Chapter Text
Chapter 110 — His name is Vark.
The door hissed open with a soft pneumatic sigh.
Java stepped forward first — but Vox was right behind her, hand brushing the small of her back as they crossed the threshold together.
And then he stopped.
So did she.
Because the office wasn’t his office. Not quite.
It had been transformed in his absence — reprogrammed with ribbons instead of rewrites, light instead of code. The cool, calculated hush of the Overlord’s private sanctum was still there, anchored in chrome and glass, but it had been gently overlaid with softness. Celebration. Care. The kind of irreverent touch only one demon dared to attempt in his space and get away with.
Streamers curled from the corners of the ceiling like digitized party smoke — matte silver and soft blue, shimmering just enough to catch the light. Behind his desk, a slightly crooked but lovingly puffed-up balloon arch shimmered in VoxTek violet and static-white.
And strung across it, arcing just above the desk in a cheap, sparkly banner:
CONGRATULATIONS, IT’S A BOY.
At the center of the room, as if awaiting judgment, sat the tea trolley.
Stripped of its usual polished glamor, it held only one item: a matte-black pet crate, squat and sturdy, perched like a crown on a pedestal. A microfiber blanket with the VoxTek logo was draped over the top, folded just enough to let in airflow — but not enough to see what was inside.
Near the desk, nestled against one leg like a welcome-home altar, sat a round velvet dog bed in deep storm-grey, lined with waterproof trim and padded plush. A handful of toys — waterproof, plushy, chewable — peeked out from the lining: a squeaky microphone, a crinkly flat-screen, a static-bounce ball. Every shape deliberately familiar. Branded. Loved.
A pink glitter tag hung from the edge.
FROM YOUR BEST BITCH!
—-AUNTIE VELVETTE 💋
Vox stared.
Silent. Processing.
He blinked once.
“…Doll,” he said slowly, voice staticky with disbelief. “What—what is this?”
The door sealed shut behind him with a soft hiss.
Java turned toward him.
Her hands folded in front of her apron. Her voice came quiet but steady — soft like steam rising from the first pour, and just as warm.
“A surprise,” she said. “Kind of.”
She hesitated. Then stepped in front of the trolley, almost like she was shielding it.
“You—you shower me in things, Vox,” she said gently. “Gifts. Clothes. Coffee labs. Safety. You. And every time I think I’ve caught up, you do something else to make me feel even more…”
Her breath hitched. She gave a shaky smile.
“I didn’t want to try and match it with something flashy or expensive. That’s not what this is. I wanted to give you something you wouldn’t think to get yourself. Something only I could give you.”
She reached for the blanket, but didn’t lift it yet. Her fingers trembled slightly on the hem.
“I haven’t seen him yet either,” Java whispered, reaching slowly for the crate’s latch. “But I reached out to my supplier. Asked for something small. Sweet. Special. And a little feral.”
She placed one hand ready to lift the blanket. Java looked up, eyes bright but unsteady, and met his stunned gaze.
“I just thought… maybe you’d want something that binds us a little. Something that makes you feel what I feel when I look at you. I know you crave that almost contractual bond.” She rolled her eyes kindly. “This was my way of showing I understand. I want you to feel just as Bound. Loved. Trusted. A sense of, Home—Family like you give me.”
She lifted the blanket.
The room held its breath.
Inside the crate, a soft pastel blue lump of shark was curled up like the world’s most ridiculous plush toy. His back was sky-colored, his belly marshmallow white, and one paw—paw—was twitching gently against his own face, scrunched in sleep like he’d fallen mid-tantrum and never quite finished protesting.
Tiny claws. Little pink toe beans.
His oversized hammerhead was flopped sideways, one eye half-lidded in a dreamy sort of squint. A bubble of drool hung precariously off his bottom lip. And around his neck—oh God, she hadn’t seen this part—a little pink collar with a gold tag that gleamed faintly in the office light.
Java’s voice went reverent.
“Come on out, sweet pea,” she murmured, gently unlatching the crate door.
There was a pause.
Then movement.
A soft grunt, like a sleepy yawn. A slow, exaggerated stretch—one back leg kicking, the tail giving a big wiggly arc like a rubber hose being flicked.
Java smiled so softly it didn’t reach her mouth, only her eyes.
“Awww,” she breathed, hands to her cheeks. “Big stretch…”
Still half-asleep, the baby shark snuffled and blinked once. Then he raised his head—and his whole body wobbled with the effort. He was soft and round and absurdly alive, like someone had animated a plushie and then wrapped it in warmth and love.
