Reincarnated as a Mushroom?

The moment my boots touched down inside the Thanatos, I knew I was going to regret not bringing a goddamn hazmat suit.

The corridors were dark, rusting, and reeked of blood that had been cleaned just enough to piss off a forensic team. Hull panels looked like they'd been kicked in by drunken ogres, and the walls were stained with an enthusiastic medley of grime, oil, and what I desperately hoped was just old coolant.

It was a ship that looked like it had survived three civil wars and a barbecue.

"Why does this place look like a pigsty?" I asked aloud, dragging a gloved finger across the bulkhead beside me.

The smear it picked up? Blood. Dirt. Probably some questionable protein paste. My gauntlet looked like it had finger-painted on a cadaver.

Kathrine, beside me, let out a huff. "Tell me about it, handsome. These brain-dead scavengers never bring a fucking cleaning crew. Every job they do is knee-deep in battlefield corpses and junkyard salvage, and they don't have the decency to mop up after themselves."

She kicked a discarded bolt with her boot. It bounced down the hall with a dull plink.

"But don't worry," she added, brushing imaginary filth off her jacket. "I made it very clear — this fucking dump will be sterilized before takeoff. Or I'll throw them all out the airlock and fly it my goddamn self."

We continued down the corridor, stepping over an overturned chair and what might've once been a femur.

To her credit, the grime thinned out the closer we got to the command deck. Not by much, mind you — but at least I wasn't worried about catching a disease just from breathing anymore.

'I swear to Crystal, my bug brides live in underground hive tunnels surrounded by organic resin and ritual sex pits, and even they manage to keep things cleaner than this flying metal trash heap.'

Eventually we arrived at a door just off the bridge. Kathrine pulled a small, chrome key from somewhere in her obscenely tight pants — and I mean somewhere, because I never saw a pocket — and slid it into the lock.

"My quarters," she said, with that forced cheerfulness people use when they're trying to ignore the fact that everything around them smells like wet despair. "Absolutely no one is allowed to touch this room. It's sacred. Come on in."

The door opened.

I blinked.

It was… nice. Genuinely nice.

Plush carpets. Velvet-lined furniture. A fully stocked bar. She had managed to cram an entire noble suite into a glorified cargo container. Across from the couch sat a polished desk, beside it a bed that looked like it had been stolen from a five-star hotel. Even the lighting was warm and ambient, unlike the flickering horror-film hallway we'd just come from.

The real centerpiece, though, was the wardrobe — a glittering monolith of mirrored panels and sliding drawers that probably took up half the room's volume.

'Women,' I thought.

Kathrine flopped onto the couch, legs crossed, arms wide, eyes trailing lazily across my body.

"As much as I adore the murdercore look," she said, gesturing toward my armor, "could you take that thing off before the rest of the crew has a collective panic attack? You're basically walking around as a reminder that we've brought a tactical nuke onboard."

I snorted. "Fair. I just wore it because I hate snow. Cold, wet, and gets stuck in all the wrong places. Like betrayal."

"Drama queen," she smirked.

With a thought, I commanded my armor to disengage. The black carapace peeled off my skin like liquid graphite, retracting into its dormant shell. I didn't miss the flicker of awe in her eyes as it slithered back into the gauntlet mounted at my wrist — clearly she hadn't seen psionic-laced biotech before.

Now unarmored, I stretched slightly. The artificial light in her room gave my skin a faint silver sheen, and her gaze lingered like she was mentally undressing me even further.

"Well hell-o," she purred. "Now that you're out of your space-suit, maybe we could—"

Her left breast began to chime.

She groaned, slapping at the communicator embedded in her clothes. "Oh for fuck's sake, now what?"

Her irritation morphed into something more nervous as she glanced apologetically at me.

"Handsome," she said, rising from the couch with a theatrical sigh. "I'm really sorry, but I have to take this. It's important. Could you maybe… wander around a bit? Get to know the ship? Try not to contract tetanus?"

I gave her a lazy salute. "I'll go sightseeing. Hopefully I don't end up part of the decor."

She gave me a weak smile as I left the room.

---

Behind the now-closed door, Kathrine transformed.

She snapped upright, tugged her hair into something presentable, adjusted her collar, and tapped the desk to project the incoming holo.

The image that resolved was that of a young woman — icy-eyed, sharp-cheeked, and pissed.

"Hello, my darling girl," Kathrine began sweetly. "How are you today?"

