Stop Pretending

It was strange—she hadn't felt this kind of intense discomfort when facing these bugs before. Song Weishi puffed out her cheeks, swallowing a few times to force the queasy sensation back down.

This had never happened to her before. She glanced down at her fully healed arm, wondering if using her ability too much had triggered some kind of adverse reaction. Apart from the sudden nausea, though, there wasn't much else to worry about.

The vehicle arrived at the storage factory in District Two, situated on relatively flat, open ground with no signs of habitation nearby—much like the Research Institute in District One.

The security here wasn't as good as the institute's, though. The main gate had been breached, and insects swarmed in and out like bees, treating the place as their hive. Headlights swept across the entrance, startling a cloud of bugs that flew up in a chaotic dance before settling back down.

"We're here. Let's go."

Chu Miaoxuan had already put on her full protective suit, leaving only her eyes visible. All their audio and visual feeds were provided by the heads-up display in their helmets.

The vehicle dropped them off and waited outside for their return.

They weren't ordered to save anyone at all costs, so their own safety came first; they'd rescue people only if they could. The equipment was thorough this time. Song Weishi switched on her light and stepped forward—every footfall crushed insects underfoot, a testament to their sheer numbers.

She still wasn't comfortable with a gun, so she had replaced it with a large blade, which was more convenient for cutting and slashing.

The main door showed signs of violent forced entry—the lock had been torn off and left on the ground, with deep slash marks gouged into the panels. They reminded her of the marks left by the thorn flower mantis from before. Song Weishi had vivid memories of that encounter; she didn't want to imagine what such a blow would do to a human body.

She followed behind Chu Miaoxuan, the second to enter the storage factory.

Inside, the place was crawling with insects locked in combat with each other. The entire area was dotted with red hotspots on her display—these must be the bugs.

The temperature inside was even hotter than outside. The power was out, but at least their headlamps provided enough light for them not to worry about visibility.

These small insects posed no real threat to them; they just had to be careful to avoid any mantises.

Song Weishi and the others made their way deeper inside. The elevator was out of commission, so they had to take the emergency stairs at the side.

When they pushed open the stairwell door, there were fewer bugs than outside, but looking up, they saw a dense cluster of glowing dots on the stairs, resembling a dim strip of light.

Song Weishi stared for a moment, and goosebumps broke out across her skin. The only glowing insects she could think of were fireflies.

But why would they be gathered here?

These glowing bugs were not as benign as they seemed. They had needle-like mouthparts that injected anesthetic into snails or shellfish, immobilizing them, and then injected digestive enzymes that liquefied their prey's body, turning it into a tasty meal.

In short, they were carnivorous insects. Under normal circumstances, their presence wouldn't be alarming, but in these times, it was hard not to be suspicious.

The others slowed their pace, following Chu Miaoxuan's lead. As they ascended, the only sound was the rustling of insect wings, and the glowing strip of light suddenly took flight.

Song Weishi stepped on the stairs, hearing only the muffled thud of her boots. Halfway up, she felt a sticky sensation underfoot.

She looked down and found a gooey liquid coating the floor—dark red, obscuring the color of the concrete. A large number of glowing bugs were clustered over it, feeding.

The air reeked of blood. It was obvious what that liquid was.

Before anyone could comment, they spotted half a corpse at the stairway's bend on the second floor, badly decomposed.

The soft flesh of the abdomen had been ripped open into a gaping hole, the skin around the waist dissolved away, and the organs inside were hollowed out, leaving only the red ribcage. The head was similarly eroded beyond recognition, barely distinguishable as an adult male. It had been a gruesome death.

The most numerous bugs on the corpse were the glowing ones, their light deeper and more intense than those clinging to the walls. It seemed they had gorged on blood and were about to undergo a mutation.

Song Weishi recalled the green lacewings that had fed on corpses before—human or animal blood and flesh must be essential nutrients for their evolution.

So far, none of the glowing bugs had attacked them. The corpse was fresh, and the insects were too absorbed in feeding to pay them any mind.

"Oh my god, this..."

"Let's move. We need to find the survivors. They're on the third floor; no time to gawk."

It was unknown how many people were still alive. When they entered, there were no large monsters visible on the display, though the readings indicated they weren't far off.

They still hadn't seen any. Following Chu Miaoxuan's orders, they filed up the stairs and climbed to the third floor in one go. The restless buzzing from below faded as Chu Miaoxuan shut the fire door behind them, and the group pressed against the wall, advancing carefully through the darkness.

In the pitch-black hall, the only light came from the headlamps on their helmets.

It was absolute chaos. The doors to various storage rooms were wide open, and insects covered everything—file cabinets, tool racks, wherever they could land.

A long, still-fresh trail of blood stretched across the floor. It looked like a fierce struggle had taken place here recently. Song Weishi swept her lamp along the blood trail, which led to the door of a room.

That door was intact, unmarked. A body lay in the doorway, covered in bugs.

Blood still oozed from his wounds—he'd died very recently, even fresher than the previous one. The insects were packed so tightly on him there wasn't a gap to be seen, only the wet, slurping sounds were audible. The blood trail traced back to this point.

His hand was still clawing at the door, his body slumped in a sitting position. He'd clearly been trying to get inside but had died on the threshold.

More than likely, the remaining survivors were in that room.

The group approached the door, scanning the area. When they saw nothing nearby, they were about to knock when they heard raised voices from inside:

"Is your life worth more than anyone else's? Why should you survive by sacrificing others?"

A sneer cut through, muffled and indistinct: "Stop acting like a saint. The two people before—weren't they you who pushed them out? Now you're playing the righteous one? When you killed others, you should've thought you'd end up in the same boat."

"Enough talk! Just push him out. Where the hell are the rescuers? I'm roasting to death here."

"Stop complaining and give us a hand!"

The door swung open abruptly. A man let out a scream as several hands shoved him violently through the doorway.