Java reached in, lifting him with both hands.
His body was warmer than she expected. All downy baby fat and silky skin, limbs tucked instinctively against her wrists. His gills fluttered sleepily. His tiny claws curled. And when his nose nudged her throat with a faint snorfle, she made a sound under her breath that wasn’t quite a laugh or a sob, just wonder.
She crouched to the floor.
“Okay, little bubba,” she cooed, kissing his forehead. “Go meet your Daddy.”
With infinite care, she set him on the rug.
Vark sat there.
Blinking.
Stubby tail thumped. One paw flexed. He gave a shuddery little shake from his oversized head to his wiggly haunches—then planted all four feet on the carpet, gave the tiniest huff of determination…
And locked eyes with Vox.
Vox blinked.
For one rare, unrehearsed second, the Overlord of the airwaves—the tyrant of teeth and ticker tape—stood utterly, completely speechless.
“…Doll,” he said, his voice oddly thin. “Java, what is—?”
Then Vark moved.
The baby shark gave a delighted yip—yes, yip—and launched himself forward in a series of stumpy, chaotic bounds, paws skittering wildly on the smooth rug. His collar jingled. His tail wiggled. And with one last clumsy hop, he tackled Vox square in the chest.
The force wasn’t much—but Vox folded like paper.
Dropped. To his knees.
“Oh my—what the—oh my fuck, he has paws,” Vox gasped, voice spiraling into high-octave disbelief as Vark climbed him like a mountain made of dad. “You’ve got toe beans? Are you—look at this face—are you a dog? A puppy? A shark? What even are you, huh? Are you a land shark?! Oh my—Java?!”
He was babbling.
Absolutely unspooling.
One clawed hand cupped Vark’s squishy face, the other ruffling his baby-soft hammerhead fins. The shark responded with high-pitched squeaks and full-body wiggles, licking wildly at the first screen he could reach—leaving the faintest trail of drool across the lower edge of Vox’s jawline.
“Did you see that?” Vox wheezed. “He kissed me. He kissed me, babe. He knows. He knows his daddy. Oh my signal, I’m gonna die.”
Java was already doubled over with laughter.
“He does know his daddy,” she teased, voice soft with joy. “I told Murrow and Decibel ahead of time. Gave them a heads-up about their baby brother—but I’m sure his Auntie Velvette already talked his ears? Vox to sharks have ears?” She questioned while seeing Velvette's lovely welcome to the family basket.
Vox however had frozen into a buffering loop as if she had detonated a bomb in his heart.
“Baby brother—!”
His screen glitched once, then again—static flickering across his face like it couldn’t decide if he was about to sob or combust from pure joy.
“I mean,” Java added gently walking back towards him, crouching near them now, “it always kinda sucked that you can’t cuddle the other two. You’ve got your tanks and your tech—but I wanted to give you something you’d never get for yourself. Something that cuddles back.”
She reached for Vark, who was now happily gnawing on one of Vox’s sleeves like it was a chew toy.
He protested with a squeak when lifted, but settled fast in Java’s arms—kicking gently, nuzzling her chest.
“My contact in Envy,” she said softly, brushing her thumb over the shark’s fin, “he teased me for being a ‘land girl.’ Said this might be the perfect compromise.”
She paused.
“His name is Vark. We can change it if you like, but…”
Her thumb traced the collar gently.
“…I kinda like it.”
For a moment, all she could hear was the soft whir of the overheads and the faint creak of Vox’s gloves as his fingers tightened around his own thigh.
He looked up at her slowly.
Something in his face cracked open — not glitched, not fractured, but peeled — reverence pooling where smugness had once lived.
His voice, when it came, was barely a breath.
“Are you Vark?” he whispered, leaning in, hands outstretched like he was trying to beckon a vision. “Are you our little Varky-Vark? Huh? Are you the most perfect thing I’ve ever fucking seen—?”
Vark responded with a delighted chirp — a sound too high to be a growl and too bright to be anything but joy — and hurled himself from Java’s arms with a full-bodied plop.
Java gasped, clutching empty air.
Vark hit Vox’s chest with a thud softened by fur and flubber and love, and immediately began wiggling like a possessed plush toy. His tail whipped side to side in ecstatic arcs, smacking Vox’s thigh. His paws scrabbled against the Overlord’s tie, tongue lapping messily at the corner of his screen. One back leg kicked wildly in what could only be described as a happy stomp.
