The Ghost Ship of C-08 (5)

The moment I stepped into the fitness hall, a laser beam came screaming at me.

A laser couldn't hurt me. As I strode forward leisurely, absorbing beam after beam, the pirate showered me with curses.

"Y-you son of a bitch! Why the hell won't it work?!"

Unfortunately for him, the foul-mouthed fool wasn't a cyborg. Not a single part of him had been machine-modified — he was just an ordinary human from Mega Corp stock.

He tossed aside the useless laser rifle and instead drew a stubby little rod from his belt. The instant he thumbed the switch, a blade sprang from the rod and unfolded into a sword.

At the sight of it, I stopped walking.

A Sonic Blade.

The Sonic Blade was a weapon built around ultra-vibration technology. Compact, easy to carry, and boasting exceptional cutting power, it was a favorite among Mega Corp officers.

Seeing me freeze, the man apparently took it for intimidation and bellowed with swagger.

"You fucking bastard! Do you have any idea who I am, huh? I'm the vice captain of the Dvara Cartel!"

The fear he'd shown moments ago was nowhere to be found. Call it fitting for a pirate — his rashness showed in every movement he made.

True, a Sonic Blade could slice through my outer hide, but only if he actually managed to land a hit. If he couldn't touch me, the blade was worthless.

Had he been a master of the sword, things might have been different. Sadly, he was not. My auxiliary organs told me everything: an ordinary man in his thirties, just beginning to suffer the ailments of middle age. His veins coursed with nothing but blood and fat harvested from his looted victims.

I lunged at the vice captain. He flinched in panic and jabbed the Sonic Blade at my belly. The clumsy motion betrayed how little practice he had with it.

The Sonic Blade is fragile — poorly suited to thrusting.

I had no intention of humoring his idiotic attack. I dodged with ease and drove my foot into his abdomen. He went flying backward, blood spraying from his mouth.

"Gahk! F-fuck!"

His innards should have ruptured, yet the man refused to release his weapon. He glared up at me with venomous eyes.

Unexpected.

I'd taken him for a bluffer, but he was surprisingly tenacious. Regardless of species, most creatures begged for their lives the moment they took a fatal wound. This was the first prey with this kind of grit since Arnold.

Perhaps I'll end it painlessly.

I whipped my tail and struck the back of the vice captain's hand.

He shrieked and lost his grip on the Sonic Blade. My tail didn't stop there — it curved upward and punched straight through his eye. The barbed tip of my tail pulverized his brain, leaving him a body that would never feel pain again.

One of the five was dead. Four pirates remained. The rest were hiding like cowards, keeping out of sight — probably holed up in the changing room.

I leisurely set about tearing into the human corpse.

The moment I stuffed the leftover ankle into my mouth, a semi-transparent text box materialized before me.

Humanity?

I was thrown off by a trait I had never once seen before.

Humanity? What kind of trait is that supposed to be?

Going by the name alone, it was far too broad. Was it referring to human emotion? A concept encompassing reason and intellect as a whole? Or some unique quality possessed only by humankind? There was no way to tell.

Should I take it?

Space Survival boasted thousands upon thousands of traits, but not all of them worked in the holder's favor.

Take the Berserk trait of the Hulk Mutant, for instance: it doubled physical capabilities, but robbed the player of all control. Traits like that came with drawbacks for every advantage — and some were worse than useless, their flaws outweighing their strengths entirely.

In my experience, vaguely named traits were almost always landmines.

It's not like I can afford to pass up a trait, though…

To deduce the trait's nature, I recalled the pirate I had just killed. He had clearly possessed something the other prey lacked.

A spirit that refuses to give up.

Was Humanity about the unyielding will to rise again after being knocked down?

No. I shook my head. It was too early to jump to conclusions.

The world of Space Survival had little patience for odes to human potential. It was closer to a dystopia, crawling with every manner of vicious existence. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A worldview where the Star Union forcibly converted people into machines and Mega Corp casually rewrote genes to manufacture monsters led human civilization. A world like that would never feature a trait waxing poetic about mankind's promise.

What should I do?

I decided to narrow my thinking. Rather than wrestling with the philosophical question of what humanity even was, I would approach this simply. If the Predation Effect had triggered, the trait had to affect me directly.

First, the advantages of taking it.

