Saints in a Chip

Trigger Warning:

The following content discusses themes of rapid physical growth in a young character, including accelerated aging and early onset of physiological changes related to puberty. Specifically, these changes may result in the premature onset of menstruation. This detail is essential to the story but contains major spoilers and may be sensitive for some readers.

The car reeked of dried blood, clinging to everything. Jude glanced around, half-expecting the annoying fly to mock him about the stench. But this time, even the fly didn’t want to be near.

He couldn’t blame it—he smelled awful.

The drive back was silent. The weight of exhaustion pressing down on them both made words feel unnecessary.

Jude finally pulled the jeep to a stop at the gas station, and Lazaro wordlessly climbed out after him. The sky above had shifted, painted with the hues of a fading sun. They moved into the gas station, and a strange stillness greeted them. The place was eerily empty. No Patrick. No Lucy.

Jude frowned, a sinking feeling creeping up his spine. But just as the tension started to settle in, hurried footsteps broke the silence. Patrick appeared breathless.

"You’re back—Thank goodness!" he blurted out. "I don’t know what happened, but the little one… she’s sick. Real sick." His voice wavered. "She’s lying down, I— I really don’t know what to do."

Without a word, Jude pushed past the rising exhaustion that gnawed at him. He followed Patrick, with Lazaro close behind, weaving through the narrow aisles and out the back of the gas station.

They walked up to a small adjoining structure, more like a prefab house hastily thrown together than anything permanent. The dull, flickering lights and the narrow hallway seemed to close around them, making the place feel claustrophobic, as if the very air inside was pressing down on them.

The house was divided into six square rooms, all the same size, each separated by thin walls that did little to drown out the sounds around. A communal bathroom sat at the end of the hall. Jude's eyes immediately fell on the second room, the door slightly ajar. Lucy was inside.

The room barely had space for a bed, much less all of them. Jude took the lead, stepping in while the others waited just outside. Lucy lay curled up on the narrow bed, her small frame trembling, her face sweating and streaked with tears. The room was so small it felt like it was closing in, but Jude knelt beside her, placing a hand on her burning forehead.

The heat radiating from her skin was alarming, like touching a stove left on too long.

“You need a doctor, princess,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady though worry was more than evident in his words.

“It...hurts...so much,” she whimpered between the tears.

“Where?” Jude scanned her small body, trying to pinpoint anything visibly wrong. His eyes searched for answers he wasn’t finding.

“My chest,” she gasped, clutching herself tighter, her face contorted in pain. “It hurts so much.”

She fumbled with her shirt, her hands trembling as she tried to lift it, but Jude gently stopped her, his hand resting over hers, gently lowering her hands from her shirt. But as he did, something caught his eye. The waistband of her jeans cut into her skin, leaving red, angry marks, almost wounds. Her pants, fitting perfectly this morning, were now far too short and barely reached her calves. He blinked, trying to process it—Lucy had grown.

Jude kissed her forehead, then rose quietly, slipping out of the room. Closing the door softly behind him, he looked at Lazaro and Patrick, who waited just outside.

"She needs new clothes, something bigger," Jude said, his voice strained.

Patrick's brows furrowed as he planted his hands on his hips, nodding slightly before jerking his thumb towards the store. “I’ll go see what I can dig up.”

Lazaro glanced at Patrick, then back at Jude. "What’s happening?"

Jude ran a hand through his sweaty hair, exhaling slowly. "I think... she’s growing. Fast."

Lazaro's brow furrowed. "Isn’t that normal for kids?"

"Not like this," Jude replied, shaking his head. "Her jeans were cutting into her. She wasn’t like this earlier today."

"The closest clinic is about 1.5 kilometres away, but—"

"Let me guess, we don’t have access," Jude cut in. "Laz, call Len!"

"We’re already heading in her direction," Lazaro explained. "Whether she comes to us or we go to her, it’s the same thing."

Jude’s patience was fraying, his hands clenching at his sides. "Len has to fight against some temperamental scanner? Are you serious? How hard is it to call her?"

Lazaro sighed as he embraced himself to reason with him. "Jude, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s better if we go to her than risk waking her up. You don’t want to see what happens if we do."

"Look, man, it's been almost a day since she went down. She’s awake by now. And this isn’t about me or you," Jude's eyes flicked to Lazaro's battered face, "though you do look like a piñata. But Lucy... she’s in real pain, and I don’t know what to do."

Lazaro shifted his weight, glancing aside as if weighing something in his mind. "We’ll find a way. Trust me." He paused, hesitating before speaking again, his voice quieter now. "The last time she fell asleep... it was for almost a month."

Jude's eyes widened. "What?"

“She’s… different. Special. I know it sounds like nonsense, but when she’s awake, she runs everything. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, and barely breathes sometimes. She makes things happen, Jude. She moves the world. But if we don’t let her rest… it's like a crime. I know you don't understand. But... let her sleep."

Jude pressed his palm against his forehead, the weight of it all pounding against his skull. "What, does she fart oxygen? What's so special that she’s the queen of this place? This is just a simulation! Why doesn’t she just disconnect, go home, and come back tomorrow? Lucy needs her. That kid is probably stuck in a pod and doesn't know how to get out!"

The more he tried to make sense of it, the more absurd it seemed. His head throbbed, his mind spinning from the strain of trying to grasp the impossible.

Lazaro forced a grin, though his swollen lip made it painful. "You need to rest too, man. Hell, I need to rest. My face feels like it’s been through a blender."

