The Pikmin OG Day 2

Days in The Pikmin OG archive

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

SteveT

When the sun returned, Arrmin wanted to be ready. He knew exactly what would happen, and wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

So when the first glimmer of red light crept over the horizon, Arrmin sidled up to Gobmin.

"psst," he whispered.

"Oh, good morn--" a blue hand covered the white pikmin's mouth.

"Shhh," Arrmin said as he slowly lifted his hands away. He pointed back at the group of yellow pikmin, all talking amongst themselves, unaware of the creeping dawn. "I need your help."

"Oh, of course. What do you need?"

"I need to sneak outside," Arrmin said. "Just watch me back and call fer Wulfmin iffin anythin' go wrong."

"Why are you going out?" Gobmin whispered.

"It be necessary, trust."

Arrmin walked to the end of the log, with Gobmin behind him. He peered outside. There was nothing out there. For that, Arrmin was very grateful.

He jumped out into the open and quickly searched out a small plant. He snatched up a leaf from it, and dashed back to safety.

"That's what you needed me for?" Gobmin asked him. "Help pruning a bush?"

"Yarr, ye'll understand soon enough."

Prophmin had spent the past hour preparing a speech. He knew that they'd survive the night. It was quite obvious from Wulfmin's leadership. However, he had to say exactly the opposite. So he had prepared a long lecture on how their overnight survival was a fluke, Wulfmin would eventually doom them all, monsters would eat them, and they all should have stayed in the Mamuta's cave in peace and safety. The whole thing was rather eloquent, really.

He waited until the sun was in line with the hole at the end of the log to begin. He figured that he'd look extra dramatic if he stood with a disk of yellow light at his back.

At just the right moment, he raised his arms to get the other pikmin's attention. They didn't look up. Prophmin coughed, but was still ignored. He was just about to shout for everyone to listen to him.

A pair of blue arms appeared in front of his face, with a leaf between them. Prophmin found himself suddenly muffled.

"THE GREAT MAMUTA WILL PUNISH YOU! THE OLIMAR WILL LEAVE YOU IN THE GROUND TO ROT AWAY!" Prophmin tried to shout, but the leaf blocked all sound from leaving his mouth, and all he could say was "MMPH!"

"Yarr, that be a mite better," Arrmin said as he walked outside with the Bulbmin running behind him.

Wulfmin led the rest of the pikmin outside. When they approached the wall, they could hear the sound of running water. Aside from Arrmin, they were all pleased to hear it. They were all thirsty.

Wulfmin was the first to strike the wall. "Come on, guys. We've wasted enough time here."

Luiigii of the Pipes

By midday, the wall hadn't even fallen a notch.

"This is hopeless," Prophmin said, mopping fake sweat from his brow. "The wall's too sturdy for this few pikmin, the thorns are impossible to work around, and I for one do not want to spend any more nights in that log just to go through here."

"Where else should we go, then?" Wulfmin sighed. "There is nowhere else."

"We could go back in the cave."

"We would never leave, though. The only way back is forward."

"We'll stay with the Mamuta."

"The Mamuta left," Sumin said. "I saw it walk past the island a bit before I left."

Wulfmin eyed Sumin. "Where did it go?"

"No idea. If it didn't go through the geyser, anyway."

"Didn't," Brymin said simply.

"Should we go see where it went? It might know another way out of this place."

"No," Prophmin said. "The Mamuta's route is sacred. Our very presense would desecrate it. We shall continue with this wall, hopelessly pounding away until they find us, cursing the fool who led us out--"

"They?" Wulfmin asked. "Who's they?"

Prophmin froze. "Um... no one. Typical nocturnal beasts, you know. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary I might've seen when I was here that night." He chuckled and swung his arm around. "Let's get back to that wall, eh?"

Piku-Lord

Wulfmin sat back and stared at the thorny wall. He felt a bit guilty for not helping tear it down, but it probably wouldn't come down even if he was. Nothing was working. Gobmin had been breathing poison on it; the purples were desperately trying to break off the thorns that blocked their progress; all of the others were just pounding it where they could. Even the Bulbmin were trying to help.

