Little Pink Starfish

Its skin was black—the same color as Anthony’s. But now, his human face was completely distorted. Where his eyes had been were now dense, brownish scales. His nose extended diagonally downward into a massive cleft, and his mouth jutted out, with a long, coiled black proboscis stretching from the center.
He stopped moving, and the edges of his wings scraped against the vehicle wall with a sharp, piercing sound.

“Anthony, what the hell are you doing?” Hawthorn’s annoyed voice rang out. “I don’t like being watched.”
Then he looked down again. An Zhe felt weight pressing on him, teeth sinking into his shoulder and neck. Sharp pain bloomed across his skin—but he couldn’t care. His entire body tensed as he stared at the creature Anthony had become.

One second, two, three.
Anthony’s wings trembled slightly, and his mouthparts curled in the air.

“Scared?” Hawthorn, on top of him, seemed to notice his tension. He grumbled unclearly, “What are you faking for?” Then he tightened his grip on An Zhe’s waist and bit down hard again.

And at that moment—

The buzzing of wings echoed in the cramped space. Anthony’s six slender limbs pressed low to the floor. His body leaned forward, gathering force like a spider—charging toward them!

Wind howled in the narrow vehicle. An Zhe’s pupils dilated instantly. His body shifted—transformed into the soft, agile state of his mushroom form. Mycelium surged through the cabin, flooding the space and briefly obscuring Anthony’s vision.

In the next instant, An Zhe felt the human body on top of him stiffen and cough violently. Then it flailed in a panic:
“Shit, what the—”
Looking down, he saw that Hawthorn had bitten through countless soft strands of mycelium—some had entered his airways and throat. He choked in fear and pain.

Meanwhile, countless other mycelia were slashed by Anthony’s limbs. They were fragile, easily torn. They bought only five or six seconds of time.

An Zhe estimated the distance between him and Anthony, then quickly gathered his clothing with mycelia and slipped through the chaos in Hawthorn’s struggling body, regaining freedom.

His snow-white mycelium surged toward the vehicle door like a white tide. At the doorway, he re-formed his human shape and slammed the door switch.

A dull thud. The door popped open. An Zhe instantly retracted all mycelium, grabbed Hawthorn’s collar with one hand, and rolled out of the vehicle—both of them landing hard in the sand.
—It was at least safer here than inside the cramped cabin.

But within moments, Anthony’s mutated head emerged from the vehicle. The shrill buzzing resumed. He flew up four or five meters—then dove straight down.

An Zhe had already scrambled up and was sprinting away.
But Hawthorn just lay there, staring blankly at the sky. Anthony’s limbs pierced straight through his chest.

—An Zhe had seen too many monster attacks and escape tactics in the Abyss. He thought Hawthorn would know how to survive too. But only when blood burst out did Hawthorn seem to realize what was happening. He screamed, grabbed Anthony’s forelimbs, and kicked frantically, trying to push away the black cocoon-like body.

The ground rumbled. An Zhe looked back.
The armored vehicle, which had driven far off, made a sharp turn and raced back—Vance had realized something was wrong.

An Zhe gasped for breath and ran straight toward it.

Through the window, he saw Vance’s anxious face. Before the vehicle even reached him, the door popped open. As An Zhe passed it, a strong arm yanked him up and into the cockpit. Vance threw him to the passenger seat and slammed the door shut with a bang.

An Zhe said, “They…”
“Too late to save them!” Vance shouted, yanking the steering wheel. The vehicle spun around and sped north.

An Zhe slumped in the passenger seat, gasping for breath.
After calming down slightly, he looked into the rearview mirror—mutated Anthony and the mortally wounded Hawthorn were tangled on the ground.
Anthony raised a limb and plunged it down again, impaling Hawthorn through the stomach and pinning him to the earth. Then the creature looked up—staring in their direction.
After five seconds, it seemed to give up the chase. It bent its head and stabbed its slender proboscis into Hawthorn’s skull.
Hawthorn twitched violently, then went limp.

The vehicle sped away. Soon, the monster and the corpse were gone from view, lost among the sand and shrubs.

“Anthony mutated?” Vance asked.

An Zhe turned to him and saw his eyes slightly reddened.

He lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”
He was still alive, but Vance had lost two teammates.

“Sorry for what?” Vance forced a smile. “People die on missions all the time. I’m used to it. Might be me next.”

