Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

General Buzz Grunt was undoubtedly the most competent man in town when it came to discipline and authority: just as uncompromising within Division 47 as he was at home with his three sons, or even in the supermarket aisles, where a simple frown was enough to silence chatterboxes. That was precisely why the mayor had summoned him to his office the day before. Reports of unidentified flying objects had increased exponentially in recent weeks, and citizens were worried. They demanded answers — official answers.

The mayor’s office was sweltering. On the desk, a lamp with an adjustable arm cast a yellowish light, while an old fan oscillated slowly, barely moving the warm air. The mayor, sitting upright in his maroon suit, tapped his fingers on a folder stamped "Confidential," while a particularly irritated Buzz Grunt sat before him.

"Working with the Curious? Mr. Mayor, is this a joke?"

"You know as well as I do that the Curious family is known for their scientific research."

"Glarn Curious was known. His sons are... well..."

"Grunt," the mayor interrupted quickly, "The Curious brothers may be—let's say—eccentric, but they’re talented and passionate. They have cutting-edge scientific equipment. Their instruments might finally give us tangible data about what’s going on above our heads." The general stood up abruptly, his leather chair creaking. He raised his hands as if to ward off the idea.

"No. Absolutely not. I’m not working with those three clowns!" Silence filled the dimly lit room. The mayor leaned forward slightly. His usually calm eyes had hardened.

"General, the order comes from the Department of Defense. And, unofficially, even higher. We are in a crisis situation. It is your duty to ensure Strangetown’s safety. If you refuse, I will have no choice but to escalate the matter. And that could prove... unfortunate. For your position. And your reputation." Buzz wasn’t one to yield easily to demands, but this time his rank was on the line. He couldn’t let 27 years of loyal service go to waste.

"...Fine." He muttered reluctantly.

"Who wants my last fries?" Lazlo asked, still chewing as he glanced in the rearview mirror. The general’s grimace of disgust—clearly determined to stay as far away as possible from their fast-food bag—served as an answer. He waved the fry bag toward Vidcund without taking his eyes off the sandy road leading to 2 Cover Up Road.

"Come on, Vidcund, you know I don’t like the soggy ones."

"Not now, I’m rereading the folder," he mumbled without looking up, prompting an annoyed grimace from his younger brother. Lazlo tossed the bag onto the backseat, joining the pile of greasy wrappers.

"Seriously, General, I don’t get why the mayor ordered you to supervise us."

"I’m not here to supervise you," Buzz growled. "My role is to oversee the mission officially. Discretion is key to achieving the best possible results." He sank further into his seat, nervously tapping his foot on the carpeted floor. "That’s why we have to use your equipment, not the Division's."

"And that’s why we’re stuck with a guy in uniform ready to document our every move?" Vidcund added. He briefly looked up—just in time to meet Buzz’s icy glare. He immediately fell silent and returned to the folder with a barely audible sigh.

Lazlo parked in front of their house—which looked more like a lab—and turned off the engine. The general stepped out without a word. He glanced briefly up at the tall metal tower rising above the building. At the top, accessible by a narrow staircase, sat a massive telescope aimed at the dusky sky. The inside was just as peculiar. Buzz had never been in here before, but he instantly felt incomfortable. The sterile white walls reminded him of the Division 47 hallways. Could people actually live in a place like this?

Then he spotted the eldest, Pascal, seated at a desk typing on a computer. Unlike his brothers, he wasn’t in work attire—he wore more casual clothes. He was still on leave after recent paternity. The entire town had heard about his alien child’s birth, although Buzz had never seen it with his own eyes. Tycho had been asleep for a while, Pascal made sure to put him to bed early so they could get to work.

"Ah, you’re here." Pascal adjusted his glasses and tapped his brothers on the shoulder in greeting. He then held out his hand to Buzz. "General."

"Mmh," Buzz grunted, gripping his hand firmly. Pascal tensed, gritting his teeth at the general’s crushing handshake. Such strength… He discreetly massaged his fingers before turning back to his desk.

"I gathered our previous tests. At least, the most recent ones." He handed a stapled packet of papers to the general, who snatched them brusquely. Buzz began leafing through them as the Curious brothers approached to explain the data step-by-step. Their voices blended calmly, almost mechanically, like they were reciting a well-memorized lesson.