What Wulfmin didn't realize was that this wall was not meant to be destroyed by Pikmin. Odd-sounding as it was, this wall could only be destroyed by one thing--

• * *

Mamutas gathered themselves once every thirty cycles of the sun in a particular place on this dingy planet--or at least, those in the area of this particular place gathered themselves. It was in fact an abandoned doll house, though they did not know it by that name. All they knew was that it was a nice place, pleasantly decorated, with soft places that they could rest themselves upon during the night. More or less, this monthly gathering was a Mamuta conference, where all of the Mamutas in the area would spend a few days discussing how best to go about their godly duties, gardening tips, and getting much deserved rest on those aformentioned soft places.

This is where the Mamuta that our Pikmin heroes recently met had gone, though he wasn't the most important Mamuta at this conference.

The most important Mamuta at this conference was not like the other Mamutas at all. He was, firstly, much smaller than the others; in fact, he was about the same size as a Purple Pikmin (Mamutas have long known about Purple Pikmin, White Pikmin, even a few types that we don't know about; one of the other reasons for these conferences was to discuss new breeds of Pikmin that a Mamuta might have discovered.) This Mamuta also bore a stalk much like a Pikmin's, with a leaf on the tip of this stalk, much like a Pikmin's. The other Mamutas wondered from time to time why he was there at all.

So did he.

Mamumin is what they called him, not jeeringly, as Mamutas never jeered each other. The name was simply a given based on the odd traits of his appearance. Behavior too. Sometimes when he heard a whistle, Mamumin would jump and run to the source. Other times, when a Mamuta gave an interesting speech and the others clapped their spade-shaped hands for him, Mamumin would find himself bowing and chanting, then quickly stop himself.

Mamumin couldn't remember why he was like this; for all he knew, he was BORN like this (he was in fact on the mark; a better question would be why his parent was like this.) He had no idea why he went to the conference at all; none of the Pikmin he had met had shown any respect or reverence for him; mostly they just stayed away. Finally, today he decided he wouldn't go. As he approached the doll house, he suddenly turned aside. He walked some way until he reached a stream, found a hole and jumped in that instead. Made his way through a cave, passed without a second glance the body of a Blazing Snitchbug (Mamutas have also known about these and many other creatures that we don't know of for some time now), and jumped into the geyser.

He was a bit surprised to see such a large group of Pikmin standing around; almost all of them were beating against a wall, but a Red Pikmin with some odd leaf-formed belt was staring at it, as if Pikmin had enough intelligence to THINK (Mamumin almost laughed at the thought.) A Yellow Pikmin with a broken stalk and a leaf over its entire body was hiding in a log nearby, drawing something in the sand with its tiny fingers. The yellow one looked up at him then, its eyes growing wide. Mamumin decided that he didn't want to hear whatever this Pikmin was going to say to him, walked up to the wall, pushing the Pikmin aside, and went to work.

• * *

Prophmin stuttered to himself as he made his way over to Wulfmin. When he had arrived, Wulfmin closed his eyes for a second, mentally preparing himself for whatever babble the other would pour out on him, then opened them and said, "Yes?"

"It's... he's... that's..." Prophmin began, pointing at the weirdest Mamuta either of them had ever seen. "THE CHOSEN ONE!"

Wulfmin tilted his head. The Mamuta was indeed odd-looking. "Chosen one?"

"He is part-god, part-Pikmin. He has come to deliver us."

"From what?"

Prophmin paused, the very obvious comebacks of, "Your terrible leadership," or, "This ridiculous mission," first coming to mind, decided that Wulfmin would hardly take him seriously if he said THAT, and chose to repeat himself for lack of anything better to say, in hopes that Wulfmin would just agree. "He WILL deliver us!"

"Fine, whatever."

Excellent. The Mamuta walked up to the wall, pushed the other Pikmin aside...

"See how he parts us, like a sea!"

Then with three quick punches of his spade-like hands, the wall had crumbled. The Mamuta passed through without a second thought.

"He's leaving," Wulfmin said, obviously impressed by the way the Mamuta had broken through the wall. "Is he supposed to do that?"

