The damp chill of hydrogel clung to Jude’s skin as he stepped into the hallway, a towel knotted loosely around his waist. Each step left a faint, wet imprint on the wooden floor, his fingers brushing through his damp hair in a half-hearted attempt to get it out of sight.
From down the hall, the soft hum of the TV reached him, punctuated by bursts of dialogue and laughter. His lips quirked into a smile as he followed the sound.
Turning the corner, he stopped. There she was—Marta, sunk into the worn cushions of the sofa like she belonged to them. A bowl of popcorn teetered precariously atop her swollen belly, one careless movement away from disaster. Her tail swayed absentmindedly, the tip flicking like it had a mind of its own, mirroring her amusement at whatever show played on the screen.
She tossed another piece of popcorn into her mouth, chewing it as loudly as possible.
Jude leaned against the doorframe, the cool surface grounding him for a moment. His chest tightened at the sight—not just because she was radiant but because the absurdity of it all hit him in a wave. Popcorn, a show, the faint wiggle of her tail—it was a snapshot of normalcy in a world that felt anything but. And how he loved it!
He cleared his throat softly, more out of habit than necessity. Marta’s eyes flicked up to him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You look like you got into a fight with a jellyfish and lost,” she teased, tossing a piece of popcorn in his direction.
Jude caught the popcorn mid-air with a smirk. He twirled it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. “Popcorn for breakfast?”
Marta shrugged, her eyes never leaving the screen as she threw another handful into her mouth. “We ran out of avocados. Had nothing to put on my toast,” she said matter-of-factly. “Had to work with what we had.”
Jude crossed his arms. “Jam, butter, ham, cheese...” he listed, ticking off each item on invisible fingers. “All kinds of options to dress up your toast, but you gave up on bread and pick popcorn?” His brow arched with mock judgment.
Marta finally turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Her lips quirked into a smirk as she shrugged. “I’m pregnant,” she said. “I’m not expected to be rocket-science smart.”
“I can go outside and fetch some avocados,” he offered.
Marta’s tail gave an absent-minded flick, her hand dipping into the popcorn bowl again. She popped another kernel into her mouth, her lips pursing in thought. “No,” she said, her tone stretching like a lazy Sunday morning. “I think I’m over avocado toast.”
Her pout deepened, but before Jude could respond, her face lit up with sudden recollection. “Oh!” she blurted, sitting up straighter, causing the bowl to tilt dangerously. She caught it just in time, her eyes wide with mock seriousness. “They called from your office.”
Jude’s expression shifted instantly, his playful grin sharpening into something more guarded. “And you told them I wasn’t available, right?” he asked, his voice measured but with a trace of disbelief, like he already knew the answer.
Marta tilted her head, her expression unreadable.
“You told them I went to the other side of the galaxy,” he continued, a wry edge creeping into his tone. “Because, you know, I’m on holiday, right? You told them you’re about to have our son?”
Her silence was louder than anything she could have said, her tail giving an amused flick against the cushions as she met his eyes, daring him to fill the void she’d left hanging in the air.
Marta grimaced, her lips tightening as her eyes darted to the popcorn bowl in her lap. She shifted her weight, her tail flicking nervously as she braced for the inevitable. “They said it was important,” she admitted.
Jude froze, the easy grin slipping from his face. Without a word, he stepped into the living room. “Marta…” he began. He let himself collapse onto the couch beside her, his head falling back against the cushions. “We agreed to say no. I don’t want to go to work,” he continued. “What if they send me to the other side of the world?” He turned to look at her, his eyes searching hers, pleading for understanding. “Or worse—what if they stick me in a simulation for weeks?”
His hand gestured vaguely toward the ceiling as if the oppressive thought could be swatted away like a fly. “I just want to stay here. With you. With us.”
Her fingers toyed with a stray piece of popcorn in the bowl, tossing it absently into her mouth. “Why would they send you to the other side of the world? John said it’s just a meeting.”
She turned her head to face him, her smile widening just enough to show a glimmer of reassurance. “You go in, do your watcher thingy, and then you’re free. And compensated in gold,” she added, drawing out the last word as if it were the clincher, her brows quirking with playful emphasis.
Her tail brushed against his leg, a silent nudge to lighten his mood. “It’s not the end of the galaxy, Jude.”
“You really don’t know how to say no, do you, Mrs. James?”
Marta leaned in without missing a beat, her bald head resting lightly against his shoulder. “Well,” she said, “we are married, aren’t we?”
Jude chuckled, his hand absently reaching for Marta’s ears, his fingers brushing over the soft, pointed tips. He paused, his smile fading into a curious frown as he noticed the dampness. “Why are your ears wet?”
“They’re itchy,” she admitted, scratching lightly at the base of one ear. “The lady at the pharmacy said this stuff might help.”