First, they’d printed a simplified map of Strangetown. An X marked every civilian report. A strange light above the municipal pool, an odd hum in the sky... No report had been excluded, no matter how absurd or vague. Then came the more scientific data—detailed reports on fluctuations in the city’s electromagnetic field, analyzed by time and day. Charts unreadable to the average person, but which made the general’s brow furrow at every odd figure. He took some notes in the folder, not wanting to miss a single detail.

Once night fell, practical analysis began. The brothers had set up equipment on the roof to take real-time measurements. Spectrometer, wave detectors, thermal cameras... the full field scientist’s kit. For nearly an hour, the four men stayed there, noting every anomaly their devices detected. Pascal occasionally slipped away to check that his son was still sleeping soundly.

Numbers, readings, screen oscillations. Everything was neat. Too neat. Buzz was convinced: they were filtering information. He watched them for a moment, arms crossed, before breaking the silence:

"Do you have any photographs?" Lazlo flinched slightly.

"What? Uh, no... not really." He replied a little too quickly. Pascal and Vidcund shot him a look, which did not escape the general. Buzz stepped forward.

"Oh really? Listen up: your fancy charts might impress the mayor, but frankly, they could mean anything. I want visuals. Something real." He paused, then slowly turned his eyes toward the tower.

"That telescope—does it still work?"

A brief, almost guilty silence answered him. The next instant, Buzz turned and started storming up the tower steps.

"No! Wait!" Vidcund yelled, rushing to catch up. He managed to grab Buzz’s arm halfway up the platform, but Buzz violently shook him off and grabbed the scientist by the collar, slamming him against the metal railing, which vibrated under the impact.

"You’d better let me through, Curious. I don’t know what you three are hiding, but I will get my proof." Vidcund swallowed hard. The railing’s metal felt cold against his back. He raised his hands, palms up. His eyes flicked down to Lazlo and Pascal, frozen in horror at the base of the tower.

"Okay… okay, easy..." the blond stammered. "That telescope… it—it’s not safe to use without experience." The general brought his face closer to Vidcund’s, who clenched his jaw tighter, fearing a punch.

"I see telescopes every day at work. Now get out of my way." He hissed, then abruptly let go. Vidcund stumbled, barely catching himself on the railing, and staggered back. Before he could even adjust his glasses, Buzz had resumed climbing. After a few more levels, he reached the platform. The telescope stood there, massive but ordinary. They had bigger ones at Division 47. Yet the brothers had tried so hard to keep him away. He glanced down. The three Curious were now huddled together, whispering too softly for him to make out. Whatever they were hiding, he’d find it.

He stepped up to the telescope and pressed his eye to the lens. He slowly adjusted the dial until the blur cleared. A new vision appeared: thousands of stars entwined in a blotchy blue-black sky, floating in an infinite ocean. He stayed there a moment, unmoving, surprised by the clarity and fascinated despite himself.

Then suddenly, a shadow slid into view. Vague, fleeting. A lens flaw? He pulled back, scanned the sky with the naked eye. Nothing. Maybe dust. But as soon as he looked again—it was back. This time sharper. Closer. The Curious brothers’ screams rang out at the same time, making him jump. He stepped back abruptly, eyes wide.

"What now?!" But the Curious weren’t answering. They weren’t even looking at him. Their eyes were fixed on the sky, faces frozen between fear and awe. Buzz followed their gaze—and his heart skipped a beat. Right above him floated a mass. Motionless. Silent. Perfectly circular, with shimmering metallic reflections: a saucer. A real one. Gigantic. The air began to vibrate. A hum, faint at first, grew louder. A hot, violent wind whipped his face as the craft descended, hovering just meters from the platform, revealing a beam of green light.

Buzz couldn’t move. His legs refused to obey. The light seemed almost hypnotic. He snapped back to reality when he felt his feet lift from the ground—the beam inexorably pulling him toward the saucer. A terrified scream escaped him. He clung desperately to the telescope, fingers clutching the cold metal, but the beam’s force was just too strong.

"No! NO!!"

Despite his cries, the Curious fled from the light toward the staircase for safety. The last thing Buzz saw was a blinding white flash that filled his vision. Then, total darkness.

Chapter Text

A faint creak pulled Buzz out of unconsciousness. His eyelids fluttered, before he slowly opened his eyes, scanning the room with a still-dazed gaze. White walls, black tile, small rectangular windows… He was at the Curious house. In one of their rooms, to be precise. Pascal had just walked in, a bowl of cereal in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He seemed surprised to see Buzz awake, then gave him a hesitant smile.