"He has forsaken us! Our doomed mission has turned aside his graces! If only we had not foolishly embarked with you so long ago! If only--"

By now, Wulfmin was far gone, running past the other Pikmin and the crumbled wall on the Mamuta's tail. Prophmin could hardly let THAT sod speak with the Chosen One alone; surely he would mess up and get them all smythed, or however you said that. He gave chase, but just as he was passing by the other Pikmin, a blue foot shot out and tripped him. He pushed himself back up and came face to face-minus-an-eye with Arrmin. "How DARE you trip the High Priest of the Great Mamuta?! I am about to conduct a VERY important worship session for the Chosen One back there!"

"Chosen One, arr?" Arrmin said, stroking a beard that wasn't there (if he had known what a beard was, anyway.) "Let ol' Wulfmin deal with 'im, I says. And since ye didn't help none with the wall breakin', ye can help us collect them leftover thorns. Mighty useful, they could be, arr."

"The High Priest of the Great Mamuta DOES NOT COLLECT THORNS!"

"Sumin?"

Sumin walked up to Prophmin, his eyes narrow, cracking his tiny knuckles.

"Do you think you intimidate me, monster? I, who the Great Mamuta smiles upon while the rest of you rot?"

Sumin leaned close. "Actually no, I'm sorry. It's just that Arrmin said it was the right thing to do, be scary and all, y'know? Could you pretend to be scared, please?"

Prophmin shook his head and backed away from the others, pointing and screaming, "DOOMED!" at them all. Then he realized that he was backing the wrong way, not toward the Chosen One but instead back to the log. He could hardly turn around at this point, though, so he just kept going and hoped that maybe he could hide from the Chosen One's wrath. The other Pikmin shrugged and set about collecting.

• * *

Mamumin sighed to himself when he heard the Pikmin approaching. No doubt they would stare at him from a distance, then all run away at once. Well, not if he could help it...

He turned abruptly and stormed back to them. Then stopped. Only one of the Pikmin had followed. Why not all of them? Pikmin had an inherent group mentality; it was inconceivable that one of them would think differently from the others. But here he was. Even more oddly, he hadn't stopped when Mamumin had. He kept coming. Now Mamumin himself was the one wanting to run away, and he wasn't even sure why.

"Excuse me," the Pikmin said, still approaching. It was in fact the Red Pikmin that had been pretending to think. Or maybe it really WAS thinking. Somehow that disturbed him. "Sorry to interrupt, you seem to be in a hurry, but my name is Wulfmin and I just wanted to see if you really WERE in a hurry somewhere."

"Why?" Mamumin asked, frozen. But why was he frozen? This thing was shorter, smaller, weaker...

"Well," the Pikmin continued, "I noticed how easily you took care of that wall. We've been working at it all day; thanks by the way for doing that. You see, we're on a journey. Not that long ago, we met a creature from the stars who we knew as the Olimar."

"From the stars?"

"He came in something similar to our Onions, but different too. It was broken when he landed; we were so allured by the Olimar that we helped him fix it. In return, he taught us how to fight our predators, how to work together to build bridges, break walls, get safely to the Onions before nightfall, that sort of thing."

That explains it, Mamumin thought. These Pikmin could think because they had been trained to. It was still unnerving to know that they COULD think, but knowing why helped him relax.

"Anyway, the Olimar left when his Onion-thing was fixed. We're all worried that without him, we'll forget how to protect ourselves. So we're looking for the nectar that will make us Alpha Pikmin, so that we can take the Olimar's place. And, since we really don't know where it is, I was hoping that maybe you could come with us, if you're not busy, of course, and break down the walls that we can't? That sort of stuff."

Mamumin thought for a long time. It was true, he really DIDN'T have anywhere to go. But if he joined these Pikmin, he would be worshipped. He didn't like being avoided by Pikmin, but he didn't much care for adolation either. Then again, if these Pikmin could think, maybe they wouldn't see him as a god. "Will I be revered?" he asked Wulfmin, just to check.

"Do you want to be?"

"Not really."

