[Regifortis]

Detective McArthur kneeled over the toilet bowl for the fifth time that week. Not even a month after the impossible happened, and he was sick?! Fan-shitting-tastic. He finally found a place to put the kid up for adoption, and it looked like he was going to find a good home. That was a relief. He suspected that the station saw him and that suspect he released try to sneak out a baby from the interrogation room...but if they did, they kept mum about it. Maybe he was wrong about them? Or maybe he was worrying himself over nothing, when there was plenty else to make him upset about the way his life was going.

That Tuesday night, three weeks ago...God spat in his face, and he had to pull down his pants and shove a baby boy out of his butt. He was pregnant, by means unknowable to a mere mortal like him, apparently. And now it was as if he had morning sickness, what a joke.

...He didn't, did he? Nah. Just a bug, it was going around.

But three months after that, even after the bug had gone, he tried to fit into a smaller size of his uniform. The button on his pants wouldn't close. He strained to make it work. But...his waist was too big. He had gotten bigger. Looking in the mirror, his butt, his waist, even his chest, and...his belly. The same subtle swell from when he started gaining weight, when he was pregnant before.

"...I need to move," he told the mirror. "If I'm some cosmic joke, I'm not gonna sit around to be laughed at!"