This is the product of two Depth Charges(a doubleshot of espresso in a cup of normal coffee).

They're absolutely delicious, and after you get done reading this, I recommend you go make one.

And then leave a review if you don't have a heart attack...

EDIT: Anyone who has read this and gotten the same text as "Life, Constipation, The Cessation of Living," I'm an idiot, and I replaced the chapter in the wrong story. Oops. Fixed now, anyways.


"A-are you sure this is safe?"

"Yeah yeah yeah, just get in there."

The Ensign stood on the edge of the turbolift shaft, wavering uncertainly as he glanced into its endless depths. The daunting shadows loomed above and below him, an invisible wind exuding from the overwhelming abyss, wrapping its spindly fingers around his waist and tugging gently.

He turned around and faced Lieutenant Torres.

"I'm afraid,"

The incredulous look from the cantankerous Klingon was on par with the horror of plummeting to his death.

"I'll give you until the count of three," she said.

He turned to face the darkness before him.

"One,"

"What exactly do we have to do in there?"

"Two," she sighed, "The lift is stuck between decks, and this is the only way to access it."

He gulped.

"What if there are monsters?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Three."

Her foot made contact with the Ensign's mid-back, shoving him into the colossal duct. He squealed and fell for a moment, before enabling his magnetic plot devices and securing himself to the smooth titanium paneling.

The Lieutenant joined him moments later, albeit in a much safer manner, and together they climbed their way down the shaft, clunk clunk clunking all the way. After what seemed like hours, they reached where the turbo lift had halted and dropped onto it with a solid plunk.

From inside came an obstreperous racket. The high pitched screeching, scratching, stomping, squealing, wailing emanated from the capsule below, echoing eerily up the ominous shaft.

The Ensign swallowed the ball of terror lodged in his throat.

"What the fuck is that?"

"I don't know."

For a moment Torres looked mildly uncertain. She shrugged and unhooked her phaser.

"Wait-We're not going in there, are we?"

The Klingon glared at the Ensign.

He shook his head frantically.

"There's no way I'm going in there."

"Suit yourself."

Gripping the small hoover, she lifted the hatchway and dropped lightly into the lift below.

Silence.

The Ensign shuffled uncertainly at the lack of sound.

"What's going on?"

Torres blinked.

"Lieutenant?"

He swallowed his fear and squatted over the hatch, gazing into the hole.

"What the fuck?"

Torres stood ankle-deep in blood and grizzle, staring in awe at a very fat, very cybernetic toddler sleeping sweetly next to a dewy skeleton, which looked suspiciously as though it had been sucked clean.

The Ensign whimpered.

"Oh my god…"

Torres rubbed her chin.

"So that's where the baby went…"