"I can't speak for everyone, but I won't. And there's one who will, whether you tell him to or not. We ignore him, though."

Mamumin nodded awkwardly (more of a bow, really.) This whole thing was going from scary to intriguing quite fast. "Are you a good leader, then?"

"No one leads. I sometimes get ideas quicker than anyone else, and this whole thing was my idea, but I really don't lead."

Mamumin nodded again. "Okay. Then fine, I'll come along, why not?"

Masamune

Prophmin watched huddled inside the log as he watched Wulfmin bring the Chosen One into their camp. He knew exactly what had happened. Wulfmin, in a desperate bid to be the Alpha Pikmin, had sacrificed the rest of the Pikmin to the Great Mamuta. It was all too much for Prophmin to take, but he was not about to let Wulfmin get away with it. As such, Prophmin carefully hid himself as best as he could and watched the other Pikmin begin to approach Wulfmin and the Chosen One.

"Arr, ye look a might strange," Arrmin commented as he looked Mamumin over. "Ye one of them parasem- parasat- para- uhh... "

"Parasitical Pikmin?" Mamumin offered.

"Aye! That be the one! Pair'a'sitkles like these Bulbmins."

Mamumin shook his head, "They are quite different than I am."

Prophmin had enough, what Arrmin had said was far too offensive. He quickly rushed out of his hiding spot and pushed Arrmin down, waving a stick threateningly. "How dare you suggest a Pikmin would... would invade the Great Mamuta's head!"

Mamumin leaned over to Wulfmin, "That the one?"

Wulfmin nodded. He then turned to the group of Pikmin. "This is Mamumin. He has agreed to come along with us, but he stresses that he is not to be revered as a god."

"Blasphemy!" Prophmin suddenly shouted. He was not quite sure what the word meant, but he felt it vaguely appropriate in the circumstances "The Great Mamuta MUST be revered and worshipped, lest he smite us all with doom. DOOM from the sky!"

There was a momentary silence before Wulfmin spoke up. "We should probably decide what to do next."

Gobmin puffed on his pipe before responding, "Has Mamumin ever heard of the 'Alpha Nectar'?"

Mamumin shook his head. "Do you have any basic idea where to go?"

"Well... not exactly," Wulfmin admitted. "When the Olimar left, his Onion travelled towards where the light rises."

"Arr," Arrmin agreed.

"That way may not... be the best," Mamuta replied. "That way eventually leads to a great wasteland. No Mamuta has ever crossed it."

"I don't even see why we need a Alpha Pikmin anymore," Prophmin objected. "The Chosen One will lead us."

Mamumin raised his hands in front of him, "No no... I'm not interesting in leading a bunch of 'mins. I'm just here to watch and help out a little."

Eventually Wulfmin concluded that the only way to decide what to do was to put it down to a vote. Prophmin was adamant that they should find the Great Mamuta since the Chosen One was not being particularily Chosen-like. However, most of the Pikmin had grown tired of Prophmin and voted in favor of continuing to go in the same direction they had been. After all, none of them had ever heard of a wasteland and it did not sound that bad anyways.

Within an hour the group had begun to move once again. Wulfmin ended up leading the group, as it had become quite usual for him to do so. Mamumin followed close behind, but ended up speaking mostly to Brymin, who related to him his unique sequences of changes through his life and was curious if Mamumin had ever fell in a Candypop Bud. In the back of the procession, Prophmin followedat a slow pace, loathing every single min in front of him. He had taken to drawing spiteful pictures of Wulfmin, but one of the Bulbmin ended up eating the leaf he had been drawing on. As they continue their quest, in the back of Prophmin's mind, he began to suspect this was not the Chosen One at all...

... but a False Mamuta sent to deceive them and lead them into sure doom. DOOM

SteveT

“To the wasteland it is, then,” Wulfmin said with his hands on his leaf-clad hips.

Prophmin stammered. “Chosen One! Use your godly might and destroy this…” Wulfmin made a candid gesture to Gobmin. “False leader who will send us all to our D- -“ A puff of purple smoke put Prophmin into a coughing fit.

Before Prophmin could recover, Wulfmin gagged him with blade of grass and tied his hands with another.

