Little Pink Starfish

An Zhe slowly closed his eyes.
He knew exactly what the events just now meant to humanity. The disappearance of mothers and children meant that this human base had completely lost its future. In such circumstances, whatever this colonel did, An Zhe would not be surprised.

—At that moment!

“Colonel!” A familiar voice rang from the far end of the hall.

—It was the doctor.

An Zhe looked in that direction.

“He’s from Eden, currently assisting the Lighthouse in a research project,” the doctor said. “Please hand him over to me.”

“Everyone else was infected. Only he survived. He’s now wanted tonight for a sample. Is the Lighthouse trying to shield him? What kind of research are you doing that causes non-contact infection?” the colonel asked, voice low.

“Whether this incident is related to the Lighthouse or not, you must hand him over to me,” the doctor said. “At the very least, I know that if you kill him, there’ll be nothing left.”

The colonel sneered: “And then you continue your dangerous experiments?”

“This incident tonight is absolutely unrelated to our experiments at the Lighthouse,” the doctor replied calmly. “On the contrary, we intend to investigate why it happened.”

“You people have been claiming for over a hundred years that you’d uncover the cause of infection, and now you’re still in the dark, without a single clue,” the colonel snapped. “How can the Lighthouse ensure he won’t pose a threat if kept?”

“I can’t promise that,” the doctor looked directly at the colonel. “But I do know the situation won’t get worse than it is now.”

After a brief silence, the colonel’s hand holding the gun trembled. That one sentence seemed to drain all his strength.

“One hour. You must make progress,” he said slowly.

“Alright,” said the doctor.

With a loud clang, the interrogation room door shut. The soldiers escorting An Zhe stood guard outside.

Through a layer of glass, An Zhe met the doctor’s gaze. The soldier’s shove had thrown him inside harshly; his back and shoulder blades were aching with every throb.

But the doctor didn’t exchange pleasantries—no time, maybe no mood either.

His first question was the same as the colonel’s: “What happened tonight?”

An Zhe told him the truth. Unlike the colonel, the doctor believed him after a brief moment of thought.

“You’re saying that alien genes had long been dormant in her body, only manifesting now?”

An Zhe nodded.

“She killed the base’s women and offspring—was it hatred for the base that led her to make that choice? You’re saying she, while still lucid, carried out non-contact infection within a limited range?”

“No,” An Zhe shook his head. “When she first became a bee, she only wanted to leave. But the bee came back.”

“You believe that’s when her human consciousness was replaced?”

“Yes.”

The doctor suddenly laughed, but the laughter was hoarse, eyebrows furrowed, eyes drooping—a laugh more painful than crying: “She didn’t escape either.”

An Zhe watched him quietly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the doctor took a deep breath. “You act like you know nothing, and yet as if you know everything.”

An Zhe said, “I know nothing.”

“Si Nan… the fact that he can maintain occasional lucidity is already a one-in-a-million chance,” the doctor said.

“Do you know about the Integrationists?” he asked.

An Zhe shook his head.

“A hundred years ago, when the base’s research was at its peak, many scientists believed that since other organisms could gain massive bodies and immense power through mutation, humans could too,” the doctor said. “They started by studying radiation’s effects on humans, but the more complex a creature’s genes, the less likely it is to mutate beneficially. Exposed to cosmic radiation, humans only developed widespread cancers and genetic diseases.”

“Later, they theorized that gene infection was a means for human evolution. That’s how the ‘Integrationists’ came to be. They conducted numerous wild experiments—infecting monsters with other monsters, infecting humans with monsters. They created countless hybrids to observe how human genes would change, how human will could be preserved through memory. They discovered the fragility of human will, how easily intelligence could be overtaken by monsters. But a few rare cases appeared—individuals who remained conscious and controlled their mutated bodies with human thought, though the duration varied.”

An Zhe listened quietly, as the doctor gave a self-deprecating smile: “That was the good news. We received many samples, removed all external factors, and reached one conclusion: no external condition could help a person retain their will. Whether someone remains conscious after infection doesn’t depend on how strong their will is. It’s just a probability. One in ten thousand may retain awareness. The other 9,999 lose it. It’s random. And randomness is the most terrifying result in science. The day that conclusion was reached, at least three Integrationist scientists committed suicide.”

“But some didn’t lose hope and continued the research. They believed the randomness only appeared that way because we hadn’t yet found the determining factor—or the factor exceeded human understanding.”

