Homo Sapiens

After checking into their hotel, they left their luggage behind and made their way to a commercial street in the Harbor District.

"It seems this street, much like the city itself, is very new and orderly," Anthony muttered as they walked.

Quite a few pedestrians on the street were wearing masks.

They seemed to give a white man like Anthony a wide berth, subconsciously moving away. After all, outsiders weren’t just visitors these days; they could also bring trouble.

Christine walked up to a restaurant. A small sign nailed by the door read: 36 Sea Anemone Street.

She discreetly scanned the restaurant’s interior but didn’t find what she was looking for.

"Feeling hungry?" Anthony asked, playing his part.

Christine nodded. "Let’s go with this one."

The restaurant was unremarkable. Judging by the style of the decor and the faint marks on the walls where things had been removed, it probably hadn’t always been a restaurant.

The owner, who was also the chef, bustled about in the open kitchen.

A young girl walked over with a menu. "Here you are, the menu."

Anthony took it and flipped through it. Fortunately, the menu had both English and Chinese, otherwise they would have had to guess.

Suddenly, Christine’s gaze landed on the text following some of the item names on the menu.

[Egg Fried Rice - 15 Pesos (Artificial Egg)]

[Scrambled Eggs with Tomato - 10 Pesos (Artificial Egg)]

[Savory Hamburg Patty - 18 Pesos (Synthetic Meat)]

Similar items made up two-thirds of the menu. The dishes marked as having natural eggs and meat were nearly twice as expensive.

Christine asked curiously, "What’s the difference between natural eggs and artificial ones?"

The young girl seemed a little clueless. "I don’t know. They taste the same, but the artificial eggs are cheaper."

Anthony and Christine exchanged a look. They ordered the egg fried rice, scrambled eggs with tomato, and the Hamburg patty.

The Hamburg patty was only available with synthetic meat, but for the egg fried rice and scrambled eggs with tomato, they ordered one of each: one with artificial eggs and one with natural eggs.

Christine also asked if she could watch from near the kitchen, and the owner didn’t object. After all, it was an official requirement for all businesses to clearly label the use of artificial eggs and synthetic meat on their products and menus.

In any case, choosing between natural and artificial products was up to the customer.

However, Anthony and Christine noticed that the vast majority of local customers chose the artificial options.

Standing by the glass window, Christine watched the owner pour a large scoop of a thick, viscous, yellow-and-white liquid from a large plastic bottle into a big iron wok.

She opened Google Translate and scanned the label on the large plastic bottle. It read: Haitian Artificial Egg Liquid, Net Wt. 5L, MSRP 300 Pesos, Ingredients...

After reading the ingredients, Christine looked up the nutritional composition of real eggs and found that the two were nearly identical.

Just as she was taking this in with a stunned expression, the owner sprinkled some chopped scallions over the fried rice, finishing a large, hearty plate.

But when it came time to cook with the natural egg, she noticed the difference. The owner cracked a single egg, and it didn’t even fill half of the large scoop he had used before.

Back at their table, their food arrived shortly after.

Christine’s natural-egg fried rice had just a few sparse bits of egg, while Anthony’s, made with the artificial egg, had at least twice as much.

"Such a huge difference in price and portion size..." Christine said, picking up her spoon. She took a bite of her natural-egg fried rice, then a bite of the artificial-egg version.

Anthony did the same. "Huh? The artificial one doesn’t have that distinct eggy flavor."

Christine tasted it again, more carefully. She realized the only real difference was the lack of that eggy flavor in the artificial one; the texture and taste were otherwise nearly identical.

It all made sense to her now. The flavor was arguably better, the nutritional content was comparable, and the price was significantly cheaper. No wonder restaurant owners preferred artificial eggs.

And customers, conscious of their wallets, would likely choose them as well.

’Haitian Artificial Egg... Haitian Agriculture... Isn’t that the company controlled by the Fernando Clan?’ Christine thought to herself.

After lunch, they walked down the street, preoccupied with their thoughts.

Since street stalls were forbidden on this commercial street, they didn’t encounter the kinds of vendors they had seen on the streets of Manila.

They flagged down an electric tricycle by the side of the road and began to tour the city.

The driver was a skinny young man who cheerfully pointed out the sights along the way.

After they had passed four or five streets, Anthony asked nonchalantly, "How come we haven’t seen any of those small roadside vendors?"

"Huh? Oh... you mean the street stalls?" The young man finally understood. "There are designated pedestrian streets and small markets for that. You’re not allowed to set up a stall in an area unless you have a permit."

Anthony pressed on. "I see. Don’t they have laws like that in Manila?"

The young man shook his head. "I wouldn’t know, I’ve never left Lucena. Do they have laws like that in America?"

"Yes, we do."

As they chatted, the tricycle passed a bar. Christine asked curiously, "That bar has the exact same name as a small town in California."

The young man glanced at the bar. "Oh, that place? I think a white guy owned it, but the poor bastard went missing a while back. The bar’s been closed for over three months now."

"Oh! That’s terrifying. Does that kind of thing happen often here?" Christine asked, covering her mouth in feigned fear.

"Haha, don’t you worry. Public safety is much better now. That guy went missing at sea. I heard his whole yacht disappeared, along with a dozen or so people."

Anthony’s eyebrow twitched. "And they still haven’t found anyone?"

"Nope. Word is they vanished somewhere near Swallow Island. Haven’t even found the yacht."

’Swallow Island...’ Anthony silently filed the name away, then changed the subject. "Are there any nice beaches around here? Preferably somewhere safe."

The young man’s smile widened. "You’ve asked the right person! The Golden Beach Scenic Area in the East Suburb of Lucena is made just for tourists. The prices aren’t too high, and they have their own security guards."

"What kind of fun things are there to do?" Christine pressed, feigning great interest.

"There’s diving, an aquarium, a water park, seafood restaurants, fishing, surfing... oh, and a survival simulation! That one teaches you a bunch of survival skills. You can even try traditional salt-making and stuff like that," the young man listed proudly.

Christine hugged Anthony’s arm. "Honey, what do you say we go to this Golden Beach Scenic Area?"

"Okay, okay!" Anthony turned to the driver. "Could you take us to the Golden Beach Scenic Area, please? It’s not too far from here, is it?"

"Not far. Just a little over four kilometers. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Okay, to the Golden Beach Scenic Area it is."

The tricycle turned around and headed toward the Golden Beach Scenic Area in the East Suburb.

Christine was looking at a tourist map in her hands, then double-checking it with Google Maps on her phone. She discovered that Swallow Island was just about three kilometers across the water from the Golden Beach Scenic Area.

This made her glance instinctively at the young driver before quickly pulling back her scrutinizing gaze and turning to watch the local scenery pass by.

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