Mamumin, with a puzzled glance, said, “Wulfmin, he’s one of our own.”

“Yarr, trust, if ye knew him longer, ye’d gag him too,” said Arrmin.

Wulfmin nodded. “I just want one day of quiet. No doomcalling, no intentionally holding us back just to be obstinate, no insulting pictures of me and my very manly attire.”

At this, Prophmin’s muffled shouts became even louder.

“We’re not leaving him behind, if that’s what you think,” said Gobmin between puffs of smoke. “We’d never abandon a fellow ‘Min.”

Wulfmin watched Mamumin intently. This was risky. He hadn’t expected the Mamumin to be the one to raise an objection to gagging Prophmin. Brymin, maybe. Maybe even one of the Bulbmin would get upset about the shouting and grappling, but Mamumin’s opinion mattered quite a bit to Wulfmin’s followers. He could tell just by the way they looked at him now that a Mamuta, exotic as this one may be, joined their group. If Mamumin ever wanted to take charge of the garden*, he could.

They were already tensing themselves for a possible fight. Pikmin were intensely loyal to their leaders, so long as the leader was unchallenged. Pikmin had no blood to spill and were often reincarnated. No ‘Min was afraid of death.

But Mamumin had no such aspirations. He stared at Wulfmin for a while, then shrugged and said, “You’re the boss.” There was a collective sigh.

Wulfmin returned a steady gaze, trying to convey his gratitude without the other ‘Min seeing it. He could not compromise his position of leadership by implicitly deferring to Mamumin’s judgement.

In a matter of minutes, Arrmin and a few others of the garden fashioned a frame out of twigs and using leaves and grass, tied Prophmin (still gagged) to the frame, and the frame to Sumin’s back. Sumin cared more about the company than the weight, and for the rest of the day, he heard nothing but the very loud grumbling from behind his head. He was also ready to swear that Prophmin was intentionally flailing his leaf around in such a way as to constantly cover Sumin’s eyes. He also felt more than a few kicks, and after an hour, Sumin requested that his cargo’s legs be tied tighter.

• * *

By sundown, the garden was on the edge of the wasteland, although wasteland was perhaps not the best word, although even the outskirts were certainly hostile. The land was peppered with small, yellow, and (at least according to Arrmin) highly caustic puddles of liquid. Everyone knew that Arrmin was afraid of all water, but something about the color and the lack of plants near these puddles stifled any arguments.

Here and there, large pieces of metal jutted out of the ground, so huge that even the Olimar’s Onion was dwarfed by them. Some were an earthy orange color, but others were shinier than even the ornamental plate that the Olimar took with him when he ascended to the heavens.

In the distance, mountains of metal cut across the landscape, blocking Wulfmin’s view of the setting sun.

“If you ask me,” Gobmin said, “This looks like a breeding ground for dweevils.”

Wulfmin plucked one of his own petals and dropped it in a nearby puddle. He watched as it turned black and disappeared. “Take Brymin and Arrmin and find us some shelter for the night.”

Gobmin tipped his hat and sauntered off.

• * *

Prophmin’s eyes could have burned through the gags and binds, if only he had laser-vision. Instead, he was stuck on the fat purple pikmin’s back. False Chosen One he grumbled…Treacherous leader…Fat Purple Pikmin…Puddles of death…DOOM IN GENERAL!

That was it. He wanted nothing more of Wulfmin and his quest to destroy every ‘Min in the garden. Prophmin couldn’t stand it, so he did the only thing he could.

He stopped grumbling for a while and whistled instead. He had discovered, over the years, that if you were trapped in grass or alfalfa sprouts, that a well-trained Bulbmin was usually more than happy to help you out.

Indeed, this was the case, and Prophmin could soon move his arms again. He ripped the gag from his mouth and while Sumin was distracted by petting the other Bulbmin, innocently thinking that they were just biting Prophmin rather than freeing him, the yellow prophet of doom slipped off the frame and scampered into the darkness of night. He dropped to his stomach and curled under his robe, disguising himself as nothing but a fallen leaf.

