mechanics-atlas

Tens of thousands of times a day a single DNA letter is oxidised or chemically scarred. A small crew snips it out and PARP marks the nick so it gets sealed. PARP inhibitors do not just switch PARP off; they trap it on the DNA, turning a harmless nick into a lethal break when the cell copies its DNA.

Every organ keeps its lining cells behind a thin, dense sheet of protein called the basement membrane. A tumour that has not crossed it is 'in situ' and essentially curable; crossing it is the moment cancer becomes invasive.

Tumours come in three immune weathers: inflamed (T cells inside, checkpoint drugs work), excluded (T cells stuck at the edge), and desert (no T cells at all). Most common cancers are excluded or desert, and turning them 'hot' is the central problem of immunotherapy.

Complement is a cascade of blood proteins that punches holes in things marked by antibodies and calls in inflammatory cells. Therapeutic antibodies such as rituximab use it to kill cancer cells; tumours defend themselves with shields (CD46, CD55, CD59), and the cascade's own by-products (C5a) can recruit the myeloid cells that protect the tumour.

Before a cell divides it must copy three billion letters of DNA exactly once, 'licensing' thousands of start points in advance and firing them in waves. Cancers driven by MYC, cyclin E or RAS fire excess start points too fast, and antimetabolites such as 5-FU, topoisomerase poisons such as irinotecan and platinum drugs all jam this copying machinery.

A break through both strands of DNA is the most dangerous lesion a cell faces. Two crews compete to fix it: homologous recombination copies the answer from the sister chromosome (accurate, needs BRCA), while end joining simply glues the ends (fast, sloppy). Which crew wins decides whether PARP inhibitors and radiation kill the cell.

Of the thousands of mutations in a tumour, only a handful (typically 2-8) actually drive it. Drivers either jam an accelerator on (oncogenes, one hit is enough) or remove a brake (tumour suppressors, both copies must go). Everything else is a passenger along for the ride.

Cancer cells can install pumps in their outer membrane that throw chemotherapy back out as fast as it comes in. The same pumps guard the gut, brain and bone marrow in healthy tissue, which is why blocking them failed as a strategy and why drug designers now choose payloads the pumps cannot grip.

Even when a drug wipes out 99% of a tumour, a few cells survive without any resistance mutation: they go quiet, stop dividing, and wait. These persisters are the seed of relapse. They are hard to kill precisely because they are not doing much, but they have their own weaknesses.

Immune cells kill by touch: they present FAS ligand or TRAIL to a target cell, whose death receptors then trigger self-destruction from the outside in. Tumours cut this wire by deleting the receptors or over-producing decoys and blockers.

Tumours recruit the body's repair cells, fibroblasts, and keep them in wound-healing mode forever. The scar tissue they lay down (desmoplasia) squeezes blood vessels shut, walls out immune cells, stiffens the tissue in a way that itself tells cancer cells to grow, and is why pancreatic cancer is so hard to treat.

After glucose, glutamine is the tumour's favourite food. It feeds the energy cycle, donates nitrogen for making DNA letters, and makes the antioxidant glutathione. MYC- and KRAS-driven cancers eat so much of it that they starve the T cells next door.

Getting into the bloodstream and surviving there is brutal: cells are ripped from their neighbours, battered by flow, and hunted by NK cells. Fewer than one in a thousand survive. The ones that do travel in clusters, wear a cloak of platelets, or ride with neutrophils. Liquid biopsies catch what is left.

To invade, a cancer cell must grip the scaffolding around it, dissolve a path with enzymes, and pull itself forward, alone or in a chain led by a scout cell. Fibroblasts often cut the trail first. The enzyme blockers of the 1990s failed; today's targets are the grip (integrins, FAK) and the trail-makers.

Under pressure from a drug that blocks its identity (the androgen receptor in prostate cancer, EGFR in lung cancer), a tumour can change what kind of cell it is, becoming a small-cell neuroendocrine cancer that no longer needs the blocked signal. It is the ultimate escape: not a new mutation in the engine, but a new engine.

Dividing cells need membranes, and membranes are fat. Cancers switch on the fat-building enzymes most adult tissues keep off, and in fatty environments (breast, omentum, bone marrow) they also steal lipids from neighbouring fat cells. This links obesity to cancer and offers new drug targets.

After DNA is copied, a proofreading crew fixes the letters the polymerase got wrong. Lose it and the genome fills with thousands of small errors, especially in repetitive stretches (microsatellites). Those errors make abnormal proteins that the immune system can see, which is why immunotherapy works so well in these cancers.

When a cell divides, a scaffold of microtubules (the spindle) pulls one copy of each chromosome to each side. A checkpoint holds the split until every chromosome is hooked on. Taxanes and vinca alkaloids freeze the spindle so the cell is stuck at this checkpoint until it dies.

Every cause of DNA damage leaves its own fingerprint in the genome: sunlight, tobacco, a faulty repair enzyme, a gut bacterium. Reading these fingerprints tells you what caused a cancer and which repair crews it is missing, which in turn predicts which drugs will work.

