The creature's skin was black—matching Anthony's complexion. However, at this moment, his human face had twisted and deformed. What were once eyes now bore dense, brown scales, and his nose extended downwards into a massive cleft, with a protruding mouth from which a long, curled, black tube extended.
He halted, his wings' edges scraping against the vehicle's walls, producing a sharp noise.
"What are you doing, Anthony?" Hawson's voice, filled with dissatisfaction, rose. "I don't like being watched."
Then, bending over Anzhe once more, a heaviness pressed down on him, feeling teeth bite into his shoulder and neck. The sharp pain of skin being gnawed emerged simultaneously. However, he was too occupied to care, bracing himself, staring down what Anthony had mutated into.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
The wings behind Anthony vibrated slightly, his mouthparts rolling in the air.
"Scared?" Hawson, lying atop him, seemingly noticed Anzhe's stiffness, his words muffled, "What are you pretending for?" And then he tightened his hold around Anzhe's waist, biting down hard on his skin.
At that moment—
A buzzing sound of fluttering wings echoed, Anthony's six slender limbs pressed against the ground, his body leaning forward, gathering strength, charging towards them like a lengthy spider!
The whistling sound in the cramped space caused Anzhe's pupils to dilate, his body instantly transforming, shifting into his soft, agile mushroom form. Mycelium spread throughout the cabin, almost filling the entire space, briefly obstructing everyone's sight.
Subsequently, Anzhe suddenly felt the human body atop him stiffen briefly, coughing violently, then flailing about in panic and confusion: "What the—"
Looking down, Anzhe saw Hawson's bite had severed countless soft mycelia, getting lodged in his airways and esophagus, causing a look of horror and pain as he coughed.
Simultaneously, numerous mycelia were chopped by Anthony's limbs. Though easily severed, they bought less than five or six seconds of escape time.
Estimating the distance between himself and Anthony, Anzhe rapidly wrapped his clothing around himself with the mycelium, slipping through the chaotic gaps around Hawson's body, regaining his freedom.
His white mycelium surged like tides towards the door, transforming back into human form at the doorway, and pressed the door switch.
With a dull thud, the door flew open. Anzhe retracted all his mycelia in an instant, stretching out a hand to drag Hawson by the collar, rolling out together and landing solidly on the sandy ground.
—This place was at least safer than the cramped space inside the vehicle.
However, it was only for a moment before Anthony too appeared at the door, a piercing buzzing sound soaring as he first flew up to about four or five meters, then swiftly dove down towards them—
Anzhe, upon Anthony's ascent, quickly scrambled up and darted backwards.
Yet, he saw Hawson lying on the sand, eyes dulled, as Anthony's sharp limbs piercing through his chest in an instant.
—Anzhe had seen too many hunting and escaping tactics in The Abyss; he knew how to flee and thought Hawson would too. However, only when blood sprayed did Hawson seem to snap back to reality, screaming, grabbing Anthony's front limbs, and frantically kicking at Anthony's now black cocoon-like body, attempting to retreat.
The ground thundered. Anzhe turned back just in time to see the armored vehicle, which had driven a fair distance, abruptly turning and heading back their way—Vance had realized something was wrong.
Gasping for air, Anzhe sprinted towards the vehicle.
Through the window, Vance's anxious face was visible. Before reaching the vehicle, the door sprang open, and Anzhe, brushing past, was pulled up from the ground by a pair of strong arms. He cooperated with Vance, diving into the cockpit, and was swiftly tossed to the other side as Vance tightly shut the door.
Anzhe said, "They…"
"No saving them!" Vance hit the steering wheel again, the vehicle turned back in the original direction, the throttle floored, speeding northwards.
Leaning against the copilot's seat, Anzhe caught his breath, glanced in the rearview mirror only to see the mutated Anthony and a severely injured, dying Hawson wrestling on the ground. Anthony raised a limb, then brutally plunged it down, pinning Hawson to the ground. Then, looking towards them. About five seconds later, likely giving up the chase, Anthony lowered its head, its slender mouthpart stabbing into Hawson's skull, whose body twitched violently before going limp.
The vehicle sped away, and soon, their silhouettes vanished amongst the desolate desert and shrubbery, out of view.
"Anthony mutated?" Vance turned to look at Anzhe, his eyes slightly reddened.
Anzhe lowered his head, "I'm sorry."
He was alive while Vance had lost two teammates.
"Sorry for what?" Vance forced a smile, "It's common for people to die in our line of work, I'm used to it. Next time, it might be me."
But Anzhe truly felt guilty. Anthony had been infected—if he had mentioned the few droplets resembling human blood on the ant shell to Vance, they might have discovered Anthony's infection sooner.
