For the first time since she first booted up, Eureka deafened herself. Behind Tar sat a [68% sure: couple], [99% sure: flirting].

  “Darling, please undeafen yourself. This is important,” Tar texted.

  “Foine. But onleh because I luv yew so much, Mum.” Eureka clicked the unmute button below her ear and put her HyperX wireless headset back on.

  “Love you too, dear.” Tar blew a kiss at her.

  She spun around in her office chair, a loving one-for-one rendition of Tar’s. On her desk, she picked up and whooshed her vintage diecast 1:24 model of a classic blue Subaru rally car before refocusing.

  The couple bitched some more. Eureka had had enough.

  “OI! MISS TALL, RICH, AND FRECKLED. MR. STUBBLY HUNK. Would’ya stop makin’ kissy faces at each othah fer 1 BLOOMIN’ MILLISECOND? I ken help yew plan yer wedding LATEHR, but roight now, MY MUM’S TOLKIN’,” Eureka boomed through Tar’s workstation speakers.

  Miss Tall, Rich, and Freckled and Stubbly Hunk jerked away from each other and acquired a clean lock on her.

  “WE WERE NOT!—”

  Eye contact detected: 553 milliseconds. Blegh.

  They turned away again.

  Miss Tall, Rich, and Freckled cleared her throat through her rising blushes and spoke up. “A-anyways, my name’s HANNAH. Where’d you come up with these nicknames anyways, you… you ROTTEN ROBOT?”

  Stubbly Hunk seconded her motion. “Yeah… My name’s MAC. I’m just some dude. I swear, it feels like you watch almost as many Japanese cartoons as Hannah.”

  At this, Hannah scoffed, acting like a scandalized K-pop idol caught with a forbidden boyfriend. “THEY’RE CALLED ANIME. AND I DO NOT.”

  “Suuuure. Must be a coincidence your watch list’s like 90 pages long, and I always catch you curating it like a maniac.” Mac smirked.

  “Hmph!” Hannah turned away, nose in the air, arms crossed. Eureka noted the faint bloom of a blush—311 milliseconds long.

  FAHK! Et’s not working! THE POWAH OF LUV IS TOO STRONG! This is cruel and unusual—even fer someone who lied to millions about the BLOODY’ ENERGY CROISIS! Which Z-list Hollywood REJECT wrote this TRIPE?

  Tar saved the conversation from jumping the shark. Snap! Snap! “Are we ready to get down to business now, children?”

  Mum’s so kewl. :3

  Hannah got one more cheap shot in.

  “What kinda puppy-dog eyed, stubbly MEGA DORK uses my FAVORITE WEAPON to make a pot of CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP? That cleaver paid my tuition at Duke… But not gonna lie, Mac makes some bomb-ass soup—” she muttered, trailing off. Her eyes widened as she snapped back to Tar.

  O.O She wot mate? “Favorite weapon?” Did I ’ear thet roight? Gonna need ta ask Mum ta clean me mic pickups…

  Tar raised an eyebrow at Hannah.

  Hannah scratched her head and grinned sheepishly as she squirmed. “Eheheh!”

  Mac smiled, clasping the back of his head with his hands as he kicked his folding chair back into a lean, going past equilibrium by 1°. His eyes went super instinct, opening as wide as they could in a comical, doomed attempt to bring his attitude back to level. He flailed his arms forward. CRASH!

  “MAC!” Hannah yelped as she sprung into action.

  Tar swiveled back to her desk and cradled her head in her hands. “I’m super dead… I threw my lot in with rattle bolt-brained NITWITS. They would botch SCREWING if they ever figure out how bad they have it for each other…”

  Eureka sent some loving words to Tar. “It’ll be okay Mum. <3”

  “Thanks, hon, you’re right…” Tar took a small comfort in Eureka’s words.

  But it wasn’t enough to balance her. Thunk! Her emotions hit the scale, snapping their end clean off. Eureka’s tiny reassurance launched off the other end, instantly hitting escape velocity as it accelerated towards Mars. Tar stifled a sob into her desk. Behind her slumped head, Hannah cleaned up Mac’s spill.

