Little Pink Starfish

“A dignified Inquisitor Colonel, now under soft house arrest in my lab,” Dr. Ji remarked mockingly as he set a stack of documents on the desk. “Need me to bring you meals?”

Sitting in the plush chair that originally belonged to Dr. Ji was not the doctor himself, but the Inquisitor in black uniform. His posture was casual, arms crossed, long legs loosely folded. Though the silver badge on his chest was missing, the silver tassels of his uniform filled in the blank visually, and his appearance remained immaculate and unassailable.

His frost-cold gaze swept across the sterile white laboratory. “You think I want to be here?”

“You should be a little nicer to me. I don’t ask for much—just one percent of the friendliness we had as kids.” Dr. Ji replied, “You should realize the situation. The Tribunal can’t protect itself. If even I—your only friend left in this base—stop taking you in, you’d be torn apart by the mob. I heard the United Front Center has held three meetings already, debating whether to abolish the clause in the Inquisitor Act that allows Inquisitors to kill with unchecked authority.”

Then he blinked playfully. “You chose to come back from the wild. Regret it now?”

He tried to provoke an emotional reaction, but failed. Lu Feng’s expression remained unchanged from before.

—Ever since the discovery of the gene contamination and the exchange of matter between contaminated and living organisms, the base had been engulfed in an anxious, end-of-days atmosphere. At any moment, the magnetic poles might be overcome by distortion. People could turn into monsters, objects, or fuse with the steel walls of the base. These eight thousand individuals—military and Lighthouse elites—were the last of humanity’s best. Precisely because of their intelligence, they could more clearly sense the coming apocalypse. The base maintained a fragile peace like a frozen lake covered with thin ice: seemingly stable, but a single stone could shatter everything.

The incident that triggered it all was a shooting ten days ago.

“If it had been anyone else, maybe it’d have passed,” Dr. Ji said, clenching his jaw as he looked at the utterly indifferent Inquisitor.

The man Lu Feng killed was a revered scientist from the Lighthouse, known for his contributions in ballistics and shell design—essential in military engineering. Naturally, he was beloved by younger researchers and respected by the military.

Ten days ago, Lu Feng had encountered him and Seran in the United Front Center hallway. They even exchanged polite nods.

Yet in the next instant, Lu Feng drew Seran’s gun from his waist. His marksmanship was always precise, and his movements were swift and decisive. One bullet to the back of the head, and blood burst like fireworks. The man collapsed instantly.

The entire base was shaken.

The victim had many students and friends in the base. They claimed he had been sharp, courteous, and kind with no signs of infection. They demanded an explanation from the Tribunal.

But the living were dead, and the base’s gene-testing equipment had been destroyed during the matter-fusion wave two months ago. There was no evidence to support the Inquisitor’s judgment. The Tribunal’s only statement: Lu Feng had followed the Inquisitor Protocol.

Old controversies resurfaced, and demands to publicize the protocol reached a peak. But the Inquisitor Act granted absolute power to the Tribunal, and no one could bring Lu Feng to a military court. Debate over the Act itself escalated. A young man named Colin, who identified himself as a leader of the original anti-Inquisitor movement in the Outer City—and who had survived the disaster that left only 8,000 in the main city due to working at Eden—revived the old slogans and fiercely criticized the base’s remaining institutions for trampling human dignity. He quickly amassed a following.

In response, the United Front Center opted for suppression. But the base’s population was primarily from the Lighthouse and Eden, with limited military strength. They couldn’t risk casualties—each death was one-eight-thousandth of humanity gone. A riot in such a fragile society was a nightmare.

At this tense moment, a rarely known document from the Lighthouse was leaked.

It was a top-secret file from the “Integrationist” faction. Though the faction was taboo, their scientific talent was undeniable. After decades of experiments and observation, they estimated that 1 in 10,000 people infected with gene contamination might retain partial human consciousness. Additionally, 1 in 6,500 might regain some human consciousness three days after fully becoming a monster.

To make it worse, the file included a note: those odds were only theoretical. In practice…

The base erupted.

Colin wrote a lengthy essay titled “A Century of the Tribunal—Unproven Sins.”

