The jungle was a steamy, tangled mess—vines choking trees, mud slurping at roots, bugs humming through the dark.
Down in the muck, two tiny specks of Leon—B-741—stuck to a slimy scrap of bug shell, some dead critter's leftovers.
"Jesus Christ," he thought, the words bouncing in his skull like a bad echo. "I'm me, but twice? This is some screwed-up sci-fi crap." His awareness pinged between the two specks, no separation, just one pissed-off Leon smeared across both. He'd picked Eat Faster from that Evolution Interface thing, and now he could feel it—a little zip in how quick he broke down the bug shell. Not that he tasted it. No tongue, no teeth, just a vague sense of tearing into it.
[Entity B-741, dual instances. Nutrient absorption rate increased by 20%.
Next split projected: 48 hours, assuming stable conditions.]
"Forty-eight hours?" He latched onto it, desperate for something solid. "So I sit here, chowing on this junk, and then there's four of me? That's the big plan?"
[Affirmative. Division is primary function. Population growth enhances survival odds.]
"Survival odds," he snorted, the thought dripping with sarcasm. "Awesome. I'm a freakin' germ farm. What's next, I get a crown made of dirt?" He tried picturing it—thousands of him, some microscopic kingpin—but it just felt sad. "I used to walk streets, man. Had a jacket, boots. Now I'm a math problem."
"Alright," he muttered, trying to steady himself. "Two of me. Eating faster. Next split in two days. I can figure this out." He clung to the thought like a lifeline.
[Population increase unlocks further evolutionary options. Current directive: sustain division.]
"More options?" He perked up, grabbing at the crumb. "Like what? Can I ditch being a germ? Get legs or something? Teeth?"
[Options determined by environmental factors and system protocols. Data unavailable until next split.]
"Figures," he growled. "Toss me a bone and then yank it away. Whatever, I'll eat your damn bug guts and see what's up." He dug in, both specks of him tearing into the shell like it was personal. The jungle didn't care—up above, a centipede scuttled through the slime, legs brushing close but missing him. He didn't notice. Just kept at it, him and himself, grinding away.
Time dragged. No light, no clock—just the jungle's endless drone and his slow, stubborn existence. He couldn't sleep, couldn't zone out; his mind stayed sharp, glued to the twin specks. Hours passed, maybe a day—he couldn't tell—until the system piped up again.
[Nutrient intake at 60%. Split projection updated: 36 hours.]
"Shaving time off," he thought, a grim little smirk in his head. "Speed boost's doing its thing." He pushed harder, both of him, ripping into the shell like it owed him money. Something skittered overhead—maybe a beetle, maybe a worm—but he didn't give a crap. All he had was the shell and the countdown.
Then the ground twitched. Not big, just a shiver through the soil he couldn't feel but somehow knew. The system chimed in.
[Environmental disturbance detected. Organic matter displaced. New nutrient source incoming.]
"New nutrient source?" He snapped to it, half-excited, half-worried. "What's that mean? Something land on me?"
[Decomposing fragment, origin: fungal spore cluster. Proximity: 0.02 millimeters.]
"Fungal spore cluster?" He tried picturing it—some nasty mold ball, maybe, fallen off a root.
[Nutrient density higher than current source. Recommendation: relocate.]
"Relocate?" He stopped cold. "Hold up—how? I'm a germ, man! I don't got legs! You said I barely move!"
[Microbial drift viable. Environmental currents present. Detach and reposition.]
"Detach?" His mind spun, panic mixing with a dumb kind of hope. "You mean peel off this shell and float? What if I screw it up? What if I end up lost in the dirt?"
[Risk minimal. Nutrient gain outweighs stability loss. Directive: adapt.]
"Adapt," he spat, the word sour as hell. "Always friggin' adapt. Alright, fine—let's roll the dice." He focused, both of him, trying to let go. It wasn't like flexing a muscle—just a mental nudge, a loosening. The twin specks eased off the shell, and for a second, nothing. Then a tiny current—water seeping through, maybe—snagged them.
He drifted. No eyes, no weight, just two specks tumbling blind through the muck. It lasted maybe a heartbeat before he hit something soft and wet—squishy, like stepping in a puddle. The system buzzed.
[Relocation successful. New host: fungal spore cluster. Nutrient intake resumed.]
"Made it," he thought, relief crashing in. "Alright, mushroom gunk—let's see what you've got." He dug in, both of him, the Eat Faster perk humming as he tore into the spores. It was richer, denser—he could tell, even without tasting it. "This beats bug shell. Maybe I'm moving up in the world."
[Nutrient intake at 75%. Split projection updated: 24 hours.]