My best guess was that Humanity was a trait affecting the mind.

If it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind-related, it would count toward the Psionic Enhancement Type. Most psionic traits had something to do with mentality, telekinesis, and the like.

Psionic-related traits were hard to secure early on. Having one beat not having one, plain and simple.

On the other hand, the downside is…

It was a trait I'd never seen before, so I had no idea what effects it carried. If it amplified human emotions — ethics, empathy, that sort of thing — it would be a pure negative for me.

I was an Amorph, a creature that could only evolve by devouring other living beings and sentient minds. If I suddenly became unable to eat human flesh, it would be a catastrophe. It wouldn't just choke off my growth — it would become a direct threat to my survival.

The risk is too high. I'll decline.

The instant I moved to cancel the trait acquisition, a jolt ran through the tip of my jaw.

My auxiliary organs were warning me. Telling me to reconsider my choice.

Predator Sense?

Since this had never happened before, I suspected the Predator Sense had activated. But no matter how long I waited, no precognitive flash came.

Which meant this warning came entirely from my auxiliary organs — or from an instinct buried deep within the Amorph itself. An ironic situation: the human in me was saying it was unnecessary, while the Amorph insisted that Humanity mattered.

Still, I couldn't ignore the auxiliary organs' warning. In the game, I had indeed been the expert, but in this reality I was still a novice. If the Amorph's body hadn't been backing me up, survival would have been impossible.

Is it really that important?

I asked the question silently, but the auxiliary organs gave no answer. The tentacles beneath my jaw stayed silent, showing no reaction at all.

To take, or not to take.

I would have preferred to defer the decision, but sadly that wasn't an option. If ten minutes passed without acceptance, the choice was voided and the trait vanished forever. Reality might have changed that rule, but I had no desire to test it.

…I'll take it.

After all the deliberation, I decided to acquire the Humanity trait.

Part of it was filling out my Psionic count, but the auxiliary organs had specifically recommended this trait, and I found that hard to dismiss. That little tentacle of theirs had never once pushed me toward a dangerous choice. I chose to trust it again.

The moment I accepted, the semi-transparent window flared with light and dissolved.

And in my body…

Nothing's wrong?

No strange growth sprouting from my skull, no overwhelming wave of guilt threatening to drive me mad. My body, my mind — everything was exactly as it had always been.

I reactivated the text window.

Just as predicted, Humanity had been classified as a mind-related trait.

My psionic-related traits now numbered three: Predator Sense, Psionic Organ, and Humanity. Only three more to go before I could claim the Type.

I pulled up the details of the Humanity trait.

…Vague.

Even after reading the description, I couldn't make heads or tails of what it actually did. Deciding that further agonizing would be pointless, I dismissed the window.

I'll count this as progress toward the Type and leave it at that.

I gathered myself and looked ahead. Number 26 was waiting for me, her color shifting oddly — a sure sign she was upset.

"Big Baby, are you okay?"

[Zzz (What's wrong?)]

"You were standing still. It's weird."

She must have been worried, watching me stand rooted in place, staring into nothing.

I stroked her gently, telling her there was nothing to fear. Seemingly reassured that I was fine again, she returned to her usual pink.

Who's worried about whom here, exactly?

I retrieved the Sonic Blade the pirate had been carrying, then lifted Number 26 onto my shoulder.

Everywhere in the fitness hall, the lingering stench of terror trailed behind the pirates who had fled.

Needless to say, I had absolutely no intention of letting them slip away.

The pirate hid inside a locker in the changing room, trembling uncontrollably.

At first there had been a few bursts of laser fire, and then silence. He'd assumed the vice captain had finished the thing off, and relaxed. He'd been wrong. The vice captain had failed — and it was still alive.

Not long ago, he'd heard the screams of the other crewmates hiding in the shower room. Their cries, their sobbing pleas for mercy, hadn't lasted long.

The pirate swallowed hard and clutched his laser rifle. He couldn't understand why he had to suffer like this.

Sure, he was a pirate, but he had never done anything more wicked or depraved than anyone else. Scalping the rich, raping and killing women — every pirate did the same. He had simply lived like a pirate.

O Great Leader Jubaka, please look down upon me in mercy…

He hadn't spoken the Star Union's Great Leader's name since becoming a pirate. He was a pirate of the Dvara Cartel now, no longer a cyborg of the Star Union. Yet with death closing in, he found himself acting on the lessons of his youth without even realizing it.

