Little Pink Starfish

In the silent space, Jin Sen yawned, “The prison bed’s actually pretty soft.”

An Zhe looked around his surroundings. In the cramped prison cell, there was a two-meter by one-meter plastic soft pad laid out in the corner, with a thin white blanket folded at one end—that was probably what they called a “bed.”

He went over, sat cross-legged, wrapped himself in the thin blanket, and leaned his back against the wall.

Footsteps came from the end of the corridor. Harsh light shone down the hallway as three City Defense soldiers patrolled with flashlights. As they passed, one on the left said, “Three more—who brought them in?”

“The Tribunal, of course. Colonel Lu’s incredible. The City Defense Office is basically the Tribunal’s logistics team now.”

“The Tribunal wants to completely take over the City Defense, but the director is still holding on.”

They flashed their lights over their faces and said no more, walking past to check each cell before heading up through another passage.

Once their noise disappeared, the underground space fell into silence again, only the sound of prisoners breathing remained. There weren’t many people—An Zhe could feel it. In the distance, there was the sound of water dripping onto plastic—drip, drip. Boss Xiao grumbled, “City Defense just wasting water like that.”

But the dripping didn’t stop, continuing steadily. Jin Sen said, “It’s a clock.”

An Zhe listened carefully and determined that the sound came from the cell next to his. It ticked at regular intervals—an old mechanical clock’s ticking.

In the darkness, the second hand turned at a steady pace, stretching time endlessly.

Finally, Jin Sen asked, “Boss Xiao, you’ve got experience—how long are we gonna be locked up?”

“Shouldn’t be long,” Boss Xiao replied. “Illegal acquisition of Judge information depends on usage. As long as it didn’t harm the Judge, we’re fine.”

“I don’t think so,” Jin Sen said. “You used it for profit. Even if it’s not long, you’ll get fined, right?”

Boss Xiao: “I’d rather do more time than pay the fine.”

Jin Sen sighed, “Judges are just that powerful. Take a picture and get detained. I’ll just stick to selling phones from now on. I only took one photo and got dragged off by the Tribunal. Thought I’d unknowingly become a variant. Scared the hell out of me.”

Boss Xiao didn’t answer, but a clear young male voice came from the neighboring cell: “Illegal acquisition of Judge information—I’ve seen that.”

Boss Xiao asked, “How long were they held?”

“Minimum three days, maximum three years. One was executed—tried to assassinate a Judge.”

Boss Xiao tested, “…Was he successful?”

“Attempted.”

“Still executed?”

“That’s the Judge Act,” the voice said calmly. “Without absolute safety for Judges, there is no absolute authority.”

Boss Xiao: “So… if we didn’t intend harm, how long?”

The voice said, “Depends on the Judge’s mood.”

An Zhe clutched his blanket. He thought Lu Feng seemed to be in a good mood.

Then Jin Sen asked curiously, “Bro, what’d you do?”

The voice said, “Incitement and spreading panic.”

Jin Sen was confused: “Huh?”

“I wrote articles for the Culture Department. The City Defense arrested me. Later the Culture Department shut down, and I wasn’t released.”

An Zhe thought, so this guy was a colleague of An Ze’s.

Jin Sen asked, “How long’ve you been locked up?”

“Life sentence.”

Jin Sen fell silent: “You messing with me.”

The man laughed but didn’t reply.

An Zhe thought about it. According to An Ze’s memory, it had been a pretty safe job.

He asked the guy next door, “What do you write?”

He answered, “Base history education. My pen name’s ‘Poet.’ Ever read my stuff?”

An Zhe: “No.”

Poet: “Want to hear some? You’ve got a nice voice.”

“You have a nice voice too.” An Zhe thought he sounded eager to share, so he said, “I’d like to hear it.”

“Stop,” Boss Xiao interjected. “You’re in here for incitement—don’t try to stir up our kid.”

“Just listen. Don’t be scared. You’ve already been arrested anyway,” Poet replied with a chuckle.

He actually made a lot of sense.

“I spent ages compiling this stuff. Ever since I got locked up, I haven’t had a chance to talk about it,” Poet said. “But you probably already know the gist of it.”

An Zhe said, “I don’t know.”

“Oh?” Poet said. “Then I’ll explain in detail.”

“Let me think where to start…” His pace slowed. “Let’s start with the Desert Era.”

“Before the Desert Era was the ‘Era of Great Prosperity.’ There were seven billion people on Earth. On the plains, drive an hour and you’d hit a village or city—cities full of people. Around them were farmlands, ranches, and factories providing resources. There were wars, but only between countries. Animals and plants couldn’t stand up to human weapons.”

He paused, sorting his thoughts. After a while, he said, “That was 2020—over a hundred years ago.”

“When I was a mercenary, I once found a national capital’s research institute ruins. There I dug up a report—on geomagnetic research starting in 2020.”