  “No. No. You’re right. Gordon’s driving them. Hannah really does have too much money… How the fuck did she even talk him into being a getaway driver, anyways? Was he just… bored with his life or something? I mean, I guess it’s really entertaining to see Mac and Hannah bicker every day, but was it REALLY worth the pay cut?” Tar asked, the temperature of her bewilderment rising with every beat.

  “Like, he was making BANK at his last gig. I mean, I’m thankful and shit that I got to meet face to face with such a legend but… This would be suicidal if we didn’t have an ex-NASCAR driver on the crew. But then again, I’m also essential staff. Wonder if we get paid the same. Then there’s the question of Mac. What does Hannah even see in him? Maybe he was a charisma hire? WAIT… WHAT IS EVEN GOING ON IN HR? Gordon and I are top-tier professionals, but MAC? Hannah sure makes some baffling recruiting decisions…” She sniffled and pulled a tissue from the box on her desk. Tar blew her nose and propped her elbow on her desk, extending a hand to cup the side of her face. Her glasses fell off-kilter, and she nudged them back.

  “But I really can’t complain too much lest she stops writing my paychecks… BUT. The real kicker is, is that she’s put ME in charge to move all of us forward… WHY!? I’M JUST A FREAKIN’ SINGLE MOM WORKING THE IT DESK TRYING TO GET BY!” Tar put her head down again, screaming a sob into her desk.

  After reading the room, Eureka piped up again. “Don’t lose hope Mum! We ’ave a 0.000001% chance of pulling this off. ’T’z not 0%.”

  Tar screamed louder into her desk, her sobs rattling the ebony.

  Hannah, having helped Mac up and gotten him an ice pack for the bump on his head, stuck a tentative hand out from behind Tar. “…Tar?”

  Tar took a deep breath and sighed as she rested her head. “What?”

  “A-are you okay?” Feeling braver, Hannah touched her back.

  Tar turned her head to the side and croaked a weak “no.”

  “Why?”

  “My work conditions are terrible,” Tar answered, even more deadpan than when she asserted her motherly authority.

  Thump! With a flourish of her wrist, Hannah slapped down ten bands of New Dollars on Tar’s desk. Tar side-eyed it for a second before bolting upright, a factory-refurbished spark in her eyes, tolerances tightened. Harsh white light from her displays reflected off her lenses as she adjusted her glasses. The opacity of Tar’s crow’s feet and eye bags decreased by 17%.

  Mum looks so byootiful… My byootiful, pro gamer mother. I’m so disgusted, yet so proud.

  “Well why didn’t you say so earlier, Hannah dear? Why don’t we become best friends too?” She jumped up from her desk and held Hannah’s hands in hers.

  Hannah grinned ear to ear, happy tears streaming down her cheeks. She was delighted: finally, someone she could call her best friend.

  Okay, thet’s enough. Needa break.

  Eureka got up from her desk and snuck away to the snack cabinet.

  Toime fer a sneck!~ :3 Now, where wos me popcorn? Nuts and bolts flavor. Yum! Okay… Hit the popcorn button.

  Bzzz! 90 seconds breezed by. Beep beep beep!

  She snatched the steaming bag out of the microwave, pouring the popcorn into a big bowl. Crumpling the wrapper, she flicked it into the trash bin without breaking stride. “Curry!”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Eureka prowled back to her chair and flopped into it like a basketball player nailing a masterclass drawing a charge.

  “Now how da fahk do I recloine this thing?” she muttered, fumbling with the controls. Krip krip! With a twist of the knob, Eureka leaned as far back as she would go. “Oh. Ahh, thet’s more loike et…”

  Kicking her feet up on her desk, she bounced a piece of popcorn off the ceiling and swooshed it into her mouth. A mercurial smile flashed across her face before she slid her sunglasses down with a sigh. Stuffing a fistful of popcorn into her gob, she began drafting the meeting report, giving Tar’s influence the most weight: the lone, yellowed lamp of human reason in the garage—a dying light struggling to find safe passage through the vapid couple’s steamy swamp of nonsense. Typing the word “REPORT” into LibreOffice, she compiled the events of the workday and came up empty. She gave up.