The plan worked. Sumin didn’t even notice that Prophmin was gone, since the frame weighed more than Prophmin, and he took no notice of the leaf on the ground. Sumin soon walked away, calling the Bulbmin to accompany him.

But Prophmin had overlooked a detail in his plan. It was late at night. THEY would be awake. Huddled under his leaf, Prophmin very slowly inched back in the direction they had come. He knew the path quite well—he had been watching it the entire ride to the wasteland. He would go home and tell the other Pikmin that Wulfmin had gotten everyone killed.

And he’d have the pictures to prove it.

Luiigii of the Pipes

Prophmin thought he had made good progress, stopping every so often to disguise himself, then running like nobody's business. It wasn't too hard to avoid the nocturnal creatures, really. They were predictable, hiding in the obvious places, and the REAL Great Mamuta was with him as well, after all. He thought for a second that he might even be able to avoid them when his small body said, "What? That's crazy," remembered that it had been two days since Prophmin's last nutrient restoration at the Onion, and forced him to collapse. The only solace he got was that the other Pikmin fools back there had no doubt collapsed as well, in MUCH more embarassing positions than the one he was in now.

He lay there for some time, making his prayers to the Great Mamuta, when the first set of red eyes appeared in the brush. Then another. The first one blinked away as the third appeared, making it look like two, but then the first opened its eyes again. Prophmin blinked as well, switching from prayer to flat-out worship in his mind. In response, a hundred more eyes appeared. Maybe he was being punished for not realizing that the Chosen One was fake in the first place...

"Poor widdle Prophmin," a voice said from the direction of the first set of red eyes, which seemed to glow brighter than the others. "He's so tired and hungry, but he's MUCH too good to eat meat like us commoners."

Something flew out of the clearing near the voice and landed in front of Prophmin. He didn't want to look at it. Unfortunately for him, a tiny hand (at least he thought it was, he couldn't really see it) grabbed the back of his head and forcibly turned it to look. It actually wasn't that bad--just a Snitchbug's wing. "Eat it," the voice said.

It was suddenly the most disgusting thing he had ever encountered. "I can't!" Prophmin wailed. "The Great Mamuta didn't bless me with a mou--"

"DO NOT SPEAK OF THE WRETCHED MAMUTA HERE!" another voice shrieked. "WE WORSHIP THE ONE AND ONLY SMOKY PROGG!"

"Mouths are just a courtesy," the first voice continued. "Just put it up against where your mouth would be."

Prophmin didn't. Even if he wanted to, which he absolutely did not, he couldn't move anyway. However, a black arm reached out from behind him, grabbed the wing, and forced it against his face. Prophmin struggled, sure, as much as he could, but as the wing decomposed against whatever enzymatic processes he had going on there, he did feel his strength returning. In a moment he was on his feet, with only the disgusting feeling that he had EATEN something still on his mind. Those same tiny hands from before were holding his arms now, pinning them behind him.

"Now Prophmin. Do you remember that first night you were here?"

"Yes."

"Don't speak unless spoken to!"

"But you asked me a qu--"

The thing behind Prophmin kicked at his legs, causing him to fall flat on his face, then picked him back up. Prophmin would have cried if he knew that he could.

"We made a deal. You trick a couple of Pikmin into not reaching the Onions on time every couple of nights, we don't eat YOU next time we see you. How many have you left us again, Prophmin? I think it was ZERO!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Prophmin pleaded. "The Olimar was keeping record!"

"What about last night, then? You had 46 other Pikmin in that log with you. No Olimar. Even two of those juicy Bulbmin. Would it have been so hard to say, 'Hey, check out this thing outside,' and then the poor sucker does and never comes back? You probably wouldn't even have been blamed."

Prophmin shivered, partly because they were keeping count.

"We're nice guys, Prophmin. We really are. It's not our fault that we enjoy the taste of our own more than anything. And since we're so nice, we're giving you another chance. You go back to your little friends--"

"But..."

"And if we DON'T get any courtesy of you, we're going to raid. Guess which of you we'll eat first."

The thing behind Prophmin licked the back of his head, for effect. Now Prophmin really did cry, even though he didn't know how. "But I can't suffer those fools any longer..."