Jude leaned closer, narrowing his eyes as he inspected her ears like a detective solving a grand mystery. “What stuff?” he asked, his grin returning. “You put mystery goo on your head?”
Marta pouted, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s not mystery goo! It’s some herbal oil or whatever. She said it’s supposed to soothe irritation.”
“Let me guess,” Jude teased, leaning back on the couch with a smug look. “You didn’t even read the label.”
Marta’s lips pressed into a thin line. She grabbed a handful of popcorn, throwing a piece at him with a mock glare. “I’m pregnant. I don’t have to justify anything to you,” she declared, her tail swishing emphatically.
Jude dodged the popcorn with exaggerated agility, laughing. “Herbal oil,” he mused. “Next thing I know, you’ll be growing leaves.” He reached out, brushing a finger gently along the edge of her ear, and added with a smirk, “At least they’re still cute. Oily, but cute.”
Jude rubbed his fingers together, grimacing at the slick residue. “This stuff is so sticky,” he muttered, his tone filled with playful exaggeration.
Marta smirked, one eyebrow quirked. “Thank you, Mr. Observation. You’re sticky too, you know.”
“Smartass.”
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His lips found hers in a slow, dragging kiss that lingered just enough to make her tail flick in that telltale way.
As he pulled back, he asked, “By the way, could you call the pod company? There’s something off with mine.”
Marta blinked, the moment interrupted as her head tilted in mild confusion. “What do you mean, ‘off’?”
“Maybe my chip burned out or got corrupted.”
Marta shifted slightly, her hand idly tracing circles on his arm. She arched a brow, her curiosity piqued. “What makes you say that?”
He leaned back, his head lolling against the cushion as he let out a low chuckle. “Had the weirdest simulation ever,” he said, "I was insulted by a fly."
“What?”
----------------------------------------
The insistent ringing of the doorbell cut through the apartment like a blaring alarm. Marta groaned as she flushed the toilet and hurriedly yanked up her pants. "Oh, for fuck’s sake," she muttered, "Pregnant lady here!"
Her hand pressed against her lower back as she shuffled toward the door, each step an awkward effort to move faster than her body wanted to allow. The relentless ding-ding-ding of the bell didn't stop, making her grit her teeth.
"I said I’m coming!" she shouted. As she reached the door, she grabbed the handle with a tug, yanking it open with a glare.
The sight before her caught her off guard, but her annoyance still lingered. "What the hell is so important you couldn’t wait five seconds?"
Marta’s eyes narrowed as she took in the man standing before her—a tall, broad-shouldered black man dressed in a white uniform adorned with the logo of the pod company. The name embroidered neatly on a blue tag over his chest read Brandon S.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m from—” he began, his tone professional.
She cut him off, her irritation flaring as she leaned against the doorframe. “Why did you ring so many damn times?”
He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of her question, before recovering with a small, sheepish smile. “I’ve been here for a while,” he explained, adjusting his clipboard. “Wanted to be sure nobody was home before I left.”
“And that requires you to press the bell like your life depends on it?”
Brandon shrugged slightly. “Better to be thorough than miss someone who’s expecting me,” he replied with a faint smile that didn’t quite meet her irritation.
Marta pointed at her belly, her other hand braced against the doorframe for support. “I’m slow. I’m pregnant,”
The man shifted uncomfortably, his clipboard tucked under one arm. “I... I apologize,” he stammered. “I’m just here to check on the pod.”
She rolled her eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh before waving him in with a lazy flick of her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Come on in. Do you like popcorn?”
"Euh, thank you, but I'm fine, " he said, following her through the narrow hallway. The sound of her shuffling steps blended with the faint creak of the floorboards. They descended the staircase to the basement, the air growing cooler and tinged with the metallic scent of machinery.
The basement's walls gleamed black, coated in smooth vinyl that reflected the soft glow of the equipment. The low hum of running systems filled the space, rhythmic and methodical, like the heartbeat of something alive.
A four-screen desktop sat against one wall, its monitors flickering with streams of data and code, the symbols dancing like whispers in the dim light. In the centre of the room stood the pod—a sleek, metallic structure that looked more like it belonged in a military bunker than a suburban basement.
Marta gestured at the setup as they entered. “Welcome to my husband’s world,” she said dryly. “It’s not exactly cosy, but it gets the job done. Missions, training, survival... or whatever he does in that thing. I believe sometimes he comes here for a nap*.*”
Brandon’s eyes smiled and roved over the space, his posture straightening as he took it in.
Marta waved her hand lazily toward the setup. “There’s the PC, and there’s his pod,” she said, her voice tinged with boredom.
Brandon adjusted his clipboard. “Did he mention what was wrong?” he asked, stepping closer.
Marta leaned against the stairwell, her hand resting on her back as if to ease the weight. “He said he was insulted by a fly,” she replied matter-of-factly.
Brandon froze mid-step, his brow furrowing. “Pardon me?”