Jude glanced at him. Lazaro's black eye was so swollen it nearly shut his vision, his lips split in multiple places, and deep bruises were already darkening across his cheeks.

"Yeah, you definitely need to patch that up," Jude said, shaking his head.

"I’ll ask Patrick if he’s got anything,” Lazaro replied, rubbing his jaw gingerly.

Before their conversation could go further, Lucy’s voice rang out from the back room, strained and frustrated. "Can I have scissors?"

Jude shot a look toward the door. "What do you need scissors for?"

There was a moment of silence before she answered, "I can’t get out of my pants."

Before Jude could respond, Patrick walked in with a bundle of oversized clothes and a warm patch.

"She needs scissors," Jude said, flat.

Patrick let out a long sigh, turned on his heel, and disappeared again.

The small building was quiet, its dim lights flickering occasionally. Lucy lay curled up in room 2, her soft breathing barely audible as the warmth from the pad pressed to her chest seemed to soothe the pain.

In room 4, Jude lay on the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. His body begged for rest—muscles sore, limbs heavy—but his mind refused to quiet. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, stayed wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Lazaro's absence registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but Jude was too drained to care where he'd gone. It was obvious, really, but not something worth his focus right now.

Two days had passed, but it felt like weeks had dragged by. Questions circled relentlessly.

Why were security patches in place, blocking humans from moving freely between cells? It was a convoluted setup, far from the efficiency expected in military operations. The rules—they didn’t belong here, felt too foreign, almost arbitrary out of a fantasy novel.

And where were the real Eidolons? The only ones he’d seen had been mere projections. His encounters had been limited to humans and talking animals. What kind of war was this? Did they win and refuse to report it?

Then there was the name—Nirvana. He’d heard it from Bart, but the monkeys called it something else—the garden. Why?

Everything eventually pointed back to Len. It was as if she were the axis around this strange simulation. Jude’s mind wandered, restless, circling around her. How could a Watcher hold so much power? Her well-being seemed paramount, even over that of a sick child like Lucy.

What kind of ability made her indispensable, irreplaceable in the eyes of everyone around her? And why did the entire system seem to fall apart when she slept?

Jude’s head throbbed as he tried to piece it together, his thoughts colliding in a frustrating loop. And Lucy—her sudden growth, the pain in her chest, the fever—what was happening to her? He couldn’t shake the feeling that the two were connected, that somehow, Len and Lucy were part of the same twisted puzzle. Phase three, that's what Patrick called it. Would it be related?

His mind spiralled back to the apes, the blood, and the unnerving calm that had followed the chaos. It all meshed together, the unanswered questions piling on until something clicked—a realisation, sharp and sudden, that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

No matter what, the simulation played by its own rules.

Of course. He knew where the scanner was. How could he have missed it? It was almost too simple, painfully obvious now that the thought had surfaced. His stomach churned with dread as he let the idea sink in, a knot tightening in his gut. He almost hoped he was wrong.

Jude blinked against the morning light streaming in through the small window, his body aching as he swung his legs out of bed. He glanced down, spotting a fresh stack of clothes and sneakers laid out on a nearby chair. The jeans were a good fit, a little stiff from being new, and the pink camouflage shirt—well, it wasn’t exactly his style, but it was clean, and right now, that was all that mattered.

His usual clothes, still smeared with dirt and blood, were folded into a sorry heap in the corner. He didn’t think twice, slipping into the new outfit and tugging on the sneakers before heading out.

The soft hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes greeted him as he pushed open the door to the store. Inside, Lucy sat perched at the counter, swinging her legs as she nibbled on a piece of toast. Lazaro leaned back in his chair beside her, sipping from a mug. They both looked up as Jude entered, Lazaro raising an eyebrow at Jude’s new attire.

“Well, look who’s awake," Lazaro teased, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jude ran a hand through his hair, wet but clean, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. “Is it that late?”

“Not really,” Patrick chimed in from behind the counter, flipping a toast onto a plate. “Still got some food left if you’re hungry.”

Jude’s stomach grumbled at the smell of fresh toast. He slid into the seat next to Lucy, who glanced up at him, a knowing look in her eyes. She silently reached into her bag, pulled out a familiar can, and handed it to him with a smirk.

He cracked open the can of coffee, giving her a nod of thanks as he took a sip. “You always come prepared, don’t you?”

Lucy shrugged, her smile brightening as she continued eating her breakfast.

“Pancakes are still warm,” Patrick said, placing a plate in front of Jude. He dug in, the tension of the past few days loosening just a bit as he savoured the simple meal.

But as he ate, an idea began to take shape, and before long, he glanced up at Patrick. “Hey, do you have any warning triangles? Or maybe traffic cones? Something we can use as markers—ten or more.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Yeah, I’ve got some cones. What’re you up to?”

Jude exchanged a quick glance with Lazaro before replying. “I know where the scanner is. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

Patrick nodded, flipping the last toast before setting the spatula down. “Sure, man, let me wrap up here, and I’ll get those cones for you.”

Lazaro, still leaning back, suddenly straightened in his chair, eyeing Jude with curiosity. “Where exactly are we heading?” he asked, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice.

“B4,” Jude replied without missing a beat.

Lazaro’s brow furrowed, the casual confidence draining from his face. “B4? That’s… going backwards. Why would you go there? The only thing you’ll find is...” His voice trailed off, his face paling as realisation hit. He sat up, the colour draining from his face like someone had flipped a switch.

Lucy, picking up on the shift, looked between them. “What’s at B4?