Jackob didn't eat that day. He'd earned nothing, as usual - but a sympathetic older worker had slipped him a half-rotten nutrient bar, barely a bite. Instead of eating it, Jackob tucked it under his pillow, wrapped in cloth like a treasure.
He was saving it. For tomorrow. For worse hunger. For survival.
That night, the bunker slept like it always did - uneasily. Groaning pipes. Distant screams. The hum of machinery. And the stench of too many people dreaming of things they'd never see.
The man sleeping across from Jackob was named Marr, though no one said it out loud. He was older. Scarred. Quiet. And tonight, hungry.
He'd seen Jackob stash the bar. He waited until the boy's breathing slowed. Then he moved.
Jackob wasn't fully asleep. He never really slept. Not here. The moment the blanket shifted, he opened his eyes.
"Back off," he growled.
Marr didn't listen. He reached under the pillow, fingers brushing the cloth.
Jackob lunged.
They fought like animals. No strategy. No honor. Just fists and nails and teeth. The other workers around them stirred, cursing, rolling away.
Marr slammed Jackob's head against the wall. Jackob bit his arm and drove an elbow into his throat. Blood hit the floor.
And something fell.
The purple stone. It rolled out of Jackob's pouch and skidded into the open. Marr saw it - his eyes locking on the glow. He froze.
"What the hell is that?"
Jackob didn't answer. His hand was bleeding - torn on Marr's broken tooth. He crawled to the stone, clutching it.
And then, the blood touched it.
The effect was instant. The stone flared - not like a torch, not like fire, but like a pulse of memory. A flash of purple light exploded through the bunker, casting long shadows, illuminating the sleeping faces of a hundred filthy humans.
Dozens of them bolted upright, gasping. The walls shook. And then, just as suddenly... darkness.
The light vanished. The warmth vanished. The stone vanished. Gone. As if it had never existed. Only the smell of burned air remained.
Jackob sat frozen, staring at his empty hands.
"What the fuck just happened?" he whispered. His voice trembled.
Marr had crawled back to his corner, eyes wide, whispering prayers to gods that no one believed in anymore. Around them, silence returned. The workers who'd woken slowly lay back down. No one said a word.
Because they had all seen it. And none of them wanted to be next.
Jackob leaned against the wall, cradling his bleeding hand. Fear twisted his gut. Not fear of Marr. Not even fear of the Overseers. But of the stone. Of what it had done.
He forced himself to lie back down. He needed to think. To plan. To survive. He closed his eyes.
And then - it appeared. Purple letters. Glowing softly in the dark behind his eyelids. A language he had never seen. And yet... he could read it.
He didn't know how to read. None of them did. But this... he understood.
NAME: JACKOB / SLAVE SPECIES: HUMAN TYPE: UNKNOWN AGE: 17 LIFESPAN: 66 TALENT: NONE
His heart pounded. His breath caught.
"Type: Unknown? Talent: None?"
The words burned into his skull, then faded like mist. Jackob sat there, shivering in the dark. He didn't sleep again.
Because now he had a secret too big to bury. And something - somewhere - now knew his name.
The morning came - if it could be called that. The lights in the ceiling flickered back on with a mechanical hiss, revealing rows of broken humans dragging themselves to their feet, coughing, limping, bleeding, groaning... alive. Barely.
But Marr, the thief from the night before, was already gone. He had run straight to the Overseers.
The yellow Overseer - a bloated, insectoid beast with six arms and twitching antennae - loomed behind the metal desk, its compound eyes dull with exhaustion. Until Marr began to speak.
At first, the bug didn't react. Then slowly - horribly - its mouth split into a wide, wet grin. Rows of jagged teeth clacked in anticipation. Its wings began to hum, a low vibration of greed, disbelief, hunger.
"Purple," it clicked. "A purple light. Blood-activated. Human-linked."
It dismissed Marr with a casual wave. The man was trembling, but beaming with pride - like a dog who brought its master a dead rat. The Overseer tossed him a protein packet. Marr fell to his knees and ate it like a starving animal.
Then the Overseer turned to the workers who had slept near Jackob. One by one, it interrogated them. And they all told the same story:
"There was light."
"It came from him."
"Then it was gone."
Each word made the bug's wings buzz louder. It was too perfect. Too rare. Too dangerous.
The Overseer didn't send guards. It didn't alert the others. This was too valuable. It went alone.
Down into the tunnels. Through the lower shafts. To the isolated work zones. It found Jackob - alone, digging like always. Dust-covered. Silent. Like nothing had happened.
But something had.
The Overseer's voice scraped through the dark like rusted steel: "Slave. Show me the stone."
Jackob froze. His heart pounded, but his hands stayed calm. He turned slowly.
"You mean this, master?" he said flatly, holding up a blood-red stone - the common kind.
SMACK. The Overseer's hand whipped across Jackob's face, sending him staggering.
"The purple stone, dog," it hissed.
And that word - dog - didn't mean pet. It was the name of a creature bred to eat feces and rot. A mouth without a mind. A toilet-cleaner in the form of life.
Jackob's cheek throbbed, but he stood tall. "I don't fucking know what you're talking about."
The Overseer's eyes narrowed. "Your kind already told me," it said, voice thick with satisfaction. "They all saw. You think lying will save you?"
Jackob knew then. There was no escape. Even if he told the truth - that the stone had vanished, that he had nothing - he'd be killed. He had two choices: Struggle... or die.
He reached for his pickaxe - the same one he'd held since he was a child. But as his hand closed around the grip, he paused. His arm didn't hurt. The bruise from earlier - gone. The swelling - gone. The cuts on his face - gone. His body was... healed. Something had changed.
He gritted his teeth. Lifted the pickaxe. And lunged.
The Overseer was fast. It kicked out, casually - a move that should've sent Jackob flying into the wall. But he only stumbled back one meter. The Overseer froze. That wasn't right.
Jackob didn't wait. He charged, swinging the pick in a wide arc. It crashed into the Overseer's shoulder with a meaty crack, splitting chitin and spilling green ichor. The bug screamed in shock and rage.
"You filthy—!"
It lashed out, claws slashing. Jackob ducked. Moved faster than he'd ever moved. The pick came up again - smashing into the Overseer's face. And that's when it happened.
A surge of pain exploded in Jackob's head. He screamed - dropped to his knees, clutching his skull. Behind his eyes, purple fire burned across darkness. And then... the text appeared:
NAME: JACKOB / SLAVE TYPE: HUMAN AGE: 17 LIFESPAN: 66 TALENT DISCOVERED: OBTAIN SOULS SOUL OBTAINED: YELLOW BUG (CLASS II)
> DO YOU WISH TO SHAPESHIFT INTO: YELLOW BUG?
Jackob gasped. His hands were glowing. The Overseer twitched - half-dead, collapsed in a pool of its own slime. Around them, silence reigned.
Jackob blinked. The words still floated in his vision. Obtain souls? Shapeshift...? He stared at the glowing line pulsing at the bottom of his mind.
"Do you wish to shapeshift into: Yellow Bug?"
He didn't know what this was. He didn't know what was happening. But he knew one thing: He wasn't normal anymore.