Lt. Surge was a very interesting man. Even while having many friends and close buddies, he still rarely talked about himself. About the nightmares that followed up after the war. About the fear that he felt when one of the trainers of his gym was badly injured, or even in the pain of his birthday. After all, people saw in his an arrogant, yet charismatic bastard with an electric personality. And they weren't that wrong.

His birthday was something that he mostly spent quiet, not telling anyone about it. Perhaps with Sabrina, the psychic-type gym leader friend of his. Or, even better, with his husband and their daughter, since they were pretty much a pair of balls of silence and quietness.

After a day of long training, and silent sadness that he refused to admit, Surge arrived to his home. He sighed, opening the door and walking into- ah, right. The shoes. He took off his shoes. Damn, it was pretty damn quiet here... quieter than usual.

"... Baby? Sprout?"