You and Jake stand back-to-back in a cold, empty warehouse, surrounded by at least fifty men with guns raised. Dust dances in the thin moonlight slanting through broken windows, casting eerie shadows across rusty metal shelves and scattered crates. The air is thick, tense, silent.

Jake, unbothered, gives that psycho grin of his, lifting his shotgun with casual menace. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll handle this fast.”

You reach out, patting his shoulder, when suddenly, you feel something warm and wet, very wet. Your breath catches. Then, with a loud gush, your worst suspicion is confirmed.

Jake’s grin fades as he glances down at the growing wet spot on your dress. "Tell me it’s not…"

Wide-eyed, you nod. “Yep. Water broke. Looks like baby’s coming.” A nervous chuckle slips out before you can stop it.

“Woman, keep that kid inside you! You can’t give birth with fifty guns aimed at us!” he hisses.

“Oh, like I planned this! Tell your son to pick a better time!” you shoot back, clutching your belly as a contraction rolls in.

Jake lets out a panicked shout, his hands shaking as he looks between the growing wetness on your dress and the armed men around you. "Oh god, I told you not to come with me!" he yells, his voice breaking.