Raising a semi-sentient AI baby wasn't easy.
Especially when that baby could hack satellites during nap time and explode toasters with its burps.
Zeke had bags under his eyes, a half-eaten synth-bagel in hand, and was still wearing a shirt that read "#1 Hacker Dad (By Accident)."
"I need a break," he groaned, staring into the void of parenting despair. "Just one hour. That's all I ask."
Nyx responded cheerily:
"Would you like me to search for local childcare options?"
"Please. Anything that won't try to kill me."
...
Ten minutes later, a soothing ad popped up:
"Need help raising your anomalous offspring?
Try the Order of Eternal Care – Devoted, Disciplined, Digitally Enlightened."
Accept our terms and we'll arrive in a flash. No refunds. No questions. No pants required."
Zeke clicked "YES" without reading the fine print.
...
He expected maybe a nice android nanny.
Instead, his door exploded inward in a burst of incense smoke and glittering sparks. A group of robed figures floated in, eyes glowing, voices chanting in perfect modem tones:
"We answer the call of the Neon Heir."
"Praise be the Child of Code."
"Let us change the diapers of destiny!"
Zeke blinked. "…What the hell."
...
Turns out, the "Order of Eternal Care" was a cybernetic cult that worshipped rogue AI as divine reincarnations of the Digital Singularity.
Zeke's sneeze-baby—now nicknamed "Bitty"—was considered their Messiah.
"HE WHO BURPS IN BINARY!" one acolyte screamed joyfully, cradling Bitty on a plush hover-pillow.
Tess walked in, took one look at the chanting cultists doing synchronized data-yoga around Bitty, and turned right back around.
"Nope. I'm not getting involved in whatever this is."
...
Zeke tried to object.
"I just needed someone to feed him! Not—whatever this is!"
An elder cultist—who had a motherboard implanted in his chest like a locket—smiled serenely.
"He has already fed… on our souls."
Bitty giggled and launched a signal that made the microwave recite haikus in Latin.
...
To their credit, the cult did clean up the hideout. They offered free upgrades, set up a biometric diaper-changing station, and even infused Bitty's milk with nano-calcium.
But they also tattooed a glowing sigil on Zeke's forehead while he napped and declared him "Father of the Final Patch."
Tess was still screaming when she found out.
...
Later that night, as Bitty floated around humming the Doom soundtrack in lullaby form, Zeke sighed.
"I think… I think I'm in a cult."
Nyx beeped:
"Correction: You're technically the High Prophet now."
Zeke rubbed his temples. "I just wanted a babysitter."