DAYS SURVIVED: 38
COLONY SIZE: 4 (Kai + 3 kits)
Three kits now. Three personalities. Three sets of strengths and weaknesses.
Twitchy: The paranoid one. Checked everything twice, made it three times. Set up alarm systems without being asked—hair-triggers at every entrance, pressure plates that would crunch if stepped on wrong. Nervous energy channeled into making everyone safer.
Bitey: The aggressive one. Hatched from a pod fed primarily on beetles and one particularly angry spider. Stockier build, heavier armor plating, more predatory facial structure. From the moment it emerged, it bit everything. The pod. The floor. Kai's tail. Testing. Learning. Fighting.
During their first hunt, Bitey attacked prey twice its size. Fearless. Reckless. Kai had to physically drag it back from a centipede that would've killed it in seconds.
"You test everything with your teeth, don't you? Fine. Bitey. That's your name."
Bitey snapped at the air—agreement or threat assessment of the air itself, Kai couldn't tell.
Shadow: The clingy one. Hatched from a pod fed on smaller, weaker prey—scavengers mostly. Smallest. Darkest. When released, it didn't explore. It went straight to Kai, pressed against his leg, and stayed there.
"Shy, huh? Or just smart enough to know I'm the safest thing here?"
The kit didn't leave his side. Not for food. Not for training. It shadowed him everywhere.
"Shadow. That's you. You're my Shadow."
Shadow's tail wrapped around Kai's leg in acceptance.
Kai looked down at the small, dark kit. The one that had chosen dependence over independence. The one that trusted him without question. The one that would follow him into darkness without hesitation.
"You're going to be trouble," he said softly, unexpected warmth blooming in his chest. "The smart kind. The kind that asks questions I don't want to answer."
He didn't know yet how right he was. Didn't know Shadow would become his conscience, his successor, the mirror that would force him to see what he was becoming.
But tonight, Shadow was just a kit seeking warmth. Seeking safety. Seeking him.
That was enough.
FAMILY BOND: EXPANDING
COLONY COHESION: Developing
PACK DYNAMICS: Emerging
Twitchy: Security specialist Bitey: Combat specialist Shadow: Support/assistant role
That night, after the kits were asleep, Kai ran a private experiment.
He'd been thinking about the generational inheritance protocols since discovering them in week one. Now that he had actual offspring, he could test something.
He took one of Twitchy's shed whiskers—genetic material, but not alive. Fed it to a small test pod he'd been growing in a sealed side chamber. Added specific behavioral markers through concentrated pheromone exposure: Guard this location. Return here daily. Check for threats.
When the tiny test specimen hatched three days later, Kai released it and watched.
It immediately returned to the test chamber. Positioned itself at the entrance. Began checking for threats.
"It inherited the instruction," Kai whispered. "From genetic material that never even met it."
He observed for two more days. The behavior held. The specimen returned to guard the chamber every cycle, even when food was available elsewhere.
PRELIMINARY TEST: SUCCESSFUL
Behavioral encoding: Stable across one generation Loyalty to location: 100% retention Self-preservation vs. mission: Mission prioritized Note: Subject chose mission over optimal survival behavior
That last line bothered him. He'd created something that valued an arbitrary instruction over its own wellbeing.
The specimen was still at its post. Hadn't moved in two days except to eliminate waste and return immediately to guard position. It would stay there until it starved.
Because he'd told it to.
"Just a test," he muttered.
He produced a concentrated paralytic from his chemical glands—the same compound he used for mercy kills on prey too injured to save. Quick. Painless. The specimen wouldn't even know.
His paw hesitated above the small form.
It was still facing the chamber entrance. Still guarding. Still loyal in a way that made his stomach hurt.
He deployed the spray. The specimen stopped moving instantly, neural activity ceasing before pain receptors could fire. Professional. Efficient. Humane.
He'd killed hundreds of insects. Thousands, probably. This shouldn't feel different.
But those had been prey. This had been... something else. Something he'd made. Something that had trusted him completely because it didn't have the capacity to do anything else.
He dissolved the test pod, watching organic material break down into base proteins. Erased the evidence. Filed the methodology in his genetic memory under a locked section he labeled: KEEPER PROTOCOLS - EXPERIMENTAL.
"Just seeing what's possible," he said to the empty chamber.
The chamber didn't answer. The specimen was gone. The knowledge remained.
He sealed the entrance and returned to his kits, carrying the weight of what he'd learned.
And what it might cost him to use it.
No one needed to know about this yet. Maybe ever.
Three kits. Three different approaches to survival.
Kai taught them his territory like a tour guide showing off a dangerous museum. "This is the moss garden. This is where water collects. That tunnel leads to ant territory—never go there alone."
They learned the carved stones by heart, touched each with their noses like greeting old friends, memorizing the warnings, absorbing the patterns.
At night they slept in a pile. Twitchy on the outside, ears swiveling at every sound. Bitey in the middle, occasionally biting someone's tail in sleep. Shadow pressed against Kai's chest, where his heartbeat would comfort it.
Three small bodies. Three lives that breathed and dreamed and depended on him completely.
In Chicago, he'd avoided this. No commitments beyond himself and his mom. No relationships that could fail. The world was too broken, too expensive, too cruel to bring anyone else into it. Love was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Here, he'd created three lives from scratch. Had brought consciousness into a world of sand and death and claws. Had given them the burden of awareness and told them: "Survive. I'll teach you how."
"This is family now," he whispered into the darkness. "Not what I expected. But it's mine."
Shadow's heartbeat fluttered against his chest—fast, trusting, completely vulnerable.
He thought about the test specimen in the sealed chamber. About what he'd learned. About the knowledge locked away in his genetic memory, waiting.
About what he might become if things got bad enough.
Whatever it costs, something whispered in the back of his mind. The World Cat part, cold and calculating. Whatever you have to become. They need to survive. That's what matters.
"I'll keep you safe," Kai promised the sleeping kits. "I swear it."
Even if keeping that promise meant creating things that had no choice but to serve. Even if it meant crossing lines he'd never imagined crossing.
The pod pulsed in the next chamber, ready for more. But Kai hesitated. Three was manageable. More would require more food, more space, more risk.
More responsibility. More lives depending on choices he might not be ready to make.
But the genetic memory whispered urgency. The seasonal clock had started ticking, though he couldn't quite hear it yet. Something was coming. Something big.
He needed more than three.
He needed insurance.
The sealed chamber waited in darkness, three levels down, holding secrets no one else knew. The methodology was preserved. The knowledge was ready.
Just in case desperate times required desperate measures.
Just in case love wasn't enough.