Java burst out laughing, so hard she nearly lost her balance.
She dropped to her knees beside them, the rug soft beneath her palms as she leaned in, cheek pressed to Vox’s shoulder, giggling into his static.
“He likes it,” she breathed, eyes shining.
“No.”
Vox’s voice was thick. Strained. Wet with something like awe.
He wrapped one arm around the sharkling’s midsection, the other hooking Java flush to his side, like if he didn’t anchor himself to this moment, he might float out of it entirely.
“I love it.”
He kissed Java’s cheek without breaking eye contact with the creature in his lap. Then Vark’s head. Then back to her. His movements were reverent. Stunned.
“I love you, and him, and whatever the hell this weird, perfect little family is. And who even cares if my schedule is ruined—he has a collar, Java. And paws. And he’s mine. Mine.”
Vark yawned mid-lick, his oversized hammerhead flopping sideways into the crook of Vox’s elbow. His limbs went noodle-soft. His belly squished warmly against Vox’s chestplate as he collapsed like a plushie that had run out of batteries, letting out a dreamy, squeaky honk as he settled in.
Java watched, heart in her throat.
The shark’s tail gave one last twitch.
And Vox just stared down at him.
Silent. Undone.
He cradled the tiny body like it was made of porcelain and static, one glove pressing lightly to Vark’s soft belly, the other lifting one sleepy paw.
He turned it upward.
Studied the soft pink pads, each one the size of a gumdrop. The little claws. The tufts of baby fuzz at the joints.
“…Toe beans,” he whispered, voice cracking like an old VHS tape, eyes wide and full of wonder.
Vark gave a pleased little snort in reply—then promptly clamped his tiny jaws around the hem of Vox’s blazer.
Vox made a startled noise in the back of his throat. “He’s—he’s chewing my suit.”
Sure enough, the baby shark was gnawing gently on the edge of Vox’s lapel with soft, squeaky determination, his stubby paws braced against the Overlord’s chest like he was teething on pure capitalism. A string of drool trailed from his lip onto the silk pocket square.
And Vox didn’t even flinch.
He just cradled him tighter, petting him in slow, stunned strokes, thumb brushing behind one fin, the other hand resting reverently along the plush slope of Vark’s belly. The little shark gurgled in delight, tail thwapping softly against Vox’s thigh. Somewhere between awe and meltdown, Vox went quiet—completely, utterly undone.
Java’s voice, warm and amused, broke the moment.
“Silly little baby,” she cooed, folding her hands to her chest.
That was all it took.
Vark’s head whipped toward her like sonar. His whole body wiggled. And then—with the most delighted little squeal he’d made all day—he launched himself out of Vox’s arms and straight at her.
“Whoop—!” Java laughed, instinctively spinning just as he collided with her side.
He latched onto the end of her tail like it was a tug toy, gumming and batting at it with all four paws. Java twirled again with a grin, letting him spin in a delighted circle before reaching down to scoop him into her arms. He gave a tiny kick and a proud, panting grin, pink tongue flopped sideways like a tired puppy.
She melted.
“Oh, I could just eat you up,” she whispered, pressing her cheek to his hammerhead as he gave an affectionate blep onto her collarbone.
Behind her, she heard the soft shift of movement.
Vox had risen.
He was watching her—watching them—with a look that could have rewritten love songs. His screen was blushing bright, pinks and golds flickering like candlelight across glass. His eyes had turned to hearts. Full-screen, high-def, no shame.
He stepped closer.
Java looked up and met that look.
Something clicked.
A new current passed between them—hotter than static, deeper than pride. Reverent and ridiculous. A family photo nobody had asked for but both of them would kill to protect.
He wrapped his arms around both of them in one seamless pull, Vark squealing with a sharp yip at the pressure.
“Shit—he’s gonna squirm out—” Java started—
But Vox was already adjusting, already pulling the pup from her arms like he’d done it a thousand times. His hands moved with ease, one supporting the soft underbelly, the other cradling the tail. He turned, walked over, and sat down at his desk like a man returning to a throne.
Then?
He simply curled into the chair like he’d just found the reason it was built—with Vark squirming up against his chest, nuzzling happily beneath his chin, one tiny paw still batting at his cravat.
Java watched, hand still hovering where the baby shark had been.
And Vox?
Vox just leaned back into his seat, arms full of drooling, happy chaos, love spilling out of him in every direction like a glitch in his very code.
It was, somehow, perfect.