Little Pink Starfish

The moment the operator finished speaking, Lu Feng’s expression changed instantly.

He turned and walked away. A lighthouse researcher quickly followed, and a Tribunal car was parked outside the City Defense Office. A young adjudicator ran over: “Colonel!”

Lu Feng: “You stay and assist the City Defense Office.”

“Colonel, do we need to summon the Tribunal?”

Lu Feng’s gaze swept across the sparse crowd on the road: “Close the city gates. Assemble at District 5.”

“Yes.” The adjudicator replied, “Colonel, stay safe.”

Lu Feng said nothing. Bang—the car door shut, the engine roared to life. He yanked the steering wheel, and the black car turned sharply, speeding off like an arrow toward the Dispersal Center in District 1. Following closely behind were Howard’s car and the City Defense Office’s heavy armor.

In the back seat, the researcher held a communicator, also in a call, being questioned.

“Heading to the Dispersal Center,” the researcher said. “We need to prepare for the worst.”

“It’s currently suspected that the special frequency band used by the ultrasonic dispersers to repel arthropods and birds is simultaneously attracting subterranean worm creatures. But we don’t rule out that this is a premeditated attack.”

“Yes, contacting other disperser sites now.”

At the same time, in the center of the city, the alarm tower suddenly sounded. A sharp, continuous siren blared deafeningly. People scattered sparsely on the morning streets turned pale upon hearing it, exchanged glances, and bolted for the nearest buildings—the continuous alarm meant “emergency shelter.”

Meanwhile, street broadcasts began, a gentle mechanical female voice said: “Alert: Due to a malfunction in the ultrasonic disperser, the city may soon see the appearance of insects, birds, and worm-like monsters. Until the malfunction is resolved, all residents are instructed to immediately shut doors and windows, cease outdoor activities, and report any suspicious sightings to the City Defense Office via emergency communication. The base military will do everything to ensure your safety.”

“Alert: Due to a malfunction in the ultrasonic disperser…”

From all directions, the sound of windows slamming shut rang out continuously from residential buildings. Personnel and prisoners from the City Defense Office were quickly relocated to the nearest residential zones. Armored vehicles streamed from all base stations of the Defense Office, dispersing throughout the streets.

An Zhe, Boss Xiao, and the Poet were in the same room. The Defense Office had no time for them now. Of the three, one was guilty of inciting unrest, one of illegally stealing adjudicator information, and one had some odd charges slapped on by adjudicators—in any case, none were violent offenses. No soldiers guarded them, just the door was locked.

“The Dispersal Center remotely manages all dispersers outside the city,” the Poet gazed out the window. “In the wild air, even a tiny bug might infect a human. The base uses ultrasonic waves of special frequency to repel them to ensure residents’ absolute safety—not even a fly can enter. If something’s happened to the Dispersal Center, we’re now all exposed to potential infection. For insects in their breeding season, human flesh and blood are the perfect egg incubators.”

An Zhe sat hugging his knees on the bare wooden bed. He asked, “What will happen?”

The Poet reached out and pinched the back of his neck: “Suppose last night a tiny bug laid eggs on your skin. The bug’s genes and human genes will fuse. At most three days later, you’ll be a shell filled with billions of eggs. The bugs will fly out from your eyes and airways, land on others, and soon—”

Boss Xiao complained, “Stop scaring the kid.”

The Poet slowly withdrew his hand: “I’m being serious.”

An Zhe suddenly recalled that alien creature whose belly Lu Feng had sliced open at the supply station square—the abdominal cavity and airways filled with translucent bugs.

He said, “Then what do we do?”

The Poet shook his head.

“We can only hope nothing serious has happened to the Dispersal Center, or that it happened just recently and the dispersers can be fixed quickly. Otherwise…” He sighed lightly. “Otherwise, either the whole base breaks out in infection, or… Judgment Day will return.”

An Zhe frowned, gazing at the empty street outside the window.

Then he heard Boss Xiao ask: “You know about Judgment Day?”

“Heard a little,” said the Poet.

Boss Xiao sighed: “I thought if I stayed put in the base, I could live to old age.”

“The base has been safe for too long,” the Poet still looked into the distance. “I always forget that safety is temporary, danger is eternal. Being alive isn’t something we deserve—it’s a blessing.”

An Zhe didn’t quite understand, nor knew how to ask.

He had only one question: “What is Judgment Day?”

But Boss Xiao glanced at him instead: “I forgot to ask—you, what’s with your clothes?”

An Zhe: “…”

He was still wearing Lu Feng’s coat, and in its pocket were Lu Feng’s work manual and ballpoint pen.

Boss Xiao squinted his eyes.

“Last night, when the Poet and I were in the tent, where were you?” he asked. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No,” An Zhe always felt Boss Xiao was interrogating him, and softly replied, “He didn’t sleep.”

Boss Xiao chuckled: “How do you know he didn’t sleep? You did sleep with him. How was it? Tell me.”

An Zhe knew he couldn’t outtalk anyone. He played dumb: “What is Judgment Day?”

“Then do you know how the ‘Adjudicator Act’ was proposed?” the Poet asked.

An Zhe: “No.”

The Poet looked at Boss Xiao: “Surely the old gentleman knows.”

Boss Xiao raised his brows: “I know.”

The Poet asked: “Your age?”

But Boss Xiao didn’t answer. He said: “When I was young, everyone supported that act.”