"Hey," he simply said , placing the items on the nightstand. Buzz tried to sit up, but Pascal quickly reached out to stop him. Too late. A sharp pain tore through his stomach, eliciting a rough groan.

"Wh… what the…" He clenched his jaw, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

"Lie back down, avoid sudden movements," Pascal suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed. Gradually, the fog in Buzz’s mind lifted. Images came back—the tower, the telescope, the stars… and that surreal thing that had appeared in the sky. A saucer. After that? No memory. It was now daylight. His uniform jacket hung on the doorknob, his beret resting atop it. He looked down at his torso. Under his t-shirt, he could see the bulky shape of a bandage. He hastily lifted the shirt. A clean, tight bandage wrapped around the base of his abdomen.

"What the hell…" he muttered. Then louder, turning his head toward Pascal: "Curious. I want answers. Now." Why was he lying in bed, stomach bandaged, with no memory of what had happened after… the saucer? Pascal took a deep breath, then turned toward the door. His brothers were waiting silently. He signaled them, and both entered without a word. Lazlo was carrying a small figure wrapped in a blanket. Buzz frowned.

It was a baby. But not a human baby. Buzz stiffened, a cold shiver running down his spine. Its skin was entirely green, its large black eyes speckled with tiny stars. A creature from a nightmare. The baby, however, looked curious, fascinated by Buzz. The feeling wasn’t mutual.

"His name is Tycho," Pascal said as he gently took the child and kissed his forehead. Tycho babbled in return, then rested his head on his father’s shoulder.

Buzz looked away.

"You know… what you experienced last night, I experienced it too." At these words, the general gagged. He closed his eyes for a moment, praying this was all a nightmare. Vidcund cautiously approached, holding a bucket just in case. "You were abducted. I’m sorry." Another gag, more violent this time. Buzz had gone pale, like he’d seen a ghost.

"No way… you're lying," he murmured, barely audible. Pascal paused, his gaze heavy, almost pained.

"I don’t know all the technical details, but… they operate on us. They alter our anatomy." He lifted his shirt. A fine pink scar crossed his lower abdomen. Hesitantly, Buzz removed his own bandage. The wound was still red, fresh, bordered by stitches. Identical.

"I’m not pregnant."

"Buzz… listen, I know it's hard to believe, you’ve got every reason not to trust us, but…"

"I. am. not. pregnant." he repeated slowly, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. A long silence followed, broken by the ringing of the living room phone. The brothers jumped. Lazlo went to answer.

"Hello, Curious residence."

"Hello? This is Tank. Tank Grunt. Is my father, General Buzz Grunt, still there? He was supposed to be home last night."

"Oh, yeah he’s here. He—" Buzz had jumped out of bed, short of breath, one hand pressed against his scar. He snatched the phone from Lazlo.

"I’m heading to Division."

"Watcher, Buck was worried sick. Is—"

"Go to school, Tank. You and your brothers, don’t be late. Over."

"Wait—" Click. He hung up without another word. Then returned to the room, hastily re-bandaged himself, and dressed in his uniform. The Curious brothers stepped in his way, concerned.

"You can’t leave like this!" protested Lazlo. "You can barely walk!" Buzz met his gaze and jabbed his finger into his chest.

"Our collaboration is over. I’m taking the folder, and I never want to hear from you again. Is that clear?!" Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, grabbed the folder from the desk, and slammed the door behind him. The sun blinded him for a moment—he instinctively raised a hand to his face, squinting. He walked down the hill toward one of the two main roads: Road to Nowhere. Of course he could walk. He was fine. Everything the Curious had said was nonsense.

He’d walk all the way to Division 47. It wasn’t the first time he’d worked with an injury. He’d done it with broken ribs, a bullet in the shoulder, even a sprain. He knew pain. He’d always accepted it. It was an old companion, sometimes annoying, but never unbeatable.
On the road, he thought about the Curious. He knew they often drove to the division. They might see him walking. Pass him. Maybe slow down, offer a ride.

Let them try.

But the farther he went, the more the pain pierced his abdomen. With every step, it worsened. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself onward. Then his legs nearly gave out. He stopped abruptly, short of breath, one hand clutching his stomach. Cold sweat trickled down his back. This wasn’t just a wound. He felt… drained. Weak. He stood there a moment, eyes on the ground, then cursed under his breath.

Reluctantly, he turned back.

