Cosima never got to pick her poison.

Like the shrimp fried rice she poked at, powers beyond her tended to dictate the course of her life. From her family down to her vocation, she rolled with every punch. Though, now with a raw-boned body that couldn’t perform the bare minimum of carrying itself, even the most gentle breezes could crumple her past physical deformity and leave her obsolete.

Her career revolved around withstanding heat, but now she’d let the boon within her reach go cold. Free will, or simply the waking call of life—she became unsuitable for the bigger fish she habitually fried and ate.

She had to settle for so much less, having drunk from small vials before being doused in the cauldron of misfortune.

She was forced to bite off more than she could digest. Why eat more?

Tanairy didn’t help ease her dissatisfaction. She vacuumed the food as if it were going to disappear at a moment’s notice, one hand stuck in front of her face to cloak her ballooned cheeks and rampant chewing. Her fork was always in motion, scraping the plate faster than the rest of the room, followed by Theta’s crunchy chewing.

Counteractively, Sinjin was admirably modest in his manners—as always and as expected. The same applied to Theta’s wife, who joined the table, flora burgeoning out of her left eye as her husband rambled her green ear off.

Then there was Cosima: stagnant.

“Cosimama?”

She heeded the whisper next to her, coming face-to-face with her boyfriend’s focused yet perturbed expression. The message was there, but she crooked further into the hollow husk of her mind to avoid reading it. Unfortunately, he’d look away if she hid and would entertain himself with more superior sights nearby; it was always a low bar with her. His attention was infallible as long as she brought him back to reality and gave him something to care about. She’d speak.

“Not hungry,” Cosima spurted in the sea of background chatter, clattering, and creaking. She could feel it—his watchful gaze. It felt blank in some places, reminiscent of moments when he’d lose himself in his thoughts and surrender his head to the clouds that plagued the skies beyond insurmountable apartment confines. It was an alien normalcy that she reluctantly accepted. However, in this dining area where many beings sat and time slugged, she transported her mind back into the homey depression of a dark bedroom; only two variables existed there.

Sinjin and her.

“Try eating.” His low voice was calmingly solemn. “It’s tasty; it’s a disservice not to try it.”

She attempted to drown out the other voices to filter only Sinjin’s into her mind.

“I know, but—”

“You’ve barely eaten today.”

She was aware. Sinjin cared, though; that kept her fed.

“Hmm,” she quietly hummed, another fruitless attempt to dodge the truth. Sinjin gave her his sweetest eye roll and tongue click.

“If everyone’s eating, then you gotta eat. Don’t be odd—”

“Sin—”

“At least try, just don’t… stand out much, ‘kay? We both know that that’s not what you want—”

“Fine, fine—”

“Ask for seconds too—”

“What? But—”

“When you need it. You’re just holding yourself back.”

“Hmm…”

Sinjin wore annoyance on his smiling face, both having performed another bout of dry banter that felt natural nowadays, another standard of the dark room Cosima adopted.

It felt like they were alone in the silence: no air conditioning, still curtains, and snoozing electronics. However, the immersion shattered at the thunderous clap of Theta’s grizzly palms, the room in her mind collapsing as soon as Sinjin averted his gaze.

She now felt hungry.

“Al-right! I should start; no more stalling!” Theta boomed, hovering over everyone dining at the table. He flicked and straightened his lab coat flamboyantly. “I want us to get to the real meat and juice as quickly as possible, but I have a brief lecture to give you, newbies.”

“Sorry, hun. Ms. Ryd?” Theta’s wife began, her one hazel eye landing on Tanairy, who was retreating into her chair slowly after pouncing at the centre pot for another serving. “I can serve you.”

“Oh, it’s fine—”Tanairy scooped her barren plate up—”I can do it—”

“You’ve eaten so much that I think it’d be best for you to sit; I’ll help—”

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

“It’s really good—apologies, Miss.” Tanairy fidgeted with her sleeve with a reddened face.

