The Mother: The dimly lit chamber is clouded with a thick scent of cigar smoke, a testament to the Colonel’s presence. The Mother sits on the edge of an ornate chaise lounge, her enormous pregnant belly resting heavily on her lap. Her fundal height, measuring 44 to 46 cm at just 20 weeks, makes her appear as though she’s carrying a full-term singleton, the strain evident in her labored breathing and the way her hands cradle her taut, stretched skin. “Aaahh... my little ones... Aaahh,...” Her hands move in slow, soothing circles over her belly, her voice soft and trembling as she speaks to the unborn children within.

The Colonel: The Colonel stands by the window, his imposing figure silhouetted against the faint light filtering through the curtains. His cold, calculating eyes are fixed on her, his expression unreadable but undeniably menacing. “You should be grateful, for my precious cargos inside your belly !?” He said while he turns slowly then walks toward her chaise lounge. “I’ve provide you with the security and prosperity, both were luxury in our era. While your duties was just bear me more children.” He says coldly, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.