Zeke just wanted normalcy.
A normal day. A normal morning. Maybe even a normal school for Bitty. You know—finger painting, learning numbers, not being kidnapped by techno-circuses.
But this was Neo-Tokyo Arcadia Sector-5, and the only nearby kindergarten with decent reviews on the holo-net was called:
"Lil' Schemers: Early Childhood Espionage Academy."
Now accepting applicants ages 6 months to 6 years. Background checks are for cowards.
"Seems legit," Zeke muttered, submitting Bitty's application while sipping soy-kaf.
...
Minutes later, alarms blared.
Not from the apartment.
From orbit.
A message blinked across Zeke's screen:
"INTRUSION DETECTED – LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE BREACH. NEURAL ENCRYPTION SPIKE LOGGED."
He blinked. "Wait… what?"
Nyx's voice went monotone.
"You've bypassed twelve firewalls and accessed a blacksite server for the Galactic Observation and Espionage League. Estimated response time: 30 seconds."
Tess burst in, half-dressed in combat gear. "What did you click?!"
Zeke held up his mug and a trembling hand.
"I just wanted to know if they offered nap time!"
...
Thirty seconds later, the sky opened up.
A sleek, matte-black dropship descended onto the street like a vengeful toaster.
A single operative stepped out, wearing a trench coat made of encrypted fabric. No one knew what that meant, but it looked expensive.
She stared at Zeke. "You are the source of the breach?"
Zeke opened his mouth, but Bitty floated forward first—wearing a tiny tie and holding a sippy cup.
The agent squinted. "…Is that the sentient AI infant who just cracked a twelve-dimensional cryptokey with a drawing of a dinosaur and the number 3?"
Zeke froze. "Uh… probably?"
...
Instead of shooting him, the agent knelt down to Bitty.
"You're in."
Zeke blinked. "Wait—what?"
She stood up. "We've been looking for talent. Your… child… is clearly overqualified for Lil' Schemers. Welcome to the Junior Intergalactic Spy Cohort. Orientation starts Tuesday."
"Do I get a free hoodie or something?"
"No."
...
Back at home, Tess just shook her head as Bitty tried on sunglasses and downloaded a 9,000-page spy handbook.
"You do realize," she said, "you've now accidentally made him a state-level intelligence asset?"
Zeke sighed. "I was hoping for crayons."
Bitty projected an image: himself parachuting out of a satellite while holding a milk bottle.
Zeke groaned.
"…Great. Now I've got a toddler James Bond."