Ah'Ming lay there in bed.
He'd woken up a few moments ago, but genuinely couldn't take his mind off of the instance from the day before.
Having your memories, sense of identity taken away from you was a rather scary thought. No matter how strong he became, he'd always be weak to these types of instances… maybe there were items or skills he could get for mental immunity?
But he supposed, for the most part, he was so disturbed that humans would eat each other was that they were the ones famed for being noble, special. It's why he had wanted to be human so bad. He supposed the grass truly seemed greener on the other side.
What would… what would a hive have done in a famine like that? They'd never had famine though. For one, the seasons changed so fast that everything, plant or animal, had long grown to be resistant to nearly everything.
The drones wouldn't feast on each other, but that was because they wouldn't have the right to. Castes wouldn't eat others if the same caste. Higher castes wouldn't eat those of the lower castes. And the higher castes themselves would not be fed to the lowers either. They'd probably only be fed to the queen, for her insatiable hunger. Many a broken queensguard had disappeared into the depths that were her maws.
Ah, all the dead corpses were fed to the nymphs. But, eating your hivemembers was only a thing that babies did. adults weren't meant to eat each other, since it was seen as an embarresing thing to do. imagine being so weak to not be able to hunt properly, only targetting the weaklings of the hive? doing so would just weaken the structeral integrity.
there had never been any famine nearby, but if there had...
Would he have eaten his fellow castes?
Ah'Ming couldn't tell.
Based in human standards, he knew he shouldn't. But, he'd eaten crab before, lobster too. It didn't seem too different… but humans were very different to lamb.
He shook his head, thinking that he shouldn't dwell on such matters. It was different, now. He was, he surely was, human now. He had to follow human standards even if they didn't follow it themselves.
The bed groaned softly as Ah'Ming climbed off. The floor creaked as well, setting anominous mood. He walked back to the living room of the orphanage, where he now saw a grandfather clock. It was a decent looking thing, elegant, but old.
It was still, not moving.
Was he meant to do something for it?
He stepped closer to the clock, trying to see any indents or puzzles.
There was a keyhole in the back, but Ah'Ming had seen neither head nor hair of said key. Maybe he could brute force it open? The tips of his fingers turned black and sharp, gleaming in the light. His forearms bulged with muscles and veins.
Both hands were held on the two sides of the box that lay behind the clock face. Pulling apart didn't work, so he tried pushing it together. Unfortunately for him, it didn't work either. Crushing it was out of the option, it seemed.
Maybe trying to slice it open? After fiddling around and crushing the box for what seemed like ages, Ah'Ming glared at the clock. It sat there, taunting him, mocking him. It was a personal affront to his strength and skill. He lost the staring contest with it.
Peeved, he turned to the side. His eyes landed on a sofa nearby. Hmm… surely it was just the clock reinforced by the system, right? It definitely couldn't be that his strength has decreased. Definitely. He raised both arms far above his head, the dark patches from his fingertips spilling onto his palms, wrists, forehands. He brought them creasing down, and watched in grim satisfaction as the stupid chair went flying, smashed into smithereens.
The chair broke, going out with a rather miserable groan. Ah'Ming felt like a rather evil, but pacified, cat. Okay, that confirmed it. The stupid clock has system protection, so it was definitely a key pro. That meant he needed to find a key. Where? Maybe there was a children's poem about the key? This game was truly unfair to anyone that didn't have a proper childhood.
Plus, all of the poems were chinese themed for some reason.
he wondered when some mother goose's poems would appear.
It's a strange world.
We don't control it.