He shared his thoughts with Vance, who fell silent for a moment, speaking softly, "Anthony didn't turn into an ant; perhaps he was infected earlier. We encountered a group of mutated mosquitoes before meeting you."
Anzhe: "And then... was he cut by the shell?"
Vance looked out the window, after a lengthy silence, he finally spoke, "The pollution level on Plain No. 2 is minor, two stars. Minor cuts don't necessarily result in infection. But, mentioning it means being left behind by the team. Many injured people won't speak up."
His voice softened, "…Because they want to go home."
Anzhe: "What about Hawson?"
If they had discovered Anthony's infection sooner, perhaps Hawson wouldn't have died.
"Don't worry about it. Hawson's death was deserved," Vance lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag, "He had done plenty of wrongs, responsible for at least five deaths. If we weren't short-handed, Anthony and I wouldn't have worked with him. What was he doing at the time? Harassing you?"
Anzhe stayed silent, Vance turned to look at him.
In the twilight, the boy's silhouette appeared tranquil and clear, like a crystal-clear droplet of water. His presence in the perilous wilderness might hide untold hardships, but Vance didn't ask.
Likewise, Anzhe didn't know what to say to Vance, recalling the moment before Hawson's death. Initially, Hawson seemed to briefly lose consciousness, snapping back only when stabbed.
What had Hawson done before that?
He bit into the mycelium.
Anzhe frowned, unsure if as a mushroom, he was toxic.
Now, he suspected he might be a poisonous mushroom.
Continuing onward, the vegetation grew scarcer until the vast desert devoid of life stretched before them, the armored car driving alone.
When the auroras appeared in the sky again at night, Vance decided to stop and rest. He snuffed out his cigarette on the steering wheel, opened the door between the driving and resting areas, jumping down, his voice echoing in the dark space, "Let's sleep, it's only a day and a half till the base."
Anzhe approached the door, the driving position high for a wide view, and the resting area positioned lower to save space for storage, a height difference of over a meter. He needed to jump down.
He hesitated briefly, just three seconds, before Vance, sensing his hesitation, said, "Sit there."
Anzhe complied, sitting on the edge with legs dangling. Then Vance, supporting his upper body, assisted him down.
Anzhe landed steadily, whispering, "Thank you."
"No problem." Vance smiled slowly, his voice exuding a gentle warmth, "My brother was afraid of heights, did the same thing. He's about your age."
Anzhe, navigating the complexities of human interaction, ventured, "Does he also come out to the wilderness with you?"
"Yeah." Vance said, "Always did before."
"Not this time?"
"Died." Vance shared, "Two months ago, killed by a judge at the base gate."
Judge, Anzhe heard this term for the third time.
First from Anzhe, discouraging him from heading to the human base, stating, "you can't escape the judge's eyes."
Second from Anthony, unwilling to let him join the team, "we aren't judges, can't confirm he's 100 percent human."
And in the memories obtained from Anzhe, it seemed to be a frequently mentioned term.
So he repeated, "…Judge?"
"You don't know?" Vance's voice rose in surprise, "Where did you come from?"
Anzhe whispered, "I used to avoid contact with others."
"I noticed." Vance twisted a knob on the cabin wall, dim white light illuminating the cramped space. He pulled out dry food, and Anzhe also took out his supply, sitting opposite Vance.
Vance explained, "The base has a system called 'The Judges Act,' leading to an organization, belonging to the military, of high rank, called the Court of Judges. Members are Judges." Vance added, "They usually rotate duty at the base entrance. Each has a license to kill, their actions above the law."
After hearing this, Anzhe faintly remembered related knowledge from Anzhe's memories.
He queried, "…They judge whether people entering the base are humans or infectees?"
Vance: "Yeah, including those whose infections aren't apparent. The mutation process hasn't started, or their mutation level is too high, looking no different from humans. The base calls those people 'variants.'"
Anzhe's eyes widened.
If that was the case, he was a variant.
Vance, removing his coat, unscrewed his water bottle, continuing, "The base population is too dense. If a variant infiltrates and goes unnoticed, it would cause widespread infection. The Court's responsibility is to judge each person entering the city as human or variant. The process is called 'judgment.'"
"And then…?" Anzhe: "What if a variant is discovered?"
"What else?" Vance raised an eyebrow, "Executed on the spot."
Anzhe remained silent, biting into a compact biscuit. He had recently learned to eat in a human manner, finding human food somewhat coarse, scraping his mouth and throat as he swallowed. He ate slowly, his heartbeat quick.
After a pause, he asked, "Can they really identify all variants?"