Then came the sound of a door opening. Heavy footsteps — something enormous being carried — shattered the changing room's stillness.

The door closed, and a foul quiet settled over the room. Cold sweat soaked his back as an invisible dread seeped into his chest.

It was in here with him. Was it waiting for him to bolt from the locker?

It was clearly a living creature, yet it made not a single sound of breath. That inhuman silence deepened the cyborg's fear all the more.

When the pirate failed to emerge even after all that waiting, the thing began to move. Thud. Thud. A few heavy footfalls, and then it started opening the lockers one by one.

Creeeak. SLAM.

Creeeak. SLAM.

Creeeak. SLAM.

Creeeak. SLAM.

The pirate felt his heart would burst. The sounds were drawing closer. And at last, the thing reached the locker right beside his hiding spot.

Through the wire mesh of the locker door, he glimpsed its shape.

A hide of brown so dark it was nearly black, its teeth stained with the blood of his crewmates — a beast stood before him. A thick reek of gore rolled off its body.

The thing lingered there a moment, pacing, then moved away.

Only when that sickening smell of blood receded did the cyborg pirate let out a breath ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of relief.

He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thought to himself: once this raid was over, he would sneak away and run. Boss Elchen would never let it slide, but the universe was vast. If he fled into Star Union territory, even the Dvara Cartel couldn't touch him.

He was still imagining it when a thunderous crack split the air, and a searing pain erupted from his abdomen.

He looked down to see a long spear punched clean through the locker door and skewered through his gut. The spear — no, its tail — wrenched free of his stomach and slid back out.

Four hands seized the door and tore it away. The last thing his memory recorded was the sight of that maw splitting wide open.

Where do you think you're hiding?

The cyborg who had dared to deceive my senses died dismembered by my combat arms. With his flesh consumed, my evolution requirements were nearly complete.

Just one more to devour.

Only one of the twelve cyborgs who had boarded this ship remained. When I'd checked from the nest, he had been in the Bridge Situation Room.

Of course it had to be the situation room.

There was someone in there I'd rather not tangle with just yet — the gene-modified human, presumably from House Eugene.

In that case, I'll finish off the boss first.

Just as Number 26 and I were leaving the fitness hall, my auxiliary organs fired an urgent danger signal. I kicked off the ground and launched myself toward the ceiling.

Almost simultaneously, a colossal fist smashed into the spot where I'd been standing. The alloy plating caved in as though struck by plasma energy.

"So THIS is where you were, you little shit!"

The identity of the opponent who had just displayed monstrous strength was the pirates' boss — the Hulk Mutant.

I'd known he would be big, but seeing him in the flesh, his sheer presence was overwhelming.

Over three meters tall, a hulking frame that seemed to be pure muscle with not an ounce of fat, wild beast genes threaded through his body — even a crimson mane around his neck. He looked as terrifying as one of the four guardian kings standing watch over a temple.

"You fucking mutt. You killed my men?"

Behind the boss, who growled like a beast, stood his remaining underling — and the Medical Team Leader. I'd known the man had survived; I just hadn't expected him to side with the pirates.

Well, this is convenient.

I'd been planning to eat the boss first anyway — I hadn't expected him to come to me.

A Hulk Mutant carried plenty of useful genes. Topping up my genetic essences before hunting more troublesome prey wasn't a bad idea at all.

I dropped from the ceiling and landed on the floor.

[Zzzzzz (Hide and stay quiet)]

"Scary! Dangerous!"

[Zzzzz Zzzzzzz (Don't worry.)]

"Big Baby, be careful!"

After soothing the anxious Number 26, I sent her far away. She used her Camouflage to melt into the wall and held perfectly still. Even so, worry still radiated off her in uneasy waves.

Watching her huddle there fretting over me nearly made me laugh — though sadly, the Amorph's anatomy permitted no such thing.

Once I confirmed Number 26 was hidden, I turned to face the boss.

I stood a little over 1.5 meters tall; he was roughly twice my height. To any stranger, I must have looked hopelessly outmatched.

So you're an enhanced Hulk Mutant. Let's see what you can do.

I smacked my lips at the Hulk Mutant, a veritable treasure trove of genetic essences.