“It’s Danae, and eat as much as you please.” Theta’s wife commented with wrinkly contentment, sweeping bristly brown hair strands from her shrubbed eye. “Now—”

“Alright, I’ll start the explanations! So—”

An overflow of leafy vines ruptured out of Danae’s eye, spiralling towards the steaming pot with the fluidity of octopus tentacles. The discomfort expressed by the other adults, except a moping Theta, was further heightened by the reeking miasma that retched from the woman’s eye in the form of tree sap, tears, and deep crimson. The cluster of vines encircled the pot and secured it, with two of the tendrils wrapping around the handle of the rice serving spoon under the pot’s lid. Then, with a crease in her forehead, Danae manoeuvred the spoon above Tanairy’s plate. The sound of rice and shrimp piling onto the plate was soft, accompanied by the wooden screech of a nearby chair, strained yelps, and the rumbling of plates.

Yet another standard, a disturbing one that still shivered spines.

“Are you all alright?” Danae queried leisurely, sitting cross-legged in her chair as the vulgar texture from her flowery eye wet her pastel vest and lap. With unceremonious care, she swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, pale skin painted by the mixture as the gushing halted at the freezing of the vines. The skin and muscles around her eye squawked and writhed before dying out. She surveyed the room.

Tanairy sprawled on the floor, her chest drumming to a vigorous rhythm as her bright, azure irises swelled like the bulging flower on Danae’s face. The blonde was breathing out of parched lips—fists braced as her reddened face dewed and deepened. Her nails drew blood.

Sinjin arched over his chair, his shivering eyes becoming more bloodshot. He gritted his teeth, pursing his lips and puffing out a breath of relief as he watched Danae slowly retract her vines and pick at tissues from a box on a shelf. He eyed Cosima, whose hooded figure bunched next to him defensively. The weak fire in her sockets quivered, sparking in eagerness.

“I’m sure you all have seen much worse, given the obvious situation of the world,” Danae said, shifting carefully to Tanairy’s side and dabbing at her uncertain palm. The blonde hissed, spit flying, urging Danae to wipe the woman’s mouth with the cleaner side of the tissue. “I do apologize for the scare, though. No intentions of harm.”

Tanairy revulsed, watching Danae pay no mind to the gunk that sputtered out of her eye.

“Y-Your eye, Miss! Don’t focus on me—”

“This is normal, just like the mutations we have all faced, some worse than others.” Danae flicked the used tissue to the side and helped Tanairy get back on her feet, coming face to face with Sinjin and Cosima, the latter curling into herself at the words. “Humans, animals, plants—you name it. Due to this weird radioactive event, all living things are capable of fusion, and just like that, we have power, hence messed-up ideals like the Harmonization Culture.”

Danae glanced at Theta behind her; the sullen man crossed his arms and wore impatience on his professional sleeve.

“Power adds to the inequality we’ve created between every species on Earth, and as humans stand at the top of… well, all things, we must acknowledge our superiority and adopt a simple philosophy that my husband and I hold—”

“Pity.” Theta snapped his fingers. “Let me do the explaining, woman—”

“You really need to learn how to segue into this stuff, oaf,” Danae scoffed with a cocky sneer.

“But you scared the effin schnitzel out of them—”

“If you’re going to do a lecture, make the transition from peaceful picnic to dark crud smoother—”

“But that’s just a whole bunch of stalling!”

“Just get better at the segues—”

“You and your segues.”

They stared daggers at one another.

Then the couple chuckled like nutcases.

The other three adults gave shaky looks at one another. Regardless of their differences, they were each on the same wavelength of disorientation. Sinjin rubbed his scalp, cocking an eyebrow at the display. They were weird; sugarcoating words weren’t his modus operandi. However, he could sense that there was an air of familiarity about them. Despite their age and business, they seemed relaxed and, by extension, knowledgeable of the components, tension, and strength of the ropes that held society in place.

Harmonization Culture.

He glimpsed at Cosima—frozen and silent—and affirmed his question and interruption, remembering who he was fighting for.

“So… what’s the philosophy?” Sinjin interjected, stopping the laughter that the couple exuded. “We’re much calmer and ready to hear you out any time now.”

Theta and Danae looked at each other knowingly, the burly man patting her shoulder as he approached the three adults.

