Henry Watson let out a sneer, his gaze growing even more brazen as he sized up Adam Carter.

Three seconds later, the man said to Adam Carter, “Come with me to the back.”

Adam Carter obediently followed the man around to the rear of the monster’s head. Aside from the scratches left by the branches and leaves, there really were no other wounds on his body.

The man asked, “How long have you been separated from your teammates?”

Adam Carter thought for a moment and replied, “A day.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

“There don’t seem to be many monsters here.”

“But there are plenty of bugs.” The man always spoke in short sentences, but it made him seem reliable.

Adam Carter buttoned up his shirt, looked at him, and asked quietly, “Are you all heading back to the northern base?”

The man answered, “Yeah.”

“Then…” Adam Carter said, “Can you take me with you? I have my own food and water.”

“It’s not up to me,” the man replied.

As soon as he finished speaking, the man stepped forward and looked at the other two. “No injuries. Should we take him?”

Henry Watson smiled, crossed his arms, and looked at Adam Carter, blowing a third whistle before saying, “Why not? One more won’t make a difference.”

Then he turned to the last man. “Hey, Blackie, what do you think?”

Adam Carter looked over as well, meeting the sullen gaze of the dark-skinned man.

Chapter 3

The aurora cast a faint green glow on the ground, which reflected off the man’s dark skin, creating a strange, ghostly green—like the skin of a lizard or a toad.

Finally, the man spoke. “We’re not judges. We can’t be a hundred percent sure he’s human.”

“That may be true,” Henry Watson said, arms crossed, drawing out his words, “but the pollution level on the Second Plain is only two stars.”

The dark-skinned man was silent for a while, then said, “The average mutation time on the Second Plain is four hours. If he doesn’t mutate after four hours, he’s good.”

“Alright,” Henry Watson said, “Once we finish collecting the spoils, if he hasn’t mutated, we’ll take him.”

The dark-skinned man finally nodded. The three of them exchanged glances, as if reaching an agreement.

“My name is Victor Harris.” The tall man in the middle turned to Adam Carter and introduced himself.

Adam Carter: “Hello.”

The slightly annoying Henry Watson also said, “Henry Watson.”

The last man, the one called “Blackie,” was silent for a moment before spitting out a few syllables: “Anthony Carter.”

Adam Carter greeted him as well, then added, “Thank you.”

“No need,” Victor Harris smiled and said, “We’re all human here, and we just lost a teammate—we’re short-handed.”

With that, he walked over to the monster’s head and directed the others, “Finish collecting from the corpse, then we move out. Hurry up.”

As he spoke, Victor Harris took a pair of gloves and a long dagger from his backpack and tossed them to Adam Carter. “Go take off the legs.”

Adam Carter caught them, obediently agreed, and walked a dozen steps forward, stopping by the monster’s half-body. He put on the gloves and began to examine its body.

The arthropod was huge. Its shell was smooth in most places, but some areas were covered in long, sharp bristles or bulging lumps. He looked down at the monster’s legs—there were six in total, thin and long, each divided into three segments, densely covered in shiny black fuzz.

Victor Harris and Anthony Carter were on the other side, working on the monster’s head, removing the shell so the brain matter and other fluids could flow out, then scraping the inside clean. Henry Watson kept watch on the perimeter.

So Adam Carter drew the dagger and focused on prying at the monster’s joints. After about five minutes, he severed one joint, and a leg separated from the monster’s thorax and abdomen, falling to the ground. At the break, a white, viscous, brain-like fluid slowly seeped into the yellow sand.

He heard Henry Watson’s teasing voice: “Hey, little darling, don’t puke from disgust.”

Adam Carter didn’t react, quietly moving on to the next joint.

He didn’t feel much about this monster; in fact, he thought it was much cleaner than the animals living in the “Abyss.”

But Henry Watson didn’t seem ready to let him go. Footsteps sounded behind him as Henry Watson walked over, placing his right hand on Adam Carter’s shoulder, his fingers sliding around the area. “Baby, how old are you this year?”

From his tone, Adam Carter could sense a kind of greed—the kind animals have when facing food. But as far as he knew, humans didn’t eat their own kind.

So he calmly replied, “Nineteen.”

Aaron Carter was nineteen this year. He had consumed Aaron Carter’s genes, so he supposed he was also nineteen.

“But you look only seventeen.” Henry Watson’s muffled laughter rumbled in his chest, his voice sharp and hoarse.

Adam Carter frowned slightly, unsure how to respond.

“Henry Watson.” At that moment, Victor Harris’s voice came from not far away. “Focus on keeping watch.”

Henry Watson snorted, squeezed his shoulder again, then strolled away.

Adam Carter once again realized that every individual among humans might have different traits. For example, Aaron Carter was different from those who took his spores, and Victor Harris was different from Henry Watson. He was very grateful to Victor Harris.