FB | Ch. 8 - My Dream Condo

I don’t want you to think that just because there were predators on this planet, this story is going to turn into some horror tale about zombie-like humans who’ve lost their humanity and become voracious monsters. No. I’m not going into graphic detail on that. I still find it too gross to this day.

And that says a lot coming from someone who eats mold, fungi, rotten stuff, and hangs out with Stinky Steve—the dung beetle I told you about.

Uh-uh. This is my memoir. This story is about me.

Sure, I had a few brushes with predators over the years. And yes, in retrospect, some of them make for funny stories.

Funny in the way that almost dying can be funny. Later. When you’re not actively being chased.

But keep this in mind: in all my encounters with death, I wasn’t seeking it out. I was trying to stay as far away from it as possible. Death came looking for me. I’ve always been a play-it-safe kind of guy, and frankly, that policy has served me better than any skill point allocation ever has.

Anyway, back to my first day on Blllrgh…

After the crazed predator bug-guy chased off the Y-shaped alien, the coast looked clear. I was close to a tree—which, in bug terms, is the equivalent of finding shelter under a cathedral. Less chance of being squashed.

But something nagged at me. I’d only seen one other bug during my entire trek here. Then, suddenly, two more pop up right when I reach the tree? That couldn’t be random. Trees must be some kind of hub.

Bug Central.

I opened my skill tree and looked at the ability I’d been eyeing:

Burrow.

Memories of my days as a Terminator had gotten me thinking about this skill. Back then, people called me to deal with beetles that damaged wood. Mama beetles would lay eggs on furniture, and the larvae would burrow in, eating as they tunneled. Left the wood looking like Swiss cheese. That’s where I came in—with poison, traps, and the comforting promise that your coffee table wouldn’t collapse next Tuesday.

Now? I wanted to be one of those beetles.

If I could burrow into a tree, I could finally leave behind the wide-open plains where everything with legs, claws, or hooves had a shot at flattening me. I’d also be hidden from predators.

It reminded me of those cartoons with candy houses. You know, where kids stumble into a house made of marshmallows and chocolate and start eating the walls. Except this time, I was the kid, the candy was wood, and I wanted to move in and never leave.

Still, I hesitated. That Y-alien had invested one point into Burrow, and it didn’t do him much good. He went into soft ground, and it got him... chased. If he could’ve burrowed into a tree, I’m pretty sure our sneaky, possibly squished friend would’ve done it.

What did that tell me?

One point in Burrow wasn’t going to cut it.

I’d already invested one point in [Timber Tummy], and I still couldn’t chew through the tough parts of sticks—only the bits softened by time, rot, and the occasional fungus.

How on Earth—well, Blllrgh—was I supposed to tunnel through solid, living wood?

[Burrow] was out.

Instead, I dropped another point into [Timber Tummy].

You’ve upgraded [Timber Tummy].

Timber Tummy

Skill level: 2

Skill effects: You can absorb more nutrients from eating wood. No more diarrhea from chomping cellulose.

The moment I did, aromas that had previously meant nothing to me started calling out. It was as if every stick in the neighborhood had fired up a barbecue, and I’d been invited to visit all of them.

I didn’t think this upgrade would let me eat living wood—yet—but hopefully, it would let me absorb more nutrients and XP from each bite. And that meant faster leveling.

Efficiency: the unsung hero of bug life.

I also added a second point to [Camouflage].

You’ve upgraded [Don’t Look at Me].

Don’t Look at Me

Skill level: 2

Skill effects: Automatically adjusts your coloration to match your surroundings. Reduces the chances of being spotted, eaten, or asked uncomfortable questions.

The moment I did, I looked down at my arms. Instead of being just one solid shade of whatever color was behind me, I now had little streaks and marks in random hues—subtle distortions that helped break up my outline even better.

This skill had already helped me sneak past the Frankenstein Jungle Gym and avoid being spotted by my fellow earthling gone psycho. For now, staying hidden would have to do until I had enough XP saved up to dig into my dream home.

I still had a long way to go before I could fulfill my humble aspiration: living in wood.

Funny how life works.

Back on Earth, I was grinding through long hours, saving up, planning to buy a nicer place. I was getting close, too—just a few months away from house hunting when the Giants scooped me up for their little science experiment.

Now? My life goal was to chew my way into a log.

The alien-bug equivalent of upgrading to a nice condo.

With ninja-like stealth and an iron stomach, I crept toward the nearest fallen stick I could find.

I didn’t have to walk far. There it was—a bent red stick.

This particular tree species had a strange peculiarity: it only grew at sharp angles. It was like someone had designed it with a T-square and a grudge.

It didn’t follow the soft, organic lines of Earth vegetation. Instead, it formed something that resembled an arch—if an arch had been bullied into submission by a math teacher.

And it smelled delicious. It was time to find out what harder wood tasted like.

Ch. 7 - The Promised Land

INDEX

Ch. 9 - Arc de Nachos