The Poet sat beside An Zhe on the bedboard corner. His grey prison uniform was worn in places, black shoulder-length hair tied simply at the back. His expression was calm, and he spoke with a certain rhythm and cadence, possibly a tone poets often used: “The ‘Adjudicator Act’ has lasted nearly seventy years. I think the Northern Base is very grateful for it. I don’t know all the details—there are too few old people left in the base.”

Boss Xiao’s interest seemed to have finally shifted away from An Zhe’s sleeping habits. He fiddled with a small puppet part from his pocket while saying: “I also only heard it as a kid.”

The Poet: “Please tell us.”

“After the Southeast Base fell, everyone was scared. Back then, the alien mutations weren’t as strong as they are now. Returning to base just needed a full-body check, no wounds or abnormalities. Every part of the base had soldiers. If mutations were found, immediate execution.” Boss Xiao said, “Ultrasonic dispersers weren’t invented yet, bugs flew everywhere in the base. Big mutated ones were shot, but the small ones couldn’t be caught. The base was covered in bug-catching lamps. Minors weren’t allowed out and were made into bug-hunting teams.”

The Poet: “Chaotic times.”

“Something like that,” Boss Xiao said. “I was even a bug-hunting team leader as a kid. Only after more than a decade did the ultrasonic dispersers come. No bug could get into the base.”

The Poet: “By then the Adjudicator Act was already issued.”

“Right,” Boss Xiao said. “But the act wasn’t because of the bugs—it was because of a surveillance video. A monitor checking routine footage of the water tower saw something in a corner. It was too dark, blurry, and no one had noticed before. The moment the monitor saw it, he went insane. You’d never guess what was in the footage.”

An Zhe was intrigued. The Poet also listened intently.

Boss Xiao continued: “He saw a person moving strangely by the circulating purification pool. Then that person sat down, like boneless. I heard the video showed them like a humanoid leech. After sitting, they put their legs into the water.”

The Poet: “An alien species contaminating the water with secretions?”

Boss Xiao chuckled: “Not scary enough for that reaction.”

The Poet raised an eyebrow.

“Then their legs turned semi-transparent, pale white, like an explosion, spreading in the water—hard to describe.” Boss Xiao shook his head. “Then their entire body melted into the pool, the water level rose by more than ten points. People said it looked like white minced flesh filled the water. And that water was part of the base’s drinking system.”

“Then it flowed out through the outlet—that was the base’s drinking water,” Boss Xiao said. “Worse news? That footage was already over twenty hours old.”

The Poet frowned slightly, seemingly nauseated. After a few gulps, he said: “The whole city was exposed.”

“Exactly,” said Boss Xiao. “Lighthouse gave their report—this was a soft-bodied aquatic alien species. Releasing into water might be a form of reproduction. The whole base risked infection. No one was safe. So the act was urgently issued.”

The Poet: “There’s a saying—the first adjudicators weren’t military, but part of Lighthouse.”

“True enough. After the aquatic alien invasion, scientists at Lighthouse who studied humanoid alien forms knew the signs best. They formed the Tribunal. In ten days, everyone in the base underwent inspection. No one had visible wounds, but anyone could be infected. No diagnostic tools—only visual checks and gut feeling. Even if you did nothing but drank water, if the Tribunal wanted you dead, you died.” Boss Xiao sighed, “Ten days of bloodshed. Half the base died.”

“That matches what I’ve heard,” the Poet said. “Those ten days are the legendary ‘Judgment Day.’”

“You writers and your mumbo jumbo—‘Judgment Day,’ God this and that—” Boss Xiao frowned as he spoke.

The Poet smiled: “On doomsday, all souls are judged before God—some go to heaven, some to hell. That’s Judgment Day.”

“Who knows,” Boss Xiao brushed dust off his sleeve. “Virginia Base cursed our decision, sent a science team with detection machines, dropped leaflets with drones accusing us of inhumanity. And then?”

The Poet whispered: “Three years later, humanoid sea alien invasion. Virginia Base fully infected and fell.”

“Thanks to those idiots, the Adjudicator Act was officially continued. Any adjudicator could shoot. If they couldn’t judge, it went to an adjudicator proper. No responsibility for mistaken kills. Adjudicators became gods.” Boss Xiao grinned: “But gods go mad too. Killed too many, couldn’t stop. Lighthouse’s adjudicator scientists were replaced constantly—three went mad in ten years, two committed suicide. No one wanted the job, so the military took over.”

“Military folks are used to seeing monsters. Good at identifying, strong mentality. The replacement rate slowed—from one mad in three years to one in five. When Lu Feng became an adjudicator, he wasn’t even twenty. I bet he wouldn’t last three years. Lost a lot of money—this year is his seventh. Hubbard says he’s killed several times more than the last one, and the numbers keep growing each year. Everyone knows he’s close to breaking too.”

“The mental burden of adjudicators and the judged—it’s hard to say who bears more,” the Poet leaned against the wall. “But if Colonel Lu still has the mood to sleep with kids, then maybe he’s far from breaking.”

“No, wrong.” He frowned again and corrected himself: “For someone as cold and ruthless as Colonel Lu, that might be a sign of breaking.”

He leaned toward An Zhe, his eyes now showing a look similar to Boss Xiao’s: “How was he? Did he hurt you?”

An Zhe curled into a corner, clutching the coat, unwilling to speak.

Thud.

A popping sound.

The atmosphere in the room froze. All three turned toward the sound.

A brilliantly colored beetle had crashed into the window.