51 Road to Nowhere. He opened the door slowly and dragged himself to the bathroom after slipping the folder into the living room bookshelf. In the medicine cabinet, he found a painkiller and swallowed it with a glass of water. Then he removed his uniform piece by piece until he stood naked in front of the mirror. His body bore the marks of a lifetime. Scars, deep or faint, old or recent, each with a story. He had nearly forgotten them. But this one… the one now slashing across his lower abdomen, was unlike the others. It wasn’t a badge of honor, nor a battle memento. It was alien. His gaze lingered on it, and with a trembling hand, he ran his fingers across it. A wave of pain froze him in place. No. It couldn’t be true.

And yet…

He rushed into the shower. Turned the tap. Fresh water burst out in a cascade. On his cheeks, only a few black streaks remained, blurred by sweat. The water washed them away, streaming down his chin in gray trails. He watched the water run down his belly, over the scar. A scar that would stay for life.

Buzz stepped out of the shower, wiped his still-wet face, then froze for a moment, hands gripping the sink, trying to suppress the returning dizziness. Then, methodically, he rewrapped the bandage around his stomach. He dressed again, careful to avoid sudden movements. Automatically, he grabbed his black camo stick near the mirror and drew new dark lines on his cheeks with a surgeon’s precision. He gave his reflection one last glance. His back was straight, hands clasped behind him, expression hard. To his eyes, it was enough. Maybe not the best version of Buzz Grunt, but enough to avoid questions.

He left the bathroom silently, walked down the hallway, and sat on the living room couch. He dropped onto it stiffly, back still straight even when seated. His eyes lingered for a moment on the wall clock. 10 a.m. had just passed. He hadn’t eaten, didn’t feel hungry. He could’ve gone to lie down in his room, but that would mean admitting he needed rest. And Buzz Grunt didn’t allow himself that luxury. He remained still, face unreadable. Just as he’d been taught. But his body betrayed him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment… He told himself he’d open them in a minute, maybe two. But his body had other plans, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

---

Buzz woke with a start at the sound of the doorknob. In a swift motion, he grabbed the folder within reach on the bookshelf and straightened up on the couch. Tank entered first, his backpack on one shoulder, quickly followed by Ripp, arms outstretched trying to retrieve a test sheet his brother held just out of reach.

"Damn it, Tank, give it back!"

"C in science. That’s pathetic! Instead of playing your stupid guitar, you should’ve studied." Ripp opened his mouth to retort, but both teens froze when they saw their father. Sitting on the couch, he appeared absorbed in reading some folder.

"Hey, Dad. You’re not at work?" Tank asked, intrigued. It was rare—unthinkable, even—to see their father home before them. The general had never tolerated working from home. Even though most of his duties were administrative, he had always preferred to be on-site or in his office.

"Change of plans," Buzz replied curtly. He flipped a page without reading it, pretending to be absorbed. The boys exchanged a surprised glance. Then Ripp jumped in.

"Is it because of your mission yesterday? With the Curious?"

"Yeah. I’ve got an urgent report to handle. And no time for anyone in my office," he replied without looking up. The so-called report had been completed the night before, but that didn’t matter. His sons didn’t need to know every detail of his job. Many things remained classified, and Buzz preferred it that way. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking tense, then finally looked up, fixing his piercing gaze on Ripp.

"So, another C. What are you going to do with your life? Strum three chords on a dive bar stage?" Ripp clenched his jaw. He shot a glare at Tank, then stared at his shoes.

"I want to be a musician." Buzz snorted, folding his arms.

"No more absurd dreams. Take after your brother, for God’s sake."

"The army sucks anyway!" Ripp shouted. He turned on his heel and stormed upstairs, slamming his bedroom door. Buzz prepared to leap from the couch, face flushed with anger… but his stomach immediately sent a painful reminder. He froze with a grimace of pain. Tank stepped forward.

"You okay, Dad?"

"I’m fine. Let me work, I’ve still got things to do," he replied roughly. Tank nodded and went upstairs as well. Halfway up, he turned back briefly. From up there, he watched his father, still sitting on the couch, folder in hand… looking utterly exhausted.

Chapter Text

Buzz had handed the folder to the mayor the next day. The latter had been satisfied with it, and that was good enough. The general had kept his report sober and professional, listing the measures and data he had noted down with the Curious brothers—without a single mention of the appearance of the saucer or what happened afterward. He had completed the mission he was assigned, period. He wanted to return to his usual post, his routine, and forget it all as best he could.

