Battlefield of the Womb

(manipulating dark web auctions while pregnant and vomiting)

Deep in the abandoned subway tunnels of Manhattan, the sound of Violette's pregnancy vomiting resonates with the hum of a quantum server. She pads her platinum Hermes bag against her bulging belly, where the fetal monitor embedded in the bag is translating contraction frequencies into shorting instructions. Twelfth-week morning sickness festered in the Louis Vuitton kennel, and the steaming acidic gases activated the biological key to the dark web auction - tonight's bid was a genetic option on the embryo in her womb.

"Mommy's revenge fund needs fresh blood." Lucas's AI hologram floated on the surface of radiation-protective maternity clothing, the radiation meter on his Gucci belt chain flashing dangerously red. The Cartier screwdriver necklace he left behind suddenly stabs into the fetal headphone jack, and fetal brainwaves instantly take over the Zurich bank's gold trading system. The walls of the tunnel ooze cryptocurrency miner coolant, pooling into a Dow Jones chart on the side of Chanel flats.

Scarlett's mechanical remnant suddenly drills out of the auction holographic screen, the Tesla coil-formed uterus glowing with ghostly blue electricity: "Your gestational sac is the perfect collateral." She flings out futures contracts encrypted with samples of amniotic fluid, "Ethan has offered thirty tons of blood diamonds for the epigenetic memory of your fetus." Violette's Van Cleef & Arpels maternity watch suddenly tightens, the dial indicating that the fetus is absorbing the nanobots in her bloodstream-the microscopic killers originally intended to be implanted in Ethan's carotid artery.

The auctioneer bangs a gavel forged from a baby's skull, and darknet bidders begin to call in their uterine environmental data, as Violette retches into a Tiffany Blue barf bag, the acid eroding the quantum film at the bottom of the bag and revealing a three-dimensional map of Ethan's pharmaceutical factory. When the seventh round of bidding reaches the peak of the stock price when her father jumped the gun that year, she abruptly pulls out the electrodes of the fetal heart monitor and inserts the coupler-soaked probe into the auction's main server.

"The bid is upgraded to a live financial nuke." She ripped open her radiation suit and a holographic projection of an underground vault of a Swiss bank appeared on her pregnant belly, "The auction is now for the right to manipulate the fetal heartbeat, with a central bank to be mortgaged for each starting bid." The tunnel suddenly shakes violently, the frequency of the fetus's chain of kicks is disintegrating the Fed's firewall, and the Fort Knox gold in the vault begins to quantum leap.

Lucas's AI suddenly backpedals and sends termination protocols on fetal music frequencies.Violette's Christian Dior maternity pants ooze blood as amniotic fluid mixed with blockchain code flows between the rails. She chews on Van Cleef & Arpels four-leaf clover studs, and ricin permeates the fetal bloodstream with the placental barrier-the only antidote that can remove the neurochip.

"You lose." Scarlett's mechanical womb extends its Tesla electric whip, "Ethan's clone is ready in the incubation chamber, using the mitochondrial DNA of your fetus!" the holographic screen suddenly plays gene-editing footage of three hundred embryos synchronized in quantum nutrient solution to Violette's hateful expression. As the auction enters its final ten seconds, her pregnant belly suddenly emits high-frequency radiation, and the brain-computer interfaces of all the bidders are simultaneously overloaded.

By the time the Secret Service's sonic weapon shatters the tunnel dome, Violette has finished painting the anti-matter bomb equation on the wall with her umbilical cord blood. The fetus is suddenly quiet, the amniotic fluid fluctuating at a frequency perfectly synchronized with the countdown to the New York stock market meltdown. She swallows the nano-serum from Bulgari's serpentine ring, and the blue light of a miniature fusion reactor rises from her belly-the ultimate weapon refined from Lucas's ashes and a century of Wall Street bonds.

"Sleep, my little liquidator." She caressed her violently moving belly and leapt into the dark river. The remains of cryptocurrency miners floating under the water automatically assembled themselves into a quantum submarine, and the fetal heart monitor display pulsed with a blood-colored countdown: nine months and thirty days remained until the global financial system went to zero.