She shrugged, a smirk creeping onto her face. “You heard me. A fly. I imagine it was buzzing around, throwing insults his way. He didn't say much.”
Brandon blinked, his professional demeanour slipping for just a second. “That... doesn’t sound like standard simulation behaviour,” he said cautiously.
Marta crossed her arms, her grin widening. “Exactly. If you don’t understand it, then something’s definitely wrong with his system.” She chuckled, the sound light and teasing as if daring him to find logic in Jude’s bizarre complaint.
Brandon adjusted his cap, his brow furrowed as he tried to piece together Marta's explanation. “Well, I’ve dealt with glitches, bugs, and corrupt sequences, but... insulted by a fly? That’s a new one.”
“Welcome to my life,” she quipped, her voice tinged with amusement. “Jude gets these... unique experiences. You’d think he was beta-testing the universe over and over again.”
Brandon stepped closer to the pod, running his fingers over its metallic surface, the cool metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He pulled out a small device from his belt and started scanning. “This pod’s military-grade,” he murmured. “Hardly the type to malfunction over... imaginary insects.”
Marta tilted her head, the grin still on her face. “Well, apparently, it did. So, Mr. Pod Specialist, what’s your verdict?”
Brandon sat on the chair and slid it forward, the wheels squeaking faintly against the floor as he settled in front of the computer. The glow of the screens illuminated his face as he navigated through the operating system's directories.
Marta leaned over his shoulder, arms crossed, her eyebrow arching as she watched him. "Don’t you need his credentials?" she asked.
Brandon’s lips tugged into a smirk, his fingers pausing for a brief moment on the keyboard. Without looking up, he replied, "No, ma’am. I’m logged in with my admin account."
Marta shifted her weight on the back of the chair. "Isn’t that, like... hacking?"
Brandon finally turned to her, his grin widening. “Not exactly. It’s called doing my job.” He leaned back slightly, spinning the chair just enough to face her fully. “You should never give your credentials to anyone, though. That’s how hackers get into your system.”
Marta rolled her eyes, which then fell to the screen, her expression tightening. A single icon stood stark against the white background—a small, unassuming file labelled Nirvana02.ini. “What is that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Brandon didn’t answer immediately, his fingers hovering above the keyboard as if he, too, were processing what he was seeing.
“That wasn’t supposed to be here,” he muttered as though speaking too loudly might make the file disappear—or worse, activate it.
“What is that?” Marta repeated, more insistent this time.
Brandon straightened in his chair, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It’s... an initialization file,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with a hesitation that didn’t go unnoticed. “But I’ve never seen this before. Nirvana02? That’s... not a standard system file."
Marta stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the screen. “And what does that mean?”
“It means this isn’t normal. At all.” His voice was quiet, almost as though he were speaking to himself. “If this file is active, it could explain... the fly. Hell, it might be rewriting parts of the SiC as we speak.”
Marta's arms instinctively wrapped around her belly, a quiet instinct to shield the life growing within. “Rewriting? That sounds... bad.”
Brandon didn’t look up, his focus locked on the screen as he opened the file. Lines of code scrolled down rapidly, and a flood of commands and configurations made Marta feel like she was looking at an alien language, the irony.
“Bad,” he echoed. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
The icon flickered and, before their eyes, renamed itself to Nirvana03.ini. The cursor trembled, untouched as if the system had a mind of its own.
“What the fuck?” he muttered, pulling his hands back and raising them defensively. “I’m not doing anything.”
Marta leaned in and opened the file with a swift click. Her breath hitched as lines of code scrolled furiously across the screen—line after line erased faster than her eyes could follow.
“What is it doing?” Marta whispered.
Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know.”
The screen stuttered for a moment before a new sequence began. Lines of fresh code materialized—smoother, cleaner, almost willful. Each new command seemed to overwrite the deleted ones, but there was no indication of who—or what—was controlling the process.
“It’s reversing everything,” Brandon murmured, leaning closer, his eyes darting to try and catch a pattern. “But... these aren’t system defaults. This is something... new.”
The file stopped scrolling abruptly. The screen glowed faintly, casting eerie shadows on their faces, as a single line of text appeared at the bottom of the code:
“Initialization Complete. Protocol Nirvana03 Activated.”
Marta’s chest tightened. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said slowly, “someone just rewrote the system. And we have no idea who—or why. Or even what system.”
“Should I do something?”
“I’m… I don’t know, I—”
Brandon was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of water splashing onto the floor. Both their gazes snapped downward, where a spreading pool glistened under the fluorescent lights.
Marta’s face went pale, "What’s your name?” she asked.
“Brandon,” he said. “Brandon Smith.”
Marta gripped the edge of the desk, steadying herself. “Brandon,” she repeated. “Could you take me to the hospital?”
Brandon blinked, frozen for a fraction of a second before her words hit him full force.
“Now,” she added, her hand motioning to her belly, “because I think my waters just broke.”