Buried within the damp organics are furry fingers that refuse to rot, and a mind that never cease to seek.
Fame and fortune are beneath this being, like the molten clay that loses consistency at the slightest pressure of a wriggling snout.
Matters of all sorts make way for the beast, worms and roots coil up as if they do not exist.
What it seeks lies not in the mortal realm – nor in any realms at all. Some wonder whether the persistence for survival weakens the desire to evolve into something different, or something better.
There are experiments done to coax one to breathe like normal, to act like normal. To check the boxes and to quench the expectations of a desirable creature to own, for who does not want a radioactive-free furball staring at you longingly from the moment you wake up till the end of your life.
The wonderings lead to futile conclusions, citing poor inter-species relationship, low sense of self-deprecation and lack of dependent receptors towards humans that made modifications and genetic rectification works extremely cost ineffective.
Such setbacks are not deterrents to the advancement of studies done to gain the respect of this adorably dangerous being, and hopefully science would pave the tunnels to the purpose behind the masterminds of the underground sentients and most importantly, to excavate the truth of the stolen elemental commodity kept in their posession to restore peace on Earth: Astatine.