Spores

Who am I?

Where am I?

The moment this life-form developed an awareness of "self" in its subconscious, those two questions surfaced.

The surroundings were defined by darkness—absolute darkness, without the faintest trace of light.

The life-form could feel itself being swept along by certain forces, moving constantly—up or down, forward or backward, left or right. Sometimes it would make a sharp turn; other times, caught between two conflicting forces, it would be flung in some unknown direction. There was no pattern to it.

Where am I going?

The question surfaced once more in the life-form's subconscious.

In this world of absolute darkness, the life-form was not the only thing that existed. Many things existed amid the pitch-black surroundings.

In this lightless world, the life-form could not understand the concept of "seeing," but that did not prevent it from recognizing that objects existed in the darkness.

Driven by the forces surging everywhere, the things in the dark often collided with the life-form, only to be separated again by those same forces.

The emergence of subconscious awareness did not bring any changes to the life-form. It had been muddleheaded from the moment it was born, and it had always been that way.

Chaotic and confused, as though there were no future at all, as though everything now was all this world had to offer.

This continued until the life-form came into contact with an unexpected visitor.

This contact was different from all the previous ones. The unexpected visitor did not separate after the collision. Instead, it remained tightly attached to the life-form, and even the omnipresent forces could not pull them apart.

For the first time, the life-form felt a "sense of crisis." It was a warning signal from its subconscious, which screamed at it—Run! Get away!

It was not only its subconscious urging it onward. Its pure biological instincts were also pressing it—Your life is under threat. Move now! If you don't act, you'll lose your chance!

The life-form moved. This time, rather than being swept aimlessly about by the turbulent forces, it used those forces to alter its own position, seemingly trying to shake off the thing attached to it.

But unfortunately, the attempt was futile.

The life-form could feel the "foreign object" invading its "interior" from the outside.

In that fleeting instant, the life-form did not feel as though it had lost anything. Instead, it possessed more. Some shackle it had always borne seemed to have been released.

No signs of massive replication... Thank goodness... It's a temperate bacteriophage...

The life-form thought this while still shaken, but other questions soon followed.

...What is "replication"?

And what is a "temperate bacteriophage"?

The life-form did not understand why it could express such things. What had just happened had been entirely instinctive.

Unable to figure out the answers, the life-form gave up thinking about them.

After what had happened, the life-form's behavior changed somewhat. It no longer resigned itself to being carried about aimlessly by those forces. Instead, it actively rode the flowing currents forward without any destination.

What purpose did that serve?

The life-form did not know either. It simply acted on instinct. Its instincts told it this was the right thing to do, and as for why it was right, it did not think about that.

This change in the life-form was not limited to its behavior. Its way of perceiving was also affected—it discovered that it could see its own interior clearly. Unlike before, when everything had been pitch-black and its understanding of the world had consisted of only a single point centered on itself.

Its body was spherical, like a water-filled balloon. Amid the conflict of those forces, it changed shape, then returned to its original form once the forces disappeared.

Its soft outer membrane maintained the stability of the life-form's interior and preserved its shape amid the clashes of those forces.

At its very center was a tangled mess, like a ball of instant noodles, occupying the middle of the life-form.

That was the entirety of the life-form.

This is... a cell?

That realization surfaced instinctively, followed immediately by questions and confusion.

What is a "cell"?

Naturally, it had no clue. It was only a single-celled organism. The fact that it possessed such awareness was already a biological miracle.

Live on...

The life-form established its goal. It was a goal driven by the purest instinct, one that transcended thought.

Under this desire, the tangled core within it began to loosen.

The life-form could see strands of double-helical molecular chains stretching straight, like ladders. Then, each ladder split down the middle, separating into two incomplete single chains. The substances drifting between the core and the outer membrane were drawn toward them of their own accord, combining with the separated single chains to form new double chains.

The double helices formed cores, and two cores now existed within a single cell.

The extra core stimulated the outer membrane, which began to expand, increasing its original volume.

After an unknown amount of time, this instinctive behavior of the life-form finally reached its final step—a thin membrane appeared between the two cores, and the single cell completely became two individuals.

Thus, the single-celled organism's self-replication was complete.

At the moment it was completed, the life-form experienced a strange sensation, just like when it had encountered the bacteriophage before. Some shackle had been opened, as though a beast trapped on the ground had grown wings and soared through the blue sky, as though a disabled patient had regained a complete body and could move freely on its own—such freedom.

However, the sensation did not last long.

When the life-form and its duplicate were separated by the forces surging all around, the strange sensation vanished as well. The beast's wings were broken, and it fell back to the ground. The disabled person became incomplete once more, unable to live independently.

The lock had been fastened again.

This is awful...

The life-form instinctively despised this feeling. No life enjoyed being bound. Having experienced the freedom of being "unlocked," it could no longer be satisfied with its current circumstances by comparison, even though it had been in this environment since its birth.

It instinctively began calling for its duplicate, hoping that it would return and restore their previous state of mutual "attachment."

But it was useless. Its call was merely a bioelectric current within itself. A life-form unable to transmit information outward was nothing more than an isolated island, and it could not call back the duplicate that had already separated from it.

Would the life-form give up just like that?

Of course not. Life was free, and life could always find a way out.

The life-form began a new attempt.