Tumours recruit the body's clean-up cells (macrophages and immature myeloid cells) and re-train them as bodyguards. They switch off T cells, build vessels, and, when a therapeutic antibody flags a cancer cell for eating, are told 'don't eat me' by CD47 on its surface.

Natural killer cells patrol for cells that have lost their identity papers (MHC-I) or that display stress flags. Cancers that hide from T cells by dropping MHC-I become visible to NK cells, unless they also shed the stress flags, wrap themselves in a second inhibitory badge (HLA-E), or soak the neighbourhood in TGF-β.

Tumours and immune cells eat from the same plate. Cancer cells hoard glucose and glutamine, dump lactate and acid, and burn tryptophan and arginine into by-products that paralyse T cells. The tumour wins the food fight, and the immune system loses before it has fired a shot.

About one cancer in eight worldwide is caused by a virus. HPV, hepatitis B and C, Epstein-Barr, HTLV-1, KSHV and Merkel cell polyomavirus each hijack the same brakes cancer normally has to mutate, which is why vaccines against HPV and HBV are among the most effective anti-cancer drugs ever made.

Breast cancer goes to bone, lung, liver and brain; prostate cancer to bone; colon cancer to liver; uveal melanoma almost only to liver. Paget's 1889 idea still holds: where a cancer spreads depends on both the seed (the cell's programme) and the soil (the organ's welcome). Each soil has its own vicious cycle, and some are druggable.

Growth-factor receptors are antennas on the cell surface that pair up when a signal lands and switch on the growth relays inside. Cancers mutate, multiply, or fuse these antennas so they broadcast 'grow' with no signal at all. Most targeted drugs, antibodies and ADCs start here.

When a drug blocks a cancer's engine, the cancer has five ways back: change the part the drug binds, make more of it, take a side road, switch to a different engine altogether, or stop letting the drug in. Knowing which route a tumour took decides the next drug.

Two genes are synthetically lethal when losing either alone is fine but losing both kills the cell. Cancers that have already lost one (a tumour suppressor you cannot put back) become uniquely dependent on the other, which you can drug. BRCA and PARP was the first proof; a dozen more pairs are now in trials.

T cells that see their target for weeks on end without winning gradually shut down: they raise a set of brakes (PD-1, LAG-3, TIM-3, TIGIT), lose their ability to kill, and eventually lock this state into their DNA. Checkpoint drugs rescue the ones that are only partly exhausted; the terminally exhausted are beyond reach.

A tumour cannot grow beyond a couple of millimetres without its own blood supply. The 'switch' flips when the signals calling for new vessels (VEGF, FGF, angiopoietin) outweigh the ones holding them back (thrombospondin). The vessels that result are leaky and chaotic, which starves the tumour of oxygen, blocks drugs, and gives cancer cells a way out.

The brain's blood vessels are sealed tight and fitted with pumps that eject most drugs. That protects the brain from poisons but also from chemotherapy and antibodies. Cancer cells that do squeeze through recruit the brain's own support cells, astrocytes, to feed and shield them.

Seven steps the immune system must complete to kill a tumour: release of antigens, pick-up by dendritic cells, priming of T cells in lymph nodes, travel, entry into the tumour, recognition, and killing. Every immunotherapy pushes on one step; every escape blocks one.

Cell division runs on a clock made of cyclins and their kinases (CDKs), each pair firing in order: D-CDK4/6 to leave rest, E-CDK2 to start copying DNA, A-CDK2 to finish, B-CDK1 to divide. Cancers speed the clock; CDK inhibitors slow it.

p53 is the cell's emergency coordinator: DNA damage, oncogene stress or lack of oxygen switch it on, and it then pauses division, orders repairs, or triggers suicide or permanent retirement, while MDM2 keeps it off in healthy cells. About half of cancers mutate p53 outright, and sarcomas, gliomas, melanomas and retinoblastomas silence it instead by amplifying MDM2 or MDM4.

Before a single cancer cell arrives, the primary tumour sends parcels ahead: tiny vesicles (exosomes) and hormones that recruit bone-marrow cells to a distant organ and remodel it into fertile soil. By the time the seed lands, the bed is already made.

Scientists have given more than a dozen answers to what cancer is: mutated genes, runaway evolution, misbehaving stem cells, disordered tissue, ancient cell programmes, broken chromosomes, metabolism, epigenetic switches, unhealed wounds, a failed immune system, ageing tissue, force or electricity. This map shows each theory, who proposed it, what held up, and how the ideas connect.

Cancer cells run a few genes (MYC, their lineage factors, their fusion oncogenes) at extreme volume from giant control regions called super-enhancers. The amplifiers, BRD4, CDK7, CDK9 and Mediator, are the same in every cell, but cancers are unusually dependent on them, and that dependence is druggable.

Cells tag unwanted proteins with a small marker called ubiquitin and feed them into a shredder, the proteasome. Myeloma cells, which make antibody in bulk, die if the shredder jams; and the newest drugs hijack the tagging machinery to make a cancer destroy its own oncoproteins.