"It's really a rice seedling." Hank couldn't wait to examine the plant closely with a magnifying glass. "With this rice seedling, we'll have food..."
"It's up to you guys." Zhou Zhao shook his head and turned to leave.
He wasn't interested in these things. Perhaps the Mayflies could replicate the genes of this rice seedling to produce more seeds. Perhaps decades into the future, the surface of Alfas would become vibrant with life, but none of that concerned him.
He was just a B-class 'Mayfly,' glowing with the faintest of lights like thousands of other Mayflies, constantly struggling at the subsistence line, leading a mundane life, earning money to solve problems for others.
Resisting the tyranny of Sky City and saving humanity—such grand aspirations were things only the leaders of the Mayflies would consider.
