Little Pink Starfish

An Zhe had been walking for a long time.
After many nights and days passed, he had only moved a nail’s-width on the map—about the width of a human pinky nail. The Northern Base, however, was still a whole finger-length away. He had no human transportation and didn’t know how much longer it would take to get there.

Finally, he sensed the damp and shadowy air gradually fading, and the soil beneath his feet becoming harder.

At dusk, the sun sank like a deep red eye, the distant stretch of dark mountains like eyelids receiving it. Sunlight disappeared; twilight and auroras rose together. An Zhe worked hard to decipher the words and symbols on the map.

The dry river he had just crossed marked the boundary of the “Abyss.” Beyond that boundary was a place called “Plain No. 2.” Danger level: three stars. Contamination level: two stars. It was inhabited by large arthropod monsters and rodents. Mushrooms no longer grew there, and the area was mostly covered in ordinary low shrubs.
Indeed, the Abyss’s rugged terrain, ravines, and towering shadows of trees tangled in the night were all gone. This place was open and flat, the whole scene spread before him—a vast, level plain under the twilight.

But An Zhe felt uneasy.
The dry air of Plain No. 2 didn’t seem suitable for mushroom survival. He couldn’t find soil to draw nutrients from and could only recover strength the human way—by sleeping.

So he walked even further, finally finding a shallow depression with scattered pale green-yellow grass. He sat hugging his knees and curled up in a suitable position.

A mushroom spends most of its life asleep, but this was his first time sleeping in a human posture.
Mushroom sleep was simply waiting quietly in one place for time to pass, but human sleep seemed different. Shortly after closing his eyes, endless darkness surged like a tide. His body became light—or rather, it felt like he was gradually losing his body.

At some point, the sound of wind—howling across the wilderness—echoed by his ears. It was once his favorite thing.

But now, that wind had lost its meaning. He had lost his spore—while rolling around in one of his favorite open fields.
In the wind, he heard human voices. He couldn’t remember the syllables clearly, only a few fragments—broken, scattered phrases when translated into human language:

“Very… strange, very…”
“…what?”
“Take… samples… from here.”

The next moment, an indescribable pain radiated throughout his body. It was light, but deep. A void opened in his consciousness—one that could never, ever be filled. He knew from that moment he had lost something most important.
—Fear engulfed his body instantly. From then on, he became afraid of wind, and lived in caves.

His heart pounded. A wave of terror surged through him—fear like that when he lost his spore.
An Zhe’s eyes flew open. He immediately realized he was dreaming—only humans dream.
But in the next second, his breath froze completely.

He understood the source of the fear—a black creature was standing right in front of him.

Two blood-red compound eyes glowed faintly. An Zhe tensed completely. His gaze lowered. Massive—about the length of an adult human—three pairs of sharp, scythe-like forelimbs glinted with a cold, moonlight-like gleam.
Realizing what it was, his body trembled—a distant, ancestral shiver from eons ago.
Mushrooms could die from a swarm of termite bites.
Beasts in the Abyss might ignore mushrooms, but the arthropods of Plain No. 2 might see them as rare delicacies.

That thought had barely formed when An Zhe instinctively rolled aside!

A dull thud shook the ground—the creature’s sharp forelimbs slammed into the soil where he had just been lying.

An Zhe grabbed his backpack, rolled upright, and bolted toward a clump of shrubs. The sound of countless legs thudded behind him.
As the noise faded slightly, he looked back—under the aurora’s light, he finally saw the full figure of the creature: a gigantic black monster, like an ant enlarged thousands of times.
Thankfully, its body looked too bulky. Humans could outrun it. If he could just reach the shrubs ahead—

He tripped.

In that instant, he was engulfed by the creature’s shadow. A slicing wind sound—its limb came down toward his arm.

An Zhe’s sleeve suddenly collapsed, the fabric drooping—it hit nothing.

The creature hesitated. It hadn’t expected that.
At the same time, mycelium grew again inside An Zhe’s sleeve, reforming a complete human arm.

He rolled again, barely dodging the next attack. Pressing off the ground with his arms, he dove into the low shrubs. Two sturdy bushes blocked its view of him.
But that wasn’t enough to escape its eyes. An Zhe panted rapidly. At that moment, his body began to change—his arms, fingers, and all his limbs blurred. Something stirred beneath, shifting toward mycelium form, preparing for a more flexible escape.

Then—

Bang!

A white streak flew through the air like a shooting star, crashing heavily into the joint between the creature’s head and abdomen.
A dull impact followed. The white light silently exploded—mixed with red sparks.

An Zhe lay in the bushes, watching wide-eyed as the massive creature was sliced in two, collapsing with a loud crash.

