Straight to the marketplace app. Karl’s eyes darted around, then he typed in Fat Fish Frenzy. When the icon popped up — a chubby, silly fish with huge lips — he squealed like a child and pressed the download button so fast he nearly dropped the laptop.
"Heheh... gotcha," he whispered, peeking over his shoulder like Julian or Milo might catch him. But the kitchen sink was still running, and Milo’s gentle snores drifted from the couch. Safe.
As the game downloaded, Karl’s eyes flicked around the screen again. He scrolled through the app store, curiosity growing. That’s when he saw it. Soulstream.
His smile dropped. He squinted at the bright icon, a little swirl with blue lines. He clicked, and rows of video thumbnails loaded — tiny preview pictures of shows, movies, clips, all neatly listed.
His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, then he slammed it shut in a pout so big his cheeks puffed out like a frog. "WIFE!" he hissed under his breath, glaring at the Soulstream icon. "She lied! She said you can’t see Soulstream inside ectoplasmic tablet — liar, liar wife!"
After cursing wife in his mind, Karl started playing Fat Fish Frenzy on her laptop. The game was just as silly as he’d known, though he was confused at first about how to play. The instructions popped up in a little tab, and he started following them. Soon his big fat fish was chomping smaller fish with tiny glub glub sounds while he giggled to himself.
But soon even the fish couldn’t hold his restless mind. His blue eyes darted around the screen, looking for something new to poke. That’s when he spotted it — a pretty, elegant icon tucked neatly on the desktop, a sharp, curved letter S shimmering with a faint glow when he hovered over it. The words Soul Engine sat below it in a neat font.
Karl tilted his head, mumbling under his breath, "Soul Engine... like a car engine? Or Soulstream’s cousin?" He giggled at his own joke, then shrugged and double-clicked it. The screen flickered, loading up something that looked way more complicated than anything he’d seen before.
A new window popped open — Recent Projects it said at the top, and right there, sitting like a shiny jewel, was a line that read: (Flying Bird Sample Game).
"Oooh..." Karl breathed out, his eyes going round as coins. He clicked it so fast he nearly tipped the laptop off his knees.
The screen lit up with a little game — a bright blue sky, soft puffy clouds, and a tiny bird model, wings outstretched mid-flap. It looked so pretty, the graphics way better than his Fat Fish game. But then the rest of the window caught his eye — rows of strange words he’d never seen before: Nodes, Outliner, Blueprint, Content Browser. Each word sat in its own tiny box, lines and squiggles everywhere like someone had spilled noodles over a page.
Karl squinted at the confusing spaghetti. "Why so many boxes? Where’s the play button?" he muttered. He poked at Nodes, but nothing happened. He dragged something in the Blueprint and the bird on screen vanished with a sad little blink. "Huh?" He panicked, clicked random things again, somehow made a bunch of folders appear, and then the whole screen turned blank.
"Wha—" Karl’s finger hovered mid-air like he was defusing a bomb. He clicked one more thing to fix it — and a tiny pop-up window appeared: Are you sure you want to reset your project? Below it, two neat options glowed: YES / NO.
Karl tilted his head, squinting at the message like it was in a foreign language. "Reset? Means fix, right?" he mumbled to himself. He tapped YES without a second thought.
Suddenly the whole screen flickered — little bars filled up, weird code lines scrolled too fast for him to read, and then the whole Soul Engine just poofed closed, tossing him back to the desktop in a blink.
He blinked too, his mouth shaped like an O.
He quickly pressed the shutdown button, eyes darting around the room as if the laptop might tattle on him. He held his breath until the screen went black, then gently — so gently — closed the lid and placed it right back where Ruby always left it. He smoothed the table runner twice for good measure, wiped an imaginary fingerprint off the top, then spun around on his heel.
He didn’t dare breathe until he’d slipped out the door and pulled it shut behind him with a quiet click. His heart pounded in his chest. Hah! She’ll never know! he told himself, though a tiny bead of sweat tickled his temple.
But the universe had other plans.
Karl froze. Right there at the end of the hallway, Julian was standing with a damp dish towel slung over his shoulder, his arms crossed tight over his chest. His mossy eyes, usually soft and warm, were narrowed just a little, his brow lifting in that I know you’re up to something look.
"What were you doing in wife’s room, Brother Karl?" Julian asked. His tone was calm but the suspicion in his eyes made Karl’s spine straighten like a cat caught stealing fish.
Karl’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. His mind raced, words tripping over each other in a panic. "Ohhhh! I — I-I-I was just — just — just —"
Julian raised one eyebrow. Just what? his eyes seemed to say.
Karl’s brain screamed for help. Then his eyes darted down — his messy hair, the tiny silver pin peeking from behind his ear. He snatched it out and thrust it at Julian’s face like it was a magic shield. "My hair pin! I forgot my pin!" he squeaked, cheeks burning. "See? Found it. Very important."
Julian looked at the pin. Then back at Karl. Then at the closed door behind him. A slow breath left his lips and his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes still held that little warning glint. "Don’t mess with wife’s things, Brother Karl," he said, voice soft but firm. "You know she doesn’t like that."
Karl bobbed his head like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Yes, yes, yes. I know! Sorry Jules! I won’t!" he squeaked, clutching the pin like it might save his life.
To be continued... 🪄