But An Zhe did feel guilty. Anthony had been infected. If he had reported the strange, blood-like drops on the ant’s shell, maybe they could have detected it earlier.

He lowered his head and confessed.

Vance was quiet for a while. His voice dropped:
“Anthony didn’t turn into an ant. He might’ve been infected before.
Before we met you, we encountered a swarm of mutated wild mosquitoes.”

An Zhe asked, “Then… was he injured by the shell too?”

Vance stared out the window. After another long silence, he said,
“Plain No. 2 has low contamination—two stars. A scratch or minor wound doesn’t always mean infection.
But if you admit to being hurt, the team might abandon you.
So a lot of people keep quiet.”

His voice dropped further. “…Because they want to go home.”

An Zhe: “And Hawthorn?”

If Anthony’s infection had been caught earlier, Hawthorn might not have died.

“Don’t worry about it. Hawthorn got what he deserved.”
Vance lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “He did plenty of dirty things.
At least five people died by his hands.
If we weren’t short on manpower, Anthony and I wouldn’t have teamed up with him.
What was he doing? Bullying you?”

An Zhe didn’t answer.
Vance turned to look at him.

In the dusk, the boy’s expression was calm and peaceful, like a clear drop of water.
Such a person showing up in the harsh wilderness must have had untold reasons. But he didn’t ask.

An Zhe didn’t know what to say either.
He was thinking about the moment Hawthorn died.
In the beginning, Hawthorn seemed confused, as if his mind had gone blank—until he was stabbed.
What had he done before that?

He had bitten into the mycelium.

An Zhe frowned. He wasn’t sure if, as a mushroom, he was poisonous.
Now he suspected—he might be a poisonous mushroom.

As they moved further on, the vegetation thinned. The desert stretched endlessly. No life in sight—only their lonely armored vehicle.

That night, the aurora appeared again. Vance decided to stop and rest.
He pressed his cigarette out on the steering wheel, opened the hatch to the rest area, and climbed down.
His voice echoed in the dark: “Sleep now. Drive another day and a half, and we’ll be at base.”

An Zhe also walked to the hatch.
The driver’s seat was high up for better visibility.
The rest area was lower, to save space for storage—a drop of over a meter. He had to jump.

He hesitated for three seconds.
Vance, noticing his pause, said, “Sit first.”

An Zhe sat on the edge, legs dangling. Vance reached up and supported him down.

An Zhe landed steadily and whispered, “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Vance smiled gently. “My younger brother was afraid of heights too. I used to help him down like this. He was about your age.”

An Zhe, trying to learn human ways of communicating, asked cautiously:
“Did he come out here with you too?”

“Yeah. We used to always be together.”

“He’s not here this time?”

“Dead.” Vance said. “Two months ago. Shot by a Judge at the base gate.”

Judge.
It was the third time An Zhe had heard this word.

The first was from An Ze, warning him: “You won’t escape the eyes of the Judges.”

The second was Anthony: “We’re not Judges. We can’t confirm he’s 100% human.”

In An Ze’s memories, this term came up often too.
So An Zhe repeated, “…Judge?”

“You don’t know?” Vance’s voice rose in surprise. “Where the hell are you from?”
An Zhe softly replied, “I didn’t talk to others before.”

“I can tell.”
Vance twisted a knob on the wall. A dim white light turned on above.
He pulled out rations from a compartment. An Zhe took food and water from his own pack and sat across from him.

Vance explained:
“The base has a system called the ‘Judges’ Act.’
There’s a military organization called the Tribunal.
Members are Judges.
They usually take shifts at the base gate.
Every one of them has a license to kill—legally.”

An Zhe recalled something from An Ze’s memories.

He asked, “They determine if someone entering the base is human or infected?”

“Yeah.
Some infected are obvious.
But others aren’t—mutation might not have started, or it’s so advanced they still look human.
Those are called ‘Variants.’”

An Zhe’s eyes widened.

Then… he was a Variant.

Vance removed his coat and opened his canteen.
“Too many people in the base.
If a Variant sneaks in, there’ll be mass slaughter and contamination.
The Tribunal’s job is to judge if each entrant is human or Variant.
The process is called ‘Judgment.’”

“Then…” An Zhe asked, “what happens when they find one?”

“What do you think?” Vance raised an eyebrow.
“Execute on the spot.”

An Zhe said nothing. He bit into a compressed biscuit.
It was rough, scratched his mouth and throat. He chewed slowly—but his heart pounded.