The shaking bushes dropped leaves all over An Zhe.
The creature’s head landed less than half a meter from him, its blood-red compound eyes still staring in his direction.

An Zhe had seen creatures in the Abyss still wriggling even when sliced into three.
Just as he was about to get up and move further away, he heard voices nearby.

“That was the last uranium shell. Grab the corpse and head back to base.”
A man’s voice—deep and solid.
“Didn’t think we’d profit at the end. Arthropod shells aren’t cheap.”
Another voice—thinner and higher.

After their short exchange, they stopped talking. Footsteps approached—thick-soled leather boots crunching on sand, mixed with brushing sounds.

—Humans.
Since An Ze’s death, An Zhe hadn’t seen a human in a long time. He quietly lifted his head from the bushes.

Rustling sounds came from the shrubs.
The first man shouted, “Alert!”
The next second, three black gun barrels aimed straight at him.

An Zhe looked at them.
He couldn’t help but recall the chaotic memory of losing his spore—but An Ze had shown him humans could be kind.
He assessed his situation, then said, “Hel… hello.”

Under the aurora, everything was clear—three humans in dark gray clothing, all male.
Thick brown belts around their waists held magazines.
The tallest stood in the middle; the other two were shorter.

The middle one—the one who said “last uranium shell”—spoke calmly: “Human?”

An Zhe hesitated. He remembered the weapon that split the monster in half and said, “Yes.”

“Name? ID number? Where’s your team?”

“An Zhe. 3261170514. Got separated.”

The man frowned, looking down at him.
Thick black eyebrows, clearly defined eyes, a high nose, full lips—none of it made An Zhe feel danger like the beasts in the Abyss. He pressed his lips together and looked back.

Three seconds later, the black-skinned man beside him clicked his gun, chambering another round. His gaze was cold and threatening. His voice was low and fast: “Take off your clothes.”

An Zhe stood up from the bushes and unbuttoned the first button of his gray shirt—then the second.
The skin at his collar was smooth and milky white, slightly like his mycelium.

Next, he heard a whistle from the third man—a pale red-skinned, blonde man with many wrinkles (signs of human aging). His gray-blue eyes slanted up, staring straight at him.

An Zhe looked down and finished unbuttoning his shirt, removing it.
The gray-blue-eyed man stepped closer, whistled again, and looked him up and down.

His gaze was sticky—like the drool of beasts in the Abyss. After scanning him once, he circled to An Zhe’s side.

Then, he grabbed An Zhe’s wrist.
His fingers rubbed An Zhe’s skin, thumb tracing over his wrist bone. His voice was sharp and slightly high-pitched: “What’s this?”

An Zhe looked down at his wrist and hand. There were irregular red marks—scratches from the bushes while escaping the monster.
He turned his head and gestured with his eyes to the bushes: “Leaves.”

A brief silence followed.
After a moment, the man smacked his lips and said: “You stripping, or should I?”

An Zhe didn’t move.

He had some idea what they were doing.
An Ze’s memories contained similar scenes.
Gene contamination could happen between monsters or between humans and monsters. The first way to check a stranger for contamination was to inspect them for wounds.

But the man behind him made him uncomfortable.
When he was still a mushroom, it felt just like this when snakes slithered over his stalk and cap.

So he looked toward the central man.
He had seen many fierce beasts in the Abyss and could roughly judge danger. His instincts told him this one was the least aggressive of the three.

“Hawthorn,” the central man said after a brief look. “Don’t lose control out here.”

Hawthorn snorted, his gaze growing more invasive.

Three seconds later, the man said to An Zhe, “Come with me.”

An Zhe obediently followed him around to the far side of the monster’s head.
Aside from scratches from branches, there were no other wounds on him.

The man asked, “How long since you got separated?”

An Zhe thought a moment and replied, “One day.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Not many monsters here.”
“But plenty of bugs.”
The man spoke briefly but gave a reliable impression.

An Zhe buttoned his shirt and asked softly, “Are you heading to the Northern Base?”

The man replied, “Mm.”

“Then…” An Zhe said, “Can you take me with you? I have my own food and water.”

“I don’t decide,” the man said.

As soon as he finished, he turned and asked the others: “No wounds. Bring him?”

Hawthorn laughed, crossed his arms, whistled again, and said, “Why not? One more won’t hurt.”

Then he looked to the last man: “Blackie, your call?”

An Zhe looked over too—meeting the black-skinned man’s gloomy eyes.

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Pinky says: ITS NOT ME, CHATGPT SAID THIS IS THE TRANSLATION OKAY I DIDN’T DO IT.

RUH ROH RAGGY REASE RONT RONDEMN ME