"Too bad." The eyes all closed in unison and the hands released him. With the least of shuffling, they were all gone. Prophmin curled up in his leaf and cried. He was doomed.

It was some time later when the False One found him. A Bulborb had grown suspicious of the moaning sounds coming from his leaf protection, but Mamumin had little trouble in driving it away. “What happened to you?” he asked, poking the leaf to prove that he did indeed know where Prophmin was.

Prophmin stood, making it very clear that he hadn’t been crying and had in fact never cried before in his life. “I was abandoned by the great grape oaf. He should be taken care of.”

“It was an accident. They would have come for you themselves, but I insisted with the dark and all.”

More proof that this was a false Chosen One. The real Chosen One would have smythed a fool like that in moments. Prophmin kept this to himself, of course; in the very inconceivable possibility that he WAS wrong, he didn’t want to be on the Chosen One’s bad side. Instead he simply grunted and followed the False One back to the wasteland, eyeing him closely.

“I don’t like this wasteland, to be honest,” the False One said. “Most bugs rarely go there, what with all the hazards. And there are tales…”

Prophmin was pretending to listen closely. In fact, he was listening closely, though he told himself very plainly that he was pretending.

“Some say that they’ve seen a monster roaming the area, day and night. Taller than a Bulborb… and the only warning of its approach is an odd, musical sound with every step..."

They had reached the new camp by now, hidden under a slant of metal. They ducked inside... and froze.

The other Pikmin were collapsed, all save Sumin, who was holding a yellow with a sorrowful look. The Bulbmin sniffed around, whining.

"I didn't do it!" Sumin said as soon as they entered.

"Of course you didn't," Mamumin said dismissively. "How long have they been away from their Onions?"

"I-I don't know. I only just joined yesterday."

"Two days," Prophmin said. "I knew we would be doomed."

Mamumin eyed him. "Why haven't you fainted?"

"The Great Mamuta supports and nourishes me."

"Uh huh..."

"What do we do?" Sumin asked.

"Well... Pikmin who are buried are nourished. I could--"

"NO!" Prophmin shouted, a little too loudly. They wouldn't be happy if they had to pull the Pikmin out...

"Right, they'd lose their memories... What did you do?" Mamumin asked of Sumin. "They said that you lived on an island before joining them."

"I'm not proud of what I did..." Sumin mumbled.

"That was?"

"There were clovers on the island... and I would eat them. But only when I had to!"

Mamumin considered this. He had, admittedly, never seen a Pikmin eat before. It wasn't impossible, though.

"Let's see if we can find any food, then."

Piku-Lord

Mamumin, Sumin, and Prophmin left the shelter, the latter two promising the former that they wouldn't go far, though it was unlikely that they would find anything in the wasteland itself. Prophmin made even better on this promise and went straight back into the shelter once the other two were out of sight.

All of the Pikmin inside were unconscious, so none noticed as he crept over to Arrmin and picked him up. Arrmin would be the perfect sacrifice for his harrassers, since it would end his blasphemies in the process. Then he remembered how well Wulfmin and Arrmin got along, and dropped him in distaste. It would be too obvious if Arrmin disappeared.

He continued scanning the group, but in his time of solemn glaring-at-them-all-from-a-distance, he had come to notice that every Pikmin here spent much time with at least one other. All would be noticed if they went missing.

Except for Brymin.

Brymin's fierce denial of having ever been a yellow Pikmin made him particularly unpopular with the other yellows. Instead, Brymin spent most of his time standing around Wulfmin and Arrmin and pretending to be important, unaware of course that he would have to stand around Prophmin himself to be important. Brymin was also one of those new monsters, which would give them quite a meal.

The only question was how to move him. Prophmin tried to lift Brymin himself and nearly tore his arms off. He was just about to declare that the Great Mamuta wanted to kill this beast in a less glorious way when the Bulbmin showed up. Abominations though they were, the Great Mamuta worked in mysterious ways and Prophmin ordered them to pick Brymin up and follow him to the nearest part of the forest. Amazingly, they obeyed.