be.

Log 39. 7.6.24. 6:37.

This will probably be last entry in this little journal I’ve been keeping. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, really, but in case something happens to me, I think it’s important people know what really happened here. If you’re reading this, I hope you’re a friend. Come and find us if you are.

Everyone in the village has elected to evacuate. We’re only taking the bare essentials and enough food to survive us a month if all goes to plan; Batsal has graciously offered whatever milk he produces along our journey as additional rations, and I expect other centaurs capable of producing milk will follow suit before long. After that, well, hopefully we find somewhere we can settle down. I could tell some of the villagers were feeling troubled about leaving everything behind, but given the choice between getting out and the alternative, everyone had resolved to make the escape.

A couple of the transformed soldiers tipped us off about a break in the perimeter they used to sneak through while on duty for a smoke break. Some of the villagers gave them flack for not letting them know about the break sooner, but with how heavily guarded the perimeter used to be, there was no way any of us could have gotten through it before undetected. Now that the remaining soldiers have been reduced to a skeleton crew, though, we figure we can get through if we time it right.

Binsa told me about an old ski resort where she used to run the kitchen to the [REDACTED] from here that’s been shut down for several years. We don’t really have any other leads, so we’ve decided to head in the direction first. Once we get there, though, we’ll probably have to keep moving to avoid being found.

Adas and Dhanvi are going to scout ahead to look for any caves we might be able to use to keep us out of sight whenever we can. Dhanvi will drop a trail of her feathers near the entrance of any caves Adas discovers to help us find our way. She feigns like it’s a heavy sacrifice—in some ways, it is—but we all know she’s just being dramatic to add some levity to our situation. Plus, we’ve assured her that her feathers will eventually grow back anyway. At least, they do on feral peacocks.

Once we’re far enough out of town, Taral and the other avian centaurs of the village have volunteered fly ahead to act as lookouts to alert us of any potential threats along our path. It’s quite brave of them, really, but I imagine they’re all eager to stretch their wings after being grounded for so long.

Of course, I’ll be around to offer any necessary medical attention. I’ve constructed a sort of saddlebag by buckling a couple of suitcases together for me to strap across my panther back. That’ll help me carry some extra supplies, at least. Hopefully I won’t have to use any of it.

It’s likely anyone we encounter along the way will end up the same as us. If only I’d had more time to develop a remedy, a vaccine, a spell for whatever this thing is that did this to us, we wouldn’t have to put ourselves and others at risk. Oh well, it’s out of my paws now.

I’m not sure how long we’ll all be able to travel as a single group. It’s likely we’ll get separated, or that people will choose to go their own way or stay in one place once we’ve gone far enough. It’s not something I want to think about right now. Everyone in this village has become like family to me in some way. Hell, this village has become something like my new home, and it’s already hard enough have to leave under these circumstances. But I guess [REDACTED] really didn’t leave us much of a choice, did they?

Anyway. This is Dr. Fei Jun, signing off.

Outbreaks of what is being referred to as Centaur Transformation Virus (CTV) have been identified in towns and cities across the [REDACTED]. Those infected with CTV are considered extremely dangerous and are to be avoided at all costs. If you suspect someone is infected with CTV, alert local authorities and evacuate the premises immediately. If you believe yourself to be infected with CTV, inform local authorities of your location and do not change locations until authorities arrive.