“I’ll start with some of the dishes; make sure to explain this well—”

“Of course. I’ll explain as we walk to the room where the animals lie,” Theta declared, gesturing for the three to follow him towards the stairs. “Kills two birds with one stone and will give them a better grasp of our family philosophy.”

He took small steps up the stairs, and soon enough, the other three followed suit with only the slightest iota of hesitation. It almost felt mindless: listening to vague advertisements, accepting the mysterious hospitality of a stranger, and trailing said stranger up the now ominous stairs.

Like cattle to a shepherd, they drew to a pitchfork. Like moths to a flame, they were enamored by the light.

They scraped the tip of the iceberg; why stop there?

They began following Theta across a hallway flanked by an array of hanging apparatus and doors, and then he spoke.

“I believe this world should run on pity,” he began, stroking his shaggy beard with firm fingers. “We should come to terms with the superiority of our species and help whatever lies below us; I’m a man of nature. My wife is too.”

Silence. Footsteps.

“Branching from that, I also believe we should do every living thing a service.” Theta tapped his button snout before motioning to the saggy feline ears protruding from his head. “I harmonized with my dying bloodhound years ago and did the same with a two-legged caracal cat in South Africa.”

Faint noises. Footsteps.

“We should strive to keep things with a will to live alive, and well, those two I listed that got struck with radiation—”he strained his eyes—”had no will to live, so they had to die.”

Faint cries. Uneasy footsteps.

“That’s wrong!”

In the growing darkness of the hall, Tainary’s protest was soon followed by the coruscating sheen of her blue eyes, which illuminated their surroundings. Beautiful yet strung to a distinct sense of resentment.

The rest stared at her in evident awe, watching her breathing hitch rapidly.

“Call me optimistic, but shouldn’t we slowly remove the inequality you speak of? Isn’t that why we should save even the suicidal ones!?” The blonde fought tears akin to this losing battle, the older man giving her an unusually sympathetic and calm look.

“For humans, yes, we can try. For the nature I love, from the animals to the plants, then no. Like a dog with rabies, some things must die, and it’s our job as superior beings to deal with what’s best for others.” He eyed a particular door and ambled towards it with the guidance of Tanairy’s luminescence. ‘We must live our lives preserving humanity in order to help nature and have appreciation in our hearts.”

Cries of agony. Faulty footsteps.

“I… half-jest with the whole ‘superior’ schtick.” Theta turned to the three, the adults shaken to the core by the shrill groans from the other side of the door. “Even as a faithful scientist, I’ve started dabbling in the realm of pseudoscience, which other loyalists fail to acknowledge, despite the almost… fictional radiation happening to this planet.”

He twisted the door knob.

“So, you and I should expand our horizons and expect anything and everything,” Theta said, kicking the door into motion. “Just like the newfound remedy to the physical effects of radiation, let your mind be open to endless possibilities and impossibilities. Be it an overthrowing of the human race, death, et cetera. Even the fact that I managed to pull people willing to undergo this path was something out of the range of possibility that is now possible.”

The door creaked open.

“That’s my philosophy: do everything a good service.”

Now fully open, they all peered inside.

In the growing darkness of the room, Cosima was quick to mistake it for the shady solitude of her bedroom—the shelf life she was doomed to from the day her skin expired.

However, like the scenery that unfurled in front of her, she felt foreign, and the immersion broke once again.

All that stood out in this room were three standards.

A warty toad squirmed on the cold floor, its life jetting out of its body as a colossal metallic tube akin to the barrel of a cannon bulged out of its wide mouth. It choked endlessly, green sludge hawking from the tube’s tip, mixing with the red splattered around its feet.

A hulking tortoise dragged its abnormally long neck around, mewling dissonantly at a far-gone saving grace. Its bruised legs buckled under the weight of its impenetrable shell, the mystic grandeur of a pair of vermillion draconic wings ripping out of the broken keratin.

A red-spotted salamander lolled painfully, a garden of monstrous flower bulbs spewing out of its small stature. At each hackle, it put visible pheromones into the rusty air and almost put itself out of its misery by trying to live.

“Pick your poison,” Theta announced.