Chapter 3

[May 13, 20XX Continued – It’s Been a Long Day]

The Biocomputer tasted awful. What was worse was that while swallowing it, I couldn’t help but think about the nature of this act:

I was devouring a part of myself—to be more precise, I was devouring my own brain.

The Biocomputer, cultivated based on the user’s genetic information, was biologically a clone of the user themselves. However, due to extreme directional evolution of neural tissues and deliberate weakening of other functions, the appearance of the final product no longer resembled the prototype. From the Genetic Revolution to now, this thing was still called a “computer,” which could only be described as a pointless, self-deceptive psychological hint.

Most users didn’t care what the Biocomputer actually was—as long as it was practical, convenient, highly compatible with the user, and absolutely wouldn’t betray them like those silicon-based lifeforms, these advantages were enough.

Users had complete disposal rights over their Biocomputers, but few would attempt to eat them.

The taste was one reason (though ethical concerns weren’t significant—those who cared about such things wouldn’t spend money cultivating their own computers in the first place), and the other was the consequence of doing so: fusion.

Almost the moment I bit through the computer’s protective layer, fusion began. The process was extremely brief—the computer’s functions instantly loaded into my nervous system. Although most functions were disabled to protect my unevolved neurons, the few basic programs still running made me dizzy and nauseous.

A very, very terrible feeling.

But I had no other choice. I couldn’t just let the computer die. Since it couldn’t be repaired, I had to temporarily fuse it into my body and then rely on the restructuring program and my own somatic cells to reshape its form.

Compared to the speed of fusion, the process from reshaping to separation was excruciatingly slow. It might remain inside me until I was rescued and returned to the homeworld.

This was truly awful.

“Did it really eat that bug?” The operation of the Universal Translator Module made me nauseous again, but I couldn’t turn it off.

“Let me see… Tsk, I can’t tell if it ate it or not. Just make sure to deworm it thoroughly when you get back.”

“It doesn’t look too well.” My temporary shelter provider seemed to notice my poor condition.

The male called Brother Zhao agreed: “Don’t bathe it for now—don’t want it catching a chill and getting diarrhea.”

“Alright, I’ll take it back first. Thanks, Brother Zhao.”

“Hey, no need to be polite with me.”

I was picked up again. My shelter provider controlled his movements well, neither too forceful nor too abrupt, sparing me further discomfort—this somewhat eased my anger toward these primitive species for damaging my computer.

They hadn’t done it on purpose.

I was cradled against my shelter provider’s chest, his throat exposed above me—this vulnerable posture also conveyed his goodwill.

As a member of an advanced civilization, I decided to forgive their mistake.

Moreover, the negative effects of fusion required me to adapt quickly in a safe environment, and the nest provided by my shelter provider was exactly what I needed.

We returned to that safe nest. He placed me on a soft, natural-fiber fabric and gently stroked the top of my head: “You really don’t seem well… Stay home and rest. I’ll go buy food and cat litter for you.”

With that, he left.

I didn’t have the energy to examine the nest carefully. My entire body felt weak, while my brain raced at full speed. This left me exhausted, but my nervous system’s extreme excitement made it impossible to rest and recover through sleep.

It was truly terrible.

Beyond the physical discomfort, fusion also caused a sudden spike in energy consumption. The little energy I’d obtained from food earlier was already depleted.

I needed food—more food.

I don’t know how much time passed—the severe dizziness had robbed me of any sense of time—before my shelter provider returned.

The sound of the door opening and closing was followed by the thud of something heavy being set down. After a sharp tearing noise, I caught a scent that resembled food.

A series of small tapping sounds continued briefly before my shelter provider approached me with a bowl.

“Bought some cat biscuits—I forgot to ask Brother Zhao how old you are earlier, so I’m not sure if you can eat these. Give them a try first. If you can’t chew them, I’ll soak them in hot water for you.”

The bowl was placed in front of me, filled with uniformly shaped brown pellets. I struggled to stand and sniffed at them—it was the same scent I’d smelled earlier, so this was indeed food.

I experimentally picked up one piece and bit into it.

The taste wasn’t bad.

Given my urgent need for food, I was quite satisfied with this offering.

“You like it?” My shelter provider’s tone was light—I interpreted this as pleasure. “That’s great. As long as you’re willing to eat.”

He began stroking my head and back again.

This somewhat interfered with my eating. I tried dodging a few times but failed to escape—I had a feeling that teaching him to understand the body language of different species would be an important task in the coming days.

But for now, let me replenish as much energy as possible.