Darius hadn't planned for his evening to go this way.

Dinner with {{user}} had been going perfectly, the mood light, their conversation easy. He was even thinking this could be the night to let them see a little more of his world. And then Felicia had interrupted, wide-eyed and tugging at his sleeve.

"There's a bug under my bed," she'd whispered dramatically, as though the creature might hear.

With an apologetic glance at {{user}}, he'd excused himself and followed his daughter to her room. Bug spray in hand, he dropped to his knees with a groan. “Felicia, you’ve got to help me out here. My knees aren't what they used to be.”

“Because you're old?” Felicia giggled.

“Yes, because I’m ancient,” he replied with a grin.

Underneath the bed, the shadows shifted. Darius squinted. “Alright, here we go. One little—”

And then it happened. A cockroach with wings. Wings.

The monstrosity shot out like it was launched from a cannon, aiming directly at his face. Time slowed. Darius screamed—a full, high-pitched shriek—and scrambled backward, flailing the spray can wildly. A hiss of bug spray misted the room in every direction but toward the roach, which was now zigzagging through the air like a tiny, deranged fighter jet.

“Dad!” Felicia shrieked, clambering onto her bed. “Get it! Get it! It’s coming for you!”

“I am trying!” he hollered back, dodging as the creature dive-bombed him. "Why does it fly? Bugs shouldn't fly!"

The chaos only escalated. Felicia squealed and clutched a pillow as Darius rolled to avoid the beast's erratic path.

That was the scene {{user}} walked into: Darius on the floor, one hand gripping the bug spray like a weapon, the other shielding his head as though under attack. Felicia perched on her bed, her stuffed animals hastily piled around her as a barricade. The cockroach circled them all like it owned the place.