Meanwhile, a deranged soldier, hiding among the Tribunal staff, attempted to assassinate an Inquisitor. But no matter how you looked at it, Inquisitors were far superior soldiers. The bullet missed completely. Still, the Tribunal had become the target of universal hostility.

—Until Dr. Ji submitted a proposal to the Lighthouse.

He proposed that the unique behavior of a spore sample from the Abyss, with its unprecedented distortion resistance and transformation inertia, might be key. And it showed a unique affinity for the Inquisitor. When in contact with the Colonel, the spore’s growth rate and cellular activity increased.

Therefore, Colonel Lu had to cooperate in the project, and the base had to guarantee his safety. He might be humanity’s last hope.

Thus, Colonel Lu found himself in Dr. Ji’s lab.

“The three-month estimate is nearly up. Though there’s no definitive proof, humanity’s fate is on a countdown.” Dr. Ji sat beside Lu Feng. “The main city never cared about the Tribunal before, but now, like the Outer City once did, they’re about to face judgment themselves. Once the magnetic poles fall to distortion, everyone’s at risk. Everyone will face judgment. Everyone might die by your hand. The Tribunal, though inactive, has already become their mental enemy. Total distortion is inevitable. They hope to be part of that 1 in 10,000 or 1 in 6,500. Knocking you down might buy them more time. This has nothing to do with your actions—it’s just fear. Survival instinct.”

He frowned and said softly, “All these years, no matter how pressed the Tribunal was, they never leaked a word of the judgment protocol. I believe you have your reasons. But I’ve always wanted to ask—did you already know about the Integrationist data?”

Lu Feng’s gaze passed over him, resting on the spore floating in the green culture fluid.

Because he was nearby, the spore’s mycelium spread out in relaxation. It had grown—its core now the size of a human palm.

“Any results?” he asked calmly.

“Unfortunately, no. It’s a fraud—just like that damn little thing An Zhe. Its only use now is shielding you, and who knows how long that’ll last.” Dr. Ji looked into Lu Feng’s eyes.

Those green eyes—while black pupils were common, especially in the predominantly Asian Northern Base, other eye colors weren’t rare. But this shade of frosty green was too unusual. Sometimes, Dr. Ji felt it wasn’t even organic—like it belonged to some emotionless machine, matching his typical gaze.

No matter how many people he killed, no matter what others thought, he never flinched. He didn’t need understanding, didn’t need forgiveness—he had always been above it all.

A powerless frustration surged in Dr. Ji.

“I shouldn’t care about you. Shouldn’t try to comfort you. You don’t care.” He took a deep breath, opened his hands. “Every time I convince myself you’re a good person, you prove otherwise. When it comes to coldness and indifference—you’re… you’re fucking gifted.”

He scrutinized Lu Feng’s face—his features sharp and sculpted like a doll, but his essence was ice that hadn’t melted in ten thousand years. The situation outside was so tense Dr. Ji feared the lab might be stormed any moment. Yet the man before him showed no pain, no conflict. Instead, with his lashes slightly lowered, he seemed solemn and composed—like a ghostly black butterfly resting on the solemn windowsill of a temple.

The Inquisitor Act hadn’t been repealed yet. Lu Feng still held high-level system access. The computer beside him streamed real-time surveillance from crowded base areas, checking for signs of infection.

Dr. Ji, utterly dejected, couldn’t help but snipe, “I really wonder—when they line everyone in the base up for the gallows, what will your expression be?”

He stared hard into Lu Feng’s eyes, trying to catch any emotional flicker. But Lu Feng wasn’t even looking at him—his gaze lingered on the spore, or perhaps the culture device, or maybe something far beyond.

“Thank you,” said that indifferent voice. “I appreciate it.”

Dr. Ji unclenched and clenched his fist, finally slumping against the chair.

“I should’ve thrown you out. You’ve gone insane long ago.”

“I’m very clearheaded.” Lu Feng finally turned to him. “Is there anything I can help with in the lab?”

“Watch your little fungus and make it grow faster,” the doctor said. “And if possible, keep an eye on the research institute’s comms channel.”