After a pause, he asked, “Can they really tell all the Variants?”

Vance took a long drink and leaned back, eyes closing with a hint of despair:
“Who knows?
Dead men can’t testify.
No one really knows if those killed were actually Variants.
My brother was one of them.”

An Zhe didn’t reply. Vance hadn’t answered his question—but he listened quietly.

“My brother… we went to Plain No. 1.
Less contaminated than Plain No. 2.
I watched him the whole time—he was never hurt.”

Vance gave a dry laugh. “When we returned, it wasn’t a normal Judge on duty. It was their leader—everyone calls him the ‘Judicator.’
Most Judges explain their killings.
He doesn’t.
He needs no reason, accepts no appeal.
Even top brass can’t stop him.
That day, he just looked at my brother—then shot.”

“I didn’t believe it.
But what could I do?
He’s killed so many.
So many people at the base hate him—I’m just one more.
Maybe someday, I’ll be shot too.”

Vance stared at his hand for a moment, then tossed the canteen aside, lay down, but kept his eyes on the ceiling.
Finally, he circled back to An Zhe’s first question:
“They’d rather kill the wrong person than let a Variant slip through.
If one does get in, it’ll be found.
There was only one Variant attack this whole year.”

An Zhe felt a chill.
To hide it, he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his left hand.

“Go to sleep, kid,” Vance said.

An Zhe lay beside him.
Whatever tomorrow held—at least tonight was safe.
No monsters. No Hawthorn.
Just Vance, who treated him kindly.

Before sleeping, he held the cartridge and looked at the vehicle door.

If—
If he quietly opened it now and left—
Back into the monster-infested wilderness—
He could survive.
No judgment. No execution.
He didn’t know how long he’d live—but longer than tomorrow.

But—
Was a spore more important than life?
—Yes.

In the Abyss, death was the most trivial thing.
Outside, in just one day, he’d seen Anthony mutate and Hawthorn die.
Human life wasn’t sacred either.

An Zhe closed his eyes.
He had to go to the Northern Base.

At dawn, they resumed driving.
With only Vance driving, rest became irregular.
They rested that afternoon and drove again at midnight.
When the aurora dimmed and the sky turned pale, Vance said: “We’re close.”

An Zhe looked ahead.
Through the morning mist, a circular city rose on the horizon.

City.
He knew the word.
Humans gathered in cities—like mushrooms in the rainy season.

The vehicle rolled forward.
As the fog lifted, more details appeared.
The circular city was ringed by gray steel walls, as tall as the highest mushrooms—maybe twenty people high.
Even standing on shoulders, one couldn’t scale it.
Barbs and spikes jutted from the top—sharp, cold like winter rock.

Surveillance devices and lasers lined the wall.
There were only two gates—one for entry, one for exit.
They were at the “entry only” gate.

An Zhe saw teams like Vance’s arriving from all sides—lightly or heavily armed, in groups of four or five, driving similar vehicles, parking in designated spots, and entering on foot.
Vehicles and people were inspected separately.

Vance got out first. An Zhe grabbed his arm and jumped down.
Vance’s arm was tense—maybe the gate reminded him of his brother.

They walked toward the line.
At the front, a disturbance.
An Zhe followed Vance, glancing around.

Soldiers in black uniforms flanked the gate—each with two guns, one hot weapon, one laser.
Behind them were massive heavy weapons aimed at the gate—ready to destroy anything that attacked.

Then, a black figure caught An Zhe’s eye.
Far off by the wall, a man in black uniform leaned lazily—not standing guard like the others.
He was cleaning a black gun.

But his uniform—black with silver trim—was more refined, maybe due to his tall, well-proportioned figure.

Vance glanced that way and suddenly sped up, pulling An Zhe forward.
Just as they were about to join the queue—

An Zhe saw that man slowly look up.

Under the black cap brim—
A pair of cold green eyes.

In that instant, An Zhe froze.
The air turned icy.

Vance turned back, “What’s wro—”

Bang!

A gunshot.

Vance’s tall body trembled—then collapsed with a thud.
His eyes wide open, throat gurgling, blood flowing from his temple.
After a few spasms—he lay still.

An Zhe couldn’t even reach for his sleeve.
No time to think what had just happened.
He could only look up and meet the gaze of the black-uniformed officer—

Because the man was now slowly turning his dark gun barrel—

Toward him.