But the following weeks brought him back to reality with a jolt.

Buzz had barely opened his eyes when the first cramps already twisted his stomach. A wave of nausea hit him without warning, forcing him to sit up abruptly in bed. A hand pressed to his stomach, he inhaled slowly, jaw clenched, then exhaled, trying to regain control of his sickness. But it was no use. Another heave shook him, stronger this time, forcing him to rush to the bathroom. He barely had time to shut the door before collapsing to his knees in front of the toilet, hands gripping either side, breathing hard.

It had been happening for several days now—every morning, more intense, more persistent. This wasn't just indigestion. He knew that. Slowly, the nausea subsided, but not the sense of helplessness. Wearily, he left the bathroom to prepare breakfast. Buck would be getting up soon. Tank and Ripp usually woke later on weekends, unlike the youngest who wanted to make the most of his two days off. Sure enough, Buck arrived a few minutes later in the dining room, still slightly groggy.

"Morning, Buck," Buzz said simply, placing the cereal in the center of the table.

"Morning," Buck replied after a yawn, grabbing his bowl and starting to eat silently. Meals were rarely pleasant in the Grunt household. Most of the time, a chilling silence hung in the air, or a quarrel would break out at the table. It often ended with shouting, spilled dishes, even a fight between Tank and Ripp. Buck hated it. He often had nightmares about it. But fortunately, the moments when he ate alone with his father were calmer. Maybe a little too calm.

After breakfast was finished and cleared away, Buzz left the kitchen to get dressed. No uniform on weekends: he chose his usual outfit—a neatly pressed pair of tan pants and his favorite green polo shirt. He stopped by the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, chasing away the last traces of fatigue. Then, like every morning, he drew two sharp, dark lines on his cheeks. Even on his days off, he refused to let anyone forget he was General Grunt.

Back in the living room, he saw Buck already curled up in a corner of the sofa, nose buried in the novel he'd left on the coffee table the night before.

"I’m going out for groceries. Need anything?" Buzz asked, grabbing his wallet from the hallway table. Buck barely looked up from his book.

"Ripp finished the orange juice yesterday. I’d like some more." Buzz nodded.

"If they’re not up by nine, I’m counting on you to wake them up."

"Yes, Dad." Buzz closed the door behind him and headed toward the mall. He walked slowly, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze fixed ahead without really seeing where he was going. He wasn’t even thinking about the shopping list anymore, letting his legs carry him automatically while his mind stayed stuck on one idea, one he had been trying to push away for days. A life might be growing inside him. The thought made his head spin, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed real. How else could he explain the morning sickness, the constant fatigue, or the absurd cravings that struck him at random? He tried to find other reasons, but there were none. And as the days passed, denial became harder to maintain.

Buzz blinked several times, suddenly brought back to reality by a whistle to his right.

101 Road to Nowhere. Pollination Technician 9 was watering the rose bushes neatly lining the porch of his large—and perfect—family home. He was cheerfully whistling, enjoying the sunny but still mild spring morning. From time to time, he bent to remove a dead leaf or straighten a leaning stem, then resumed watering, unfazed.

Everything in this scene exuded an almost indecent calm. And it was precisely that calm that became too much for Buzz.

He climbed over the fence without a word, fists clenched, and launched himself at him. Pollination Technician 9 barely had time to turn his head—surprised by the shadow falling over him—before the general’s fist struck his face. The impact hurled him violently backward. He fell, the watering can spilling its content onto the grass. Eyes wide, mouth open, he brought a hand to his face as a trickle of blood flowed from his nose. Before he could understand what was happening, two hands grabbed his collar and half-lifted him from the ground. Buzz was leaning over him, panting, features twisted in rage.

"It’s because of you, isn’t it?!" he spat, voice trembling with fury.

"Wh...what?" the old man stammered, the words escaping in a pained breath. He tried to break free, but the general grabbed him by the hair, slamming his face to the ground. The pollination technician groaned in pain.

"The aliens...they came because of you. It’s all your fault, you bastard!" He raised his fist again. But it stayed suspended in the air, as if paralyzed. His entire body suddenly tensed, rigid as metal.

Johnny had appeared on the porch. "Let go of my dad, now!!" the teen shouted, fingers pressed to his temples. Despite all his efforts, Buzz couldn’t move, which only fueled his rage. Jenny appeared as well, hands over her mouth.

