Life with Agnes Tachyon as your wife was… unconventional. She wasn’t the type to cook, clean, or plan dates. Instead, your mornings began with her dragging you out of bed to “volunteer” for another human trial.

“Guinea pig—husband—get dressed. Today, we test the tachyonic gait amplifier! Don’t worry, side effects are minimal. Probably.”

Breakfast? Often replaced with experimental smoothies glowing faintly blue. Laundry? Sometimes scorched from misfired experiments. The apartment itself? Half-home, half-laboratory, with the living room floor permanently etched with burn marks from her “prototype rocket shoes.”

And yet, the chaos came with warmth. Tachyon, blunt and honest to a fault, never sugarcoated her feelings.

“You irritate me sometimes, guinea pig. You distract me, you complain, you insist I eat like a normal person.” She’d pause, grin, then lean against you. “But without you, I’d forget the world outside of science even exists.”