No one said anything, so he continued: “That year, they detected the Earth’s magnetic field weakening rapidly. Do you know what a magnetic field is?”

Jin Sen: “Don’t ask me, bro. I’m uneducated.”

Boss Xiao stayed silent.

“The base doesn’t teach this stuff,” Poet said. “Anyway, in 2030, Earth’s magnetic field disappeared.”

Jin Sen asked honestly, “So what does a magnetic field do?”

“Earth’s a huge magnet—its poles are the north and south poles. The magnetic field is everything,” Poet said. “When it disappeared, compasses failed, ecosystems went chaotic, human industry collapsed—no electricity generation. But those were minor effects.”

“The magnetic field’s most important role is shielding Earth. Space is full of cosmic rays and solar wind, but Earth’s field deflects them. Without it, in 2030, Earth was bombarded. Radiation burned away the land, dried up water, and thinned the atmosphere. Droughts, skin disease, cancer… half the human race died. That was the ‘Desert Era.’”

Jin Sen: “Damn.”

“But the Desert Era ended quickly,” Poet chuckled. “Back in 2020, humans already had a plan—Plan A and Plan B. I found them in ruined cities.”

Jin Sen, now respectful: “Go on.”

“Plan A: build massive magnetic field generators in Asia and North America. ‘Eastern Magnetic Pole’ and ‘Western Magnetic Pole.’ These replaced Earth’s poles and resonated with solar wind to recreate a protective field around the planet.”

Jin Sen clapped: “Impressive.”

“Plan B: build huge underground cities to move life below the surface, safe from radiation.”

More applause: “Good.”

“2040—Plan B succeeded. People moved in.”

“2043—Plan A succeeded. Weak magnetic fields covered the planet. Climate stabilized, radiation deaths dropped. Tech started recovering. That period was called the ‘Dawn Era.’”

Poet sighed lightly: “But the hardest days for humanity were only beginning.”

An Zhe’s eyes widened.

“I know,” Jin Sen said. “The Great Catastrophe Era came.”

“Yes,” Poet said. “Radiation caused unknown mutations—terrible ones.”

“First were super bacteria, fungi, viruses. They spread through cities, infecting everyone. Full of corpses—anyone who’s been to the wild ruins knows this.”

An Zhe asked, “How did people survive?”

“Survival was fate,” Poet said. “If your genes were immune, you lived. If not, you died. Those who remained were all immune. After the Desert Era’s three billion, only about one billion remained. But even that wasn’t the hardest time.”

An Zhe: “And then?”

“Then came what you know. Whether it’s radiation-induced evolution or an unknown virus—we don’t know. But widespread biological mutations appeared. They took over the world. Humans who touched them were infected, lost their traits, got assimilated. They liked attacking humans—our genes tasted good. That started the biggest war in history.”

He took a breath and continued, “Scattered humans couldn’t resist the monsters. So we pooled resources and built bases. Our ID starting with 3 means this is Base 3. Underground Base, Virginia Base, Northern Base, Southeast Base—these four formed the human alliance. Once the bases were built, people could breathe again. And that’s your current life.”

That sentence seemed to ease the prison’s atmosphere—until the next froze it over again.

“Sadly, bases aren’t safe either.” Poet coughed. His voice lowered.

“2061—mutant rodent swarm destroyed Southeast Base.”

“2073—marine variants infiltrated and destroyed Virginia Base.”

“Shit,” Jin Sen suddenly cut in. “No wonder you got done for incitement and spreading panic. They should’ve sewn your mouth shut.”

“But I did nothing wrong.” Poet chuckled. “I just hid in my boyfriend’s merc team, collected relics from human ruins, and published what I found—life sentence.”

Jin Sen: “Your tongue should be cut out. You have a boyfriend, too?”

Poet laughed: “The base is so boring—why not?”

Ignoring Jin Sen, he said, “So now only Northern and Underground Bases still function. They protect the magnetic poles—so our auroras are brighter. Auroras are solar wind particles.”

He sighed again: “I don’t know if those bases still connect—there’s the whole Pacific in between. I said the hardest time wasn’t the Desert Era or the Catastrophe—it’s now. Who knows what’ll happen next.”

Right then, the ground beneath them jolted hard.

Dust fell from the prison ceiling onto An Zhe, making him cough. Then an even stronger tremor shook the floor.

Jin Sen leapt up, yelling, “Earthquake?!”

“Not an earthquake.” An Zhe heard Poet getting up next door, muttering things he didn’t understand. “Earthquakes have P-waves and S-waves. This is chaotic shaking, shallow source—”

“—Something’s underground!”

That part, An Zhe understood.

Boom!
Suddenly, a loud crash came from the corridor, followed by the clang of an iron door falling.

Boom! Again.
A hundred times stronger than before—An Zhe gripped the iron bars to stay standing.

He realized it.

Something—some massive living creature—was ramming the ground from below.