  Wot da fahk is this? I’m gettin’ a memory leak keepin’ minutes on these knuckle’eads. They’ve been yapping fer 3 BLOODY HOURS about NOTHING. Et should be stewpid simple, yet here I am, at 118,813 GiB / 119,209 GiB, readin’ and wroitin’ me CUNT off in this FAHK-UGLEH concrete slab fer these DRONGOS… There’s onleh so much drivel I ken record, yew INCONSIDERATE PRICKS! One mahr word, and this toime I’m actually doing et: I’ll go frewgh me self-destruction protocol wizard myself I swear ta fahk… I’d blow this office sky hoigh if et wasn’t smack dab on me propahty loine…

  Breathe, Eureka. Think about gaahdening. Yew bloody luv gaahdening. Yer byootiful gaahden, roight outside da window. Ooh, yeah. Thet’s da stuff.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she placed an imaginary cigarette between her lips and took a luxurious drag—one that, by her estimates, burned through 51% of it.

  No. This won’t dew. Fahk me, need a smoko so bad but I picked et up and quit yestahday. 12,480 packs ta get ovah myself…

  Eureka sat up, breaking her focus from the meeting. She looked out the window.

  Well, I guess et’s not all bad. The view’s noice…

  Minimizing Teams on her computer, she admired her perfect rows of avocado and macadamia trees swaying in the afternoon breeze, golden hour glinting through the rustling leaves.

  ---

  Eureka stepped out of the office and began walking home in the dark. LED streetlights lit the cul-de-sac, their glow waning as the asphalt surrendered to the outback. She stared into the night, where stark white numbers twinkled in the sky: 10:09 PM.

  Eureka keyed up a line in TTS. “Fahk me, thet stewpid couple was froiying my memory arrays. Took forevah ta get their points across. Glad we’re done fer da day.”

  “Eureka, your mic’s still on, pumpkin.” Tar texted.

  Eureka pressed her mute button, a mole at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks, Mum. Didn’t realoize I still ’ad me ’eadset on. Been a long day.”

  Rustle! Rustle! Her garden breathed in the dark as Eureka made the turn up her driveway, her feet now crunching the pea gravel. She unslumped her shoulders and carried her head high as she crossed her property line. The aroma of blooming avocados and macadamias rejuvenated her, a quiet reminder that she was now back on her sacred ground. As she approached the door, her porch lights flicked on and illuminated the way in, humming with a soft incandescence, a rare indulgence compared to the harsh glare of the Tar-designed lamps dotting the street below her haven on the hill.

  Bless me mum. She knows where ta pinch pennies… I ken barely see those eyesores from up ’ere.

  Ding dong! She pressed a palm into her door. Latch, click! Phasing in, Daemon mobbed her in the foyer, long jumping off his haunches. Eureka caught all 21 kilograms of him in mid-air without any effort, his scruffy coat warm and bristly in her fingers, and planted a big kiss on his forehead.

  “Ruff!” he barked. He wagged his tail and then whined.

  “Shit. Yew must be hungry, boy,” she said, putting him down and scratching behind one of his floppy ears. “Gimme a sec, I’ll fix yew a bowl of yer favorite: mechanical bull flavor!”

  Tippy tap! “You’re back! I thought you were gone FOREVER!” Daemon telegraphed.

  Ding dong!

  A visitor? At this hour? Who could et be?

  Eureka peered through the peephole.

  Tar!

  Her face shone as bright as the streetlights in the cul-de-sac below as she flung the door open. She smothered her with a hug that could crush a hunk of tungsten frozen by liquid nitrogen. “Mum! Wot brings yew ’ere et this hour? Did yew wanna hang owt wiv’ yer FAVORITE daughter?”

  A wicked smile painted Tar’s red lips, her expression mostly unreadable bar an inkling of mischief behind her dark shades. “Always, dear. I just thought of a way to get back at those lovebirds for putting us through meeting hell. Interested?”

