The auroras cast a pale green glow on the ground, reflecting off the man's dark skin in a strange, luminescent green, akin to the skin of a lizard or toad. Finally, the man spoke, "We're not judges; we can't confirm he's 100 percent human." "That may be," Hawson interjected, drawing out his words, "but Plain No. 2 only has a two-star pollution level." The dark-skinned man fell silent again before stating, "The average mutation time on Plain No. 2 is four hours. He must endure four hours to be sure." "Fine," Hawson agreed, "we'll finish collecting the loot, and if he hasn't mutated by then, we'll take him." The man finally nodded, and after exchanging looks among themselves, it seemed they had reached a consensus. "I'm Vance," the tall man in the middle then turned to Anzhe, introducing himself. "Hello," replied Anzhe. The somewhat detestable Hawson also spoke up, "Hawson." The last man, known as "Blackie," remained silent for a moment before finally introducing himself, "Anthony." Anzhe also greeted him before adding, "Thank you." "No need," Vance said with a smile, "We're all human here, plus we just lost a team member and are short-handed." With that, he went over to the monster's head commanding the others to start picking up the carcass quickly. Vance then handed Anzhe a pair of gloves and a long dagger, instructing him to remove the legs. Anzhe, obediently walking a few steps ahead, stopped beside the monster's torso, donned the gloves, and began examining its body. This arthropod was massive, its shell smooth, yet adorned in several places with long, sharp spikes or raised nodules. He looked down at the monster's legs, six in total, thin and long, covered in dense, shiny black fur, segmented in three parts. As Vance and Anthony handled the monster's head on the other side, removing its outer shell to let the brain and other fluids out, and then cleaning the insides, Hawson kept watch at the perimeter. Anzhe likewise pulled out his dagger, focusing on prying a joint open. Approximately five minutes later, he separated a limb from the monster's thorax, which fell to the ground. From the break, a viscous, brain-like white liquid slowly seeped into the sandy soil. Hawson jested, "Little darling, don't throw up in disgust." Anzhe didn't react, quietly continuing with another joint. He felt indifferent towards this monster, even cleaner than the creatures living in "The Abyss." But Hawson seemed intent on not letting him be, soon walking up behind Anzhe and placing a hand on his shoulder, his fingers trailing around it, "Darling, how old are you?" Anzhe detected a sense of greediness in his tone—like that of a predator eyeing its prey. But from his limited understanding, humans didn't consume their own kind. So he calmly responded, "Nineteen." Anzhe was nineteen this year, having consumed Anzhe's genes, so he roughly considered himself to be nineteen too. "But you look more like seventeen," Hawson chuckled lowly, his voice now raspy yet sharp. Anzhe furrowed his brow, unsure what to reply. "Hawson," Vance's voice came from not far, "Focus on lookout." Hawson snorted, giving Anzhe's shoulder another squeeze before walking away. Anzhe realized that each individual among humans might possess differing characteristics. Like Anzhe and those who took his spores differed, so did Vance from Hawson. He felt grateful towards Vance. He lowered his head to continue with the joints, sectioning each limb into three and neatly stacking them—these shells had a metallic sheen, hard as stone, producing a crisp clattering noise when piled together. Once all six limbs were detached, Vance and Anthony also completed the disassembly of the head and came to this half of the body. Vance glanced at the neatly stacked limbs, smiled, and said, "You're quite thorough." Then he instructed Hawson, "Bring the vehicle around." Hawson didn't speak, turning to go outside. Anzhe stepped aside, watching Vance and Anthony proceed to dissect the monster's thoracic and abdominal sections. He asked, "Do you need help?" Vance, wearing gloves and holding a black pair of pliers as long as a human's calf, replied, "You haven't been outside much, have you?" Anzhe: "…Yeah." "Then stay clear," Vance used the pliers to pry open the junction between the thorax and abdomen. The edges of the plates were irregular, forming sharp spikes where they met. He cautioned, "This thing is full of spikes, easy to hurt yourself if you're inexperienced. Plain No. 2 has a lower pollution level, but infection is still possible." Anzhe duly stepped back, watching them dismantle the carcass bit by bit, the ground littered with whitish organs and tissue. Soon, they finished, seemingly convinced Anzhe wouldn't suddenly mutate into something deadly. "Get in the vehicle; we're heading back to the base. Anzhe, come along." The armored car accommodated seven to eight people and featured areas for rest, simply divided into three cramped sections where humans had to hunch to move around. Anzhe was placed in the outermost section, right next to the door. He lay down with his backpack as a pillow, Anthony drove in the front, Vance next to him, and the innermost spot became Hawson's. The door shut, plunging the interior into darkness, with faint light seeping through a small window on the side. After a bit of shaking, the armored car started smoothly, occasionally bumping but not significantly. Anzhe stared into the darkness, feeling adrift in a black tide, carrying him towards the Northern Base, about which he knew nothing. A sense of slight disorientation and perplexity enveloped him as he lay quietly in the dark. When the light through the small window grew stronger, the surroundings brightened a bit. The vehicle stopped, and Anzhe heard Hawson move a few steps inside, opening the door between the driving and rest areas to relieve Anthony. Anthony then took Hawson's previous spot, his breathing heavy, his movements large enough to cause the floor of the resting area to shake. Following a brief exchange where Anthony mentioned being "tired," Vance took his turn to relieve Hawson. Instinctively, Anzhe curled up, knowing now Hawson would sleep in the neighboring space, which unsettled him. Yet no sound of a lying down person came from next door. Anzhe widened his eyes in anticipation. The next moment, the rustling footsteps approached, and someone threw themselves onto him. "Darling…" Hawson's voice was lowered, hoarse. He wedged his legs between Anzhe's, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Anzhe reflexively struggled but was forcefully pinned down, "Vance ain't here... I know what you do; I've been with more mercenary groups than he's seen." fter struggling briefly, Anzhe breathed heavily, "Please, don't." "Don't what?" Hawson chuckled, his smile sinister in the dim light. Anzhe remained silent as Hawson loosened his grip to undo his belt. With only one hand, he solidly restrained Anzhe, which seemed to delight him immensely. His taunting tone grew rough, "What can you do with such little strength? Can't drive, can't use heavy weapons, only wait to die if you meet a monster. Why did your team bring you out? Just to watch?" While speaking, he grasped Anzhe's neck, leaning close, the stench of cigarettes overwhelming. "I've seen plenty like you... but never one so pretty. Which mercenary group did you follow?" Anzhe gasped for air under Hawson's weight, his wet tongue trailing over his skin. Turning his head away, choked by the smell of smoke, his hand groped in the dimness, finally grasping the dagger Vance had given him. Then, from the space next to Anthony, a sudden loud noise, as if something had been knocked over. "Hold on, Blackie," Hawson laughed loudly, "You're next." But his words seemed to have no effect as footsteps approached. Cursing lowly, Hawson dragged Anzhe up, pressing him against the vehicle's wall, harshly tugging at his shirt collar. Anzhe ceased his resistance, clutching the dagger tightly, quietly watching the dim corridor. White mycelium silently spread beside him on the floor, as if brewing something. But in the next second, all his movements froze. A creature with a human torso but bearing three pairs of slender limbs emerged from the hall, dragging curled-up flaps of soft wings, its two blood-red compound eyes shone eerily from atop its head.