Vance took a deep gulp of water, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, voice tinged with resignation, "Who knows, dead men tell no tales. No one knows if those killed were indeed variants; my brother was one of them."
Anzhe stayed silent, Vance seemed to digress, but he listened attentively.
"He... went with me to Plain No. 1, with even lower pollution levels than Plain No. 2. I watched him the whole time. I can assure you he wasn't injured." Vance chuckled, his voice hoarse, "Coming back to the base gate that day, the duty officer wasn't an ordinary judge but their leader, everyone calls him 'The Judge.' While other judges provide reasons for killing, he doesn't. He needs no justification to kill anyone, not even high-ranking officials at the base. He killed that day just like that, merely glancing at my brother before firing."
"I didn't believe it, but had no choice. Such incidents are common. He has killed many, too many hate him at the base, I'm no exception. Maybe one day, I'll be next."
Finishing, Vance gazed at his right hand, then tossed aside his water bottle, lying down with his arm as a pillow. Yet, his eyes still fixed on the cabin ceiling, he eventually circled back to Anzhe's initial question, "They'd rather err on the side of caution, executing to prevent any real variants from being overlooked. Only one variant attack incident occurred throughout this year."
Feeling uneasy, Anzhe closed his eyes to hide it, rubbing them with his left hand.
"Go to sleep, kid."
Anzhe laid down next to him, regardless of tomorrow, tonight was safe with no monsters, no Hawson, just Vance, who had been kind to him.
Clutching the cartridge case before sleeping, he stared towards the door at the passage's end.
What if—what if he quietly opened the door now, stepped out, and returned to the wilds teeming with monsters, he could still live, avoiding judgment, not facing immediate execution. He didn't know how long he could survive, but certainly longer than tomorrow.
But is a spore more important than life?
—Yes.
For creatures in The Abyss, death is trivial. And in the short day outside The Abyss, witnessing Anthony's mutation and Hawson's demise, human life wasn't precious either.
Anzhe closed his eyes, knowing he must go to the Northern Base.
Come morning, they continued towards the base. Due to Vance's sole driving, their rest became irregular. Starting from that afternoon until the auroras began to dim, Vance declared, "We're almost there."
Anzhe looked ahead, a circular city gradually emerging from the morning's grey fog on the horizon.
City, he knew the term. Humans congregated in cities, just as mushrooms did during the rainy season.
The armored car drove on, the morning fog dispersing, revealing more details beyond. The circular city, encased in grey steel, towered as high as the tallest mushrooms—twenty people stacked, one on another's shoulders, might still fall short of scaling the wall. The wall bristled with steel spikes and fangs, cold and sharp as winter rock and soil.
Surveillance devices and laser apparatus dotted the wall's edge, intruders instantly spotted. The doors, the only route in and out, one for entry, the other for exit. They approached the one-way entrance.
Next, Anzhe saw various teams similar to Vance's returning from all directions. Some lightly equipped, others in heavy gear with weapons, four or five to a team. Driving similar armored vehicles, they parked in designated areas, then entered the city doors separately, vehicles and people undergoing independent checks.
Vance disembarked first, with Anzhe gripping his arm to jump down. He sensed Vance's tension, perhaps the city gate reviving unpleasant memories of his brother.
Together, they headed towards the gate, a long queue ahead, its start in disarray, though the situation was unclear, with people entering sequentially.
Anzhe followed Vance to the queue, surveying the surroundings.
Soldiers in black uniforms stood by the gate, each holstering two guns, a hot weapon and a laser gun, supported by massive munitions directly facing the gate. One could imagine any invading monsters being obliterated.
After scanning the area, a black figure caught his sight—under the city wall in an open area, he also wore a black uniform, seemingly a lax, undisciplined soldier, not standing guard like his colleagues but leaning against the wall, slowly wiping a black gun.
But his uniform, black with silver fringes, seemed more refined than the others', perhaps due to his slender, well-proportioned figure.
Vance glanced in that direction, his pace quickening for unknown reasons, pulling Anzhe forward. Just as they were about to join the queue—
Anzhe saw the distant figure slowly lift his head.
Beneath the black uniform's cap brim, a pair of cold green eyes became visible.
At that moment, Anzhe abruptly halted, feeling a chill rise around him as if encased in ice.
Vance turned back, "What's wrong—"
His voice cut off abruptly.
A gunshot rang out.
Vance's tall frame wobbled, then thudded to the ground with eyes wide open, gasping as blood seeped from his temple. After a few convulsions, his body lay still, motionless.
But Anzhe couldn't even reach for a sliver of his clothing, nor did he have the luxury to ponder what had transpired in those moments. He could only look up at the black-uniformed officer, for now, the officer was slowly turning the dark gun barrel—aiming at him.