The Beginning
It starts in the air. A tiny thief, invisible and opportunistic, escapes on a mist of breath from someone already infected. You might not see it. You might not even notice the person who coughed, whispered, laughed. But there it is, drifting in a droplet, waiting for your next inhale.
The virus doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t pause at your skin. It rides your breath straight into your nose and mouth, brushing past your defenses like a seasoned burglar picking a lock. Its favorite target? The warm, moist lining of your nose and throat. These cells, unwitting and welcoming, display a molecule on their surface called ACE2 — a perfect docking station.
Infection Begins
The virus knows exactly what to do next. Its crown-like spikes clamp onto ACE2, holding tight. Then, it enlists a helper — an enzyme on your own cells called TMPRSS2 — to slice open its spike, triggering a molecular switch. In that moment, your cell’s membrane and the virus’s membrane fuse together, and the virus slips inside.
Inside, this thief wastes no time. It unpacks its cargo — a single-stranded RNA genome, 30,000 letters long — and dumps it into your cell’s cytoplasm. The cell’s machinery, confused and obedient, begins reading this foreign script as if it were its own. Ribosomes rush to translate it into protein, churning out two massive polyproteins that quickly get snipped into the viral tools needed to make more copies.
Then, the virus takes over completely.
Your cell’s endoplasmic reticulum and Golgi apparatus, usually busy folding and shipping your proteins, are converted into assembly lines for viral parts. Even your mitochondria, the powerhouses that fuel everything your cell does, are hijacked. They ramp up energy production to meet this new, brutal demand. This isn’t a small project. The cell has become a factory floor, pumping out thousands of new virus particles.
Each new virus is carefully assembled — its RNA wrapped tightly in nucleocapsid proteins, its outer membrane adorned with fresh spike proteins — and then loaded into vesicles. These vesicles travel to the surface of the cell and fuse with the membrane, spilling fresh viruses into the surrounding tissue.
The Spread
But this isn’t just about making babies. The virus has a more sinister trick.
Even before the infected cell dies — and it will die — it starts pulling its neighbors into the chaos. Using its spike proteins displayed on the surface, it fuses with adjacent cells that express ACE2, creating syncytia — giant, misshapen blobs of multiple fused cells, doomed from the start. These syncytia are sick and dysfunctional, spreading infection directly from cell to cell while evading the antibodies that patrol your bloodstream.
And then there are tunneling nanotubes. Imagine long, thin, invisible bridges stretching between cells. The virus commandeers these, too, slipping through them to infect distant neighbors. It can even travel into cells that barely express ACE2, like neurons — cells that were once thought to be relatively safe.
Before long, the infection spreads deeper. The virus breaches the basement membrane, slipping into your bloodstream. Once there, it hitches a ride through your entire body. Your heart pumps the virus to every organ — lungs, kidneys, intestines, bone marrow, even your brain.
In the lungs, the virus shreds the delicate alveolar walls where oxygen meets blood. Syncytia appear here too, destroying architecture, collapsing air sacs, filling them with fluid, making it impossible to breathe.
The Vascular Attack
In the blood vessels, it attacks the endothelium, the thin lining that keeps blood flowing smoothly. The result? Clots. Tiny clots everywhere — in the lungs, the brain, the heart. Silent killers, waiting to block oxygen and cause strokes or heart attacks.
In the heart, it infects muscle cells directly. The myocardium swells, electrical signals falter, rhythms become erratic. Some hearts just stop.
The Kidneys
In the kidneys, the virus burrows into the cells that filter your blood, clogging them with debris and dead cells, leaving you poisoned by your own waste.
The Brain
In the brain, it takes a more indirect route. It travels along nerve fibers from your nose — the very nerves that let you smell. It uses nanotubes to crawl into neurons, infecting supporting cells like astrocytes. The result? Brain fog. Memory loss. Confusion. Strokes.
Bone marrow assault
In the bone marrow, it disrupts your factory for new blood cells, depleting lymphocytes, wrecking your immune system. It throws your white blood cells out of balance, so you’re defenseless against other invaders.
Liver and Gut Invasion
Even your liver and gut aren’t spared. The virus infects intestinal cells rich in ACE2, leading to diarrhea and nausea. It inflames bile ducts and perturbs liver function, causing subtle but widespread damage.
Immune System
At every step, your immune system fights back. But this is where the real tragedy happens. The virus provokes an overreaction — an inflammatory storm that not only attacks the virus but also your own tissues. Cytokines flood your bloodstream, telling your body to fight everywhere at once, even in places where the virus hasn’t yet gone. Blood vessels leak, organs swell, and immune cells mistakenly kill healthy cells.
This is why so many die not just from the virus itself, but from the carnage the immune system leaves behind.
And for those who survive? The damage lingers. The scars on lungs, the clots in vessels, the disruption to mitochondria, the depletion of immune reserves, the infiltration of the brain. Many don’t return to their old selves. The damage to the body’s architecture means a long, uncertain recovery — or, in some cases, a new chronic illness altogether.
The Story
So this is SARS-CoV-2’s story. Not just a respiratory virus, but a systemic invader that spreads from cell to cell, from organ to organ, leaving wreckage behind at every stop. It travels in plain sight, twisting the body’s machinery to its purpose, turning defenses into weaknesses, and using the very energy of your cells — the mitochondria’s power — to build more copies of itself.
It’s a reminder that infection isn’t just about exposure or symptoms. It’s about what happens inside you, cell by cell, minute by minute, when something foreign takes over and rewrites he rules.
Long COVID
With all this damage, and hijacked, biological processes, are we really surprised that people now have Long Covid? Of course people are struggling years later. Of course they can’t just bounce back. Long Covid isn’t a mystery when you really understand how deeply this virus burrows into the body’s machinery. Now we are learning it’s likely a persistent virus in many.
With this level of damage, every person has some damage. It’s undeniable. Maybe they don’t have symptoms, but like smoking, each puff is causing harm. I ask you dear reader, do you really want to keep rolling this dice?
The real mystery is why anyone ever thought that once the fever and cough faded, the story would be over. It’s not. For many people, that’s just the prologue