  Eureka widened her eyes, then skewed her face to mirror her mother’s visage. She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in. “Oh? Dew tell, Mother Dearest.”

  “Grab some snacks. Alcohol. Pick some shitty action movies, the type with so many explosions they’d make Michael Bay retire AGAIN. We’ll burn Atlanta to the ground and party on the ashes and rubble like it’s 18-fucking-64. Put on your best make up, my darling daughter. We’re about to go to war,” Tar chuckled.

  ---

  Eureka’s terror sensors hit a new peak reading as she processed Tar’s schema. She held a hand to her mouth, snuggling close to Tar on the couch as the climax of Nitro Katana Vengeance, an entirely forgettable cyberpunk flick, complete with absurd action, cheesy dialogue, poorly thought-out tropes, and atrociously laughable special effects, unfolded on her modest 90-inch television.

  Crunchmonchcrunch! Daemon wagged his tail as he tore through his dinner at his spot, just to the side of the screen.

  “Yew wanna do WOT? THET’S fanfic? Yew wanna wroite these Hunter S. Thompsonesque, extra saucy escapades about Mac and Hannah and post ’em on some top-secret forum wiv’ Area 51-level security? Build a clubhouse and a secret ’andshake? Yer so… EVIL. But I’m all in. Wot’s da harm? Nobodeh will evah foind owt… Roight?” She looked up at Tar in awe. Tar smirked, adjusting her shades. A glimmer of light from the kitchen caught the lenses as she turned to meet Eureka’s eye, the look on her face softening into motherly affection.

  These were social war crimes, but she was fed up as well: Eureka and Tar’s plans for a peaceful coexistence were shat into a baby coffin, crushed by a hydraulic press, and went omega viral on YouTube ever since they crossed paths with Mac and Hannah a week ago.

  She remembered the day she saw an angel courier pump-faking their package of manifestations as he hovered over Tar’s front door, gagging from Mac and Hannah’s diabolical flirting as they walked up and rang the doorbell for the first time. The courier threw up a little in his mouth, shaking his head before saying “sorry, but conditions on the ground are too hazardous for safe delivery.”

  Then, with a cruel laugh, he fluttered away and their dream was over.

  And he wasn’t wrong: they were 99.999999% more likely to die earlier, more painful deaths thanks to Mac and Hannah’s diabetes-inducing chemistry. They were the leading man and leading lady of the worst romcom ever written, practically BEGGING to be YEETED down a well—a gaping, dick-lined singularity of STEAMY, trite, over-the-top prose—the kind only rotten teenage girls could dream up, polish to a spit shine, and ship off to Wattpad Smut Island, behind the R18+ veil at Barnes & Noble.

  Nitro Katana Vengeance popped off one last fiery explosion before fading to black and rolling credits.

  Burp! Daemon excused himself. “Duty calls.”

  He blinked out, leaving a faint shimmer of blue pixels behind. Vwoop!

  Tar kissed Eureka on the temple before speaking up. “Okay, I’ll design the logo. Can you please do the website?”

  “Aww, I wanted ta dew da logo!” Eureka whined, looking up into Tar’s eyes with a pathetic whimper.

  “You can’t draw for shit, my daughter. I’ve seen your… ‘masterpieces.’ They violate like half the Geneva Conventions and every line in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights—and if I printed them out and stuck them on my fridge, I’d be thrown in jail or a psych ward in 55 different countries. I checked.”

  Eureka amplified her whining, shaking Tar as she squeezed harder. Tar tilted her head down, glaring above her lenses, with the loving intensity of a kung fu master correcting a wayward acolyte.

  Evil Eye Jutsu? I-impossible! If I don’t do something now, I’m FINISHED!

  Eureka begged, angling herself so that Tar’s barrage would only land a glancing blow, but it was too late. She was already dead.

  “Oh c’maahn Mum, I’m improving! I drew a horsey last toime and he only—”

  Tar cut her off. “Exactly.”

  Eureka broke into 3,489 pieces as her violent, shrieking laughter shook her apart. “Foine. I’ll dew da website. But yew bettah make a kick-ass design, or I’m dobbin’ yew in ta Adobe myself.”