"You've been dodging my calls, Aunty," Hailey said, her voice as cold as vacuum. "I wanted daily updates. You better have a reason that doesn't involve recreational pharmaceuticals and dick."

Kathrine smiled like she'd just been complimented. "Oh, my little thundercloud. I do have an excuse. I was doing research."

Hailey narrowed her eyes.

"I spent the day at your not-husband's club."

"He's not my—!"

Hailey's fury exploded out of her with enough force to make the holo tremble, before she realized what she'd said. Her face flushed. She glared.

Kathrine grinned like a victor in a long, petty war. "Mm-hm. Well. Regardless. I spent the whole day drinking, dancing, and playing very close attention to dear Irvine."

Hailey began taking notes immediately.

"By the time we were properly sloshed," Kathrine continued, "I may have let slip a few family secrets. And in return—he gave me one of his."

She let the silence stretch.

Hailey looked up, pen frozen in her hand. "If you don't tell me in five seconds, I'm deleting you from the inheritance."

Kathrine laughed behind her hand, savoring the moment.

"When your lovely alien awakened his psionic potential… he didn't get one gift. He didn't even get two."

She leaned forward, voice dripping with dramatic venom.

"He awakened three. Simultaneously."

The pen dropped from Hailey's fingers.

Her face froze — but her body began vibrating slightly in her seat. It was like watching a statue get a happy seizure.

She'd been right. She knew he was special. She had awakened with two psionic powers and had to train for the third. That alone made her a prodigy in Spartari eyes. But this Arcon from some backwater star system was already stronger than her by default? It was like something out of a fucking myth.

"I-is that so," she said, trying and failing to sound casual. "Fascinating. What else did he reveal?"

Kathrine smirked, letting her niece stew in envy. "Not much. He wouldn't give me the full list. But he demonstrated telekinesis — sober or not, he floated a bottle into his hand like it was an extension of his nervous system. No drift. No flicker. It was... disturbing how natural it looked."

Hailey nearly bounced out of her chair.

'We share an ability!' she screamed internally. 'Fate! Cosmic alignment!'

"Excellent work, Aunty. I'll forgive your radio silence. You said he's with you now?"

"Yes. Onboard. Why?"

"Oh… no reason."

Kathrine narrowed her eyes.

"Mmhm. Right. Well, I've got him for three weeks — two in-system, one round-trip. Plenty of time to learn everything."

"Good," Hailey said coolly. "Now tell me more about this mission…"

---

Back on the Thanatos, I wandered through the ship following the few parts that didn't make me feel like I was stepping on biohazard symbols.

Eventually I stumbled into the mess hall — and just beyond it, in the adjacent rec-room, all hell was breaking loose.

"FUCKIN' BREAK HIS ARM!"

"STAND UP YOU USELESS TWAT!"

The roar of bets and bellows echoed off the walls. A ring of rowdy mercenaries had formed around two men who looked like they'd been grown in the same vat. Identical faces. Identical builds. Both stacked like human tanks.

One was on the floor.

The other was writhing after taking a very illegal blow to the groin.

The downed twin surged to his feet and clocked the other right across the temple. Down he went.

The crowd exploded — half cheering, half booing, credit chips being passed around like candy.

I didn't realize I'd gotten too close until a voice barked next to me.

"FUCKING HELL! This cunt's prettier than half the fannies onboard!"

Everyone turned.

Everyone stared.

"Oh fuck off, Willy," a helmeted woman shouted. "I'm way hotter than him."

Laughter. Shoving.

"Not until you take off that bucket, fanny fart!" Willy snapped.

He turned back to me just as a metal tray smacked him in the side of the head.

"Bitch!" he muttered, clutching the cut.

He turned back again, glaring through the blood. "Anyway. So, cunt, who the fuck are you supposed to be?"

'Does this guy have space Tourette's?' I wondered. Not offended — just baffled by the sheer volume of vulgarity.

But before I could reply, a new voice cut through the chaos.

Warm. Jovial. Too-friendly.

"This — ooh, yeah, he's hot — is Lady Kathrine's personal hire," said the new arrival, a tall man with combat boots and a shit-eating grin. He clapped both hands on my shoulders like we were old pals. "You treat him like you'd treat me, or I'll personally rip your balls off and serve them in the soup. Clear?"

The crowd grumbled.

Then someone from the back yelled, "So I'm supposed to piss in his shampoo?"

Laughter exploded again.

I sighed.

I was going to be trapped in space.

With these cunts.