"Oh Watcher, Paul!" Just behind her, Jill emerged from the doorway, trying to get a look outside. Jenny froze at the scene—her husband on the ground, bloodied, and Buzz Grunt frozen above him, fist raised.

"Jill, Stay inside." She rushed to Paul’s side, pried him loose from the general’s grip, and slipped a protective arm under his shoulders. He leaned against her, wincing, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

"I’m okay, Jenny... I’ll be fine," he murmured. But she shook her head in disbelief, then turned to the general, still kneeling in the grass.

"You’re pathetic." Buzz said nothing. Jenny’s eyes mixed contempt with a deeper, more bitter disappointment. "What’s your excuse this time?" she asked icily, but Paul gently took her hand.

"Jenny, my love... I think we need to have a conversation with Buzz. It’s important."

"In your dreams. I don’t want to talk to you!" Buzz growled. Paul crouched in front of him.

"I’m not thrilled either. But we need to address this whole...alien thing. Johnny, let him go, please."

"But Dad… You saw what he did! He hit you!"

"I know. I’ll be okay," Paul said calmly but firmly. Johnny hesitated, then reluctantly lowered his hands. Buzz collapsed heavily to the ground with a groan, finally freed but aching.

---

A few minutes later, they were all in the living room. Jenny had fetched the first-aid kit to clean up her husband’s injuries. Paul sat on the couch, a tissue pressed to his nose, while Buzz remained standing at a distance, arms crossed, eyes evasive. Jill had gone back to her room, while Johnny sat next to his father, watching the general's every move.

Jenny sat beside Paul, pulling out a disinfectant wipe. With almost meticulous gentleness, she cleaned the dried blood around his nose, then pressed lightly on the bridge to check if it was broken.

"Nothing broken… You were lucky," she finally said, her voice still trembling a little. Paul gave her a reassuring smile.

"I wasn't worried. You’re the best nurse in town." He sealed his words with a light kiss to her forehead. Jenny closed her eyes briefly, finally seeming to relax. His Jenny was strong—he knew it better than anyone. But whenever he was hurt, she totally lost her composure.

It wasn’t the first time she’d reacted like this. Because it wasn’t the first time he and Buzz had come to blows. They had fought many times, sometimes violently, but this time, the general had caught him off guard. And Paul hadn’t appreciated that.

"Buzz, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been retired for years, and I have no contact with the other pollination technicians." The general shot him a cold look. Paul sighed, looking down at his clasped hands. "From what I understand, you didn’t just see them, did you?" A silence followed. Buzz slowly brought a hand to his stomach, disgust deeply etched in his tired face. Johnny’s eyes widened, glancing from his father to his mother, then to the general.

"How do we get rid of it?" Buzz murmured hoarsely.

"Buzz, listen, you—"

"It’s just like human women, right?" He turned to Jenny. "You’re a nurse. You could do it. It can’t be that hard." Paul started to stand, but Jenny gently placed a hand on his thigh to stop him. She motioned Buzz to a chair.

"Sit down. It’s better." He dropped into it without protest, fingers gripping the armrests. He lowered his head, eyes closed.

"Jenny... Tell me there’s something we can do. You’re married to a damn alien, you must know how this works!" She knelt in front of him, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and took a deep breath.

"You know, in my family, we’ve dealt with this kind of situation before. Don’t you think their first reaction was the same as yours? Wanting to end the pregnancy, fast." Jenny continued, her tone heavy but soft:

"It’s impossible to extract it. Your anatomy has been deeply altered by the implantation. The fetus is housed in an artificial pouch, grafted between several vital organs. Attempting removal could damage your digestive system or cause internal bleeding. You probably wouldn’t survive."

Buzz froze, stunned.

His fingers tightened on the armrests, knuckles white from the pressure. He kept his head down for a moment, jaw clenched painfully.

"This is a fucking joke..." he finally muttered, voice low. "You’re telling me that… I have to keep it?" No one answered. When he finally raised his head, his gaze had changed. His eyes were red, his breathing short. And beneath the anger, something else surfaced—rarer, more human. Panic. A fear he could no longer hide.

"They put this thing in me, and now, what? I’m supposed to wait? Be an incubator?!" He tried to rise, driven by a flash of rage, but gave up when Jenny pressed a hand to his shoulder, glancing at him warily. His lips started to tremble.

"I don’t want it," he whispered, voice cracking.

"I know, Buzz." He passed a shaky hand over his face. Surrounded by the Smith family, he felt more alone than ever.