An Zhe: “…And then?”

“All the samples were executed. All research terminated,” the doctor said quietly. “That year, a humanoid water source spread across the city. The Adjudication Court was established. Ten days of bloodshed… Those were intellectual Integrationist specimens.”

An Zhe thought hard.

Then the doctor said suddenly, “I’ve told you enough. Have you figured it out?”

An Zhe was stunned. He looked up and saw a door open at the side wall of the room. Seran and another adjudicator walked out and stood behind the doctor.

He turned to the side and saw a smooth mirror.

“One-way mirror,” said the doctor.

“According to adjudication procedures,” Seran looked at An Zhe, “I still believe you are human.”

“I think so too,” the doctor finally let out a breath. “Even Lu Feng trusted you enough to keep you by his side.”

“Lu Feng…” the doctor’s eyes widened. “If Madam Lu had been infected long ago, and her infection had gradually activated these past days, and she could infect Si Nan before fully losing her mind—why didn’t Lu Feng notice?”

“Sorry,” Seran lowered his soft lashes. “The Adjudication Court never evaluates the Eden ladies for infection.”

The doctor was stunned. “Why?”

“Their upbringing differs too much from ordinary humans. By procedure, none of them meet the baseline standards.”

The doctor froze.

Five seconds later, he burst into uncontrollable laughter. He bent over, body trembling, fingers gripping the chair armrests tightly.

It took him a full three minutes to finish laughing. Then he looked dazed and hollow, all color drained from his cheeks.

“Do you remember the source of the disaster in the Outer City not long ago?” he suddenly asked.

“Yes,” Seran replied. “Arthropods entered breeding season.”

“That explains why she infected so many,” the doctor said. “She wanted to leave Eden, which reduces women to reproductive tools. Even if it meant abandoning human form and consciousness, she wanted freedom. But… the moment she fully shed her human shell, she was taken over by the queen bee’s instincts… It’s breeding season now. What she did as a human… what the bee does now… she…”

The doctor’s words became fragmented and he finally shut his eyes in pain. “She never escaped.”

After a long silence, his voice became unbearably hoarse. “No one escapes.”

An Zhe’s eyes widened slightly. He realized what the doctor meant.

A creature’s instinct is to live. A species’ instinct is to reproduce.
—No one escapes. Not even the madam, who had now fallen completely.

Maybe, just for a fleeting instant—as she was turning into a bee—she briefly got what she wanted.

Then, the eternal, ignorant darkness descended.

“The Rose Declaration was a necessary decision for the base’s long-term survival. But it did violate human standards. The Adjudication Court, the mercenaries, the emergency response system… many things violate them,” the doctor said quietly. “If I weren’t standing from the base’s perspective, I’d support her rebellion. But does her rebellion have meaning? She even took all our embryos.”

“No one did anything wrong, and the outcome’s still the same.” He stared at the blank wall, eyes near collapse, clinging to sanity through muttering: “This… this damned era.”

This age of vanishing geomagnetism was not a catastrophe to humanity—it was a trampling.
First, it forced humans to acknowledge the fragility of their bodies. Then, it revealed the vanity of their technology. Next, it invalidated the legitimacy of the base’s structure. And finally, it proved that even the human will is insignificant.

But perhaps even that was saying too much.

Because this world simply didn’t care if humans existed.

An Zhe pressed his hand to the interrogation room’s glass, trying to get closer to the doctor—to comfort him.

“It’s enough.” The doctor drew a few breaths, regaining composure. “Now it’s your turn to answer two questions.”

“First, since Seran believes you are human, why weren’t you infected by Madam Lu? Second, why did you enter Lab D1344 and take the inert sample?”

An Zhe lowered his head, saying nothing.

“You have to tell me,” the doctor said. “If I can’t get an answer, you’ll be handed over to the colonel.”

An Zhe shook his head silently.

“You haven’t seen the military’s interrogation methods,” the doctor stood and walked to the glass, meeting his eyes. “If you truly don’t know why you weren’t infected, we’ll wait for Lu Feng to return, restore power, and do a full check at the Lighthouse. But you must tell me where the D1344 sample is.”

An Zhe remained silent.

“Is there something you can’t tell me or Seran?” the doctor asked.

An Zhe nodded.

“Why? You’re a good kid.” The doctor looked at him with complex eyes and repeated, “That sample is too important. Where is it?”