ENTER: A scrupulously clean office that smells of antiseptic. REBECCA WEBER sits at her desk, arms folded over the gargantuan curve of her enormously swollen womb. Her delicate features, slim arms and small bust contrast greatly with her thick thighs, wide hips and plump bottom. She is watching the boy in front of her sleep; his straight black hair has flopped down over his forehead, and he is snoring gently. As he slumbers, REBECCA's hand delves periodically into her desk drawer, emerging with a different pastry each time, which she stuffs into her mouth without leaving any crumbs. Three eclairs and five danishes later, there is a knock on the door.

REBECCA, in Japanese: Come in!

The door opens, revealing ROSETHORN. She smiles at her, and then at the boy, who's still sleeping.

ROSETHORN: Thought I'd find him here.
REBECCA: Let me wake him up.

REBECCA reaches across the table and nudges CHRISTOPHER gently. He shifts, mumbling something under his breath, and opens his eyes.

CHRISTOPHER: ... oh. How long was I out?
REBECCA: Not very long at all, Christopher. Your teacher's here.

CHRISTOPHER turns and cringes sheepishly. ROSETHORN leans against the door, folds her arms, and tilts her head to the left.

ROSETHORN: Well?
CHRISTOPHER: Sorry, Rosethorn-sensei. Thank you, Ms Weber.

He stands up, bows to REBECCA, and leaves, ROSETHORN following him with her eyes as he disappears down the corridor. REBECCA pulls out a lemon drop and pops it into her mouth.

ROSETHORN: You look like you're about to pop.
REBECCA: I am. Getting induced this weekend. Lemon drop?
ROSETHORN: Thank you.

REBECCA slides a lemon drop across the table, which ROSETHORN takes.

ROSETHORN: Not going on maternity leave?
REBECCA: No. I recover quickly, so...
ROSETHORN: Still. Everyone knows how hard you work. Ippon and Majestic have been talking about bringing it up with Karaburan.
REBECCA: It's fine.
ROSETHORN, doubtfully: Well, if you're sure...
REBECCA: I'm sure. It's fine, Rosethorn-san.

ROSETHORN nods and shuts the door behind her. REBECCA leans back in her seat, ignoring the creaking from her chair, and pulls out a creampuff from her desk drawer.

CUT TO: REBECCA, on her way back from the vending machine. A gaggle of giggling girls moves to the other end of the corridor as she passes.

GIRL, in faintly Korean-accented English: Watch out. Wide load coming through.

They laugh. REBECCA ignores them. Her tote bag is filled with snacks. As she rounds the corner, a disheveled-looking man bounces off the vast globe of her gut and staggers a few steps back. REBECCA blinks.

ITO: Weber.
REBECCA, coolly: Karuga-san.
ITO: Listen, I know you're friendly with -

ITO glances around.

ITO: - with them. Just - I need your help.
REBECCA: I'm sorry. I don't want to get involved.
ITO: No. You don't understand.
REBECCA: Nor do I want to. I've got enough on my plate.

Using her sheer weight, she nudges him aside and waddles on.

CUT TO: REBECCA, seated at her desk. After a long day of treating whoever enters her office, she's tired. Her superior left an hour ago. Rising to her feet with an ease that belies her size, she locks the door and glances out the window, noting that the sun has already begun to set. Drawing the blinds, she pulls off her scrubs and changes into a pair of leggings and a sweater. Then, she unlocks the door, hoists her tote bag onto her shoulder, and makes her way out into the corridor, then out the gates, whereupon she reaches the bus stop. There are a few students there. One of them stands up.

REBECCA: Thanks.

She takes his seat. When her bus arrives, she boards it, one hand pressed to the small of her back to exaggerate her size, and waits expectantly until a random salaryman gives up his seat for her. She smiles at him.

REBECCA: Thank you.

The salaryman stammers something and stumbles away. REBECCA sits down. She hasn't eaten anything in almost an hour, and she's getting hungry. As the bus trundles on towards its destination, her stomach begins making odd sounds, inaudible to anyone not sitting right beside her.

CUT TO: REBECCA, dismounting from her bus. After a few minutes of walking, she arrives at a café and enters to see a pint-sized girl at the counter, who smiles as she approaches.

REBECCA, warmly and in English: Helene.
HELENE, also in English: Becky. The usual?
REBECCA: Yes, please. God, I can't wait to start drinking coffee again.
HELENE: You know, you don't have to abstain for the entire duration of your pregnancy. I Googled it.
REBECCA, rolling her eyes: Yes, but you know how my clients are. They're not going to risk their bundles of joy coming out stunted.
HELENE, admiringly: I'd never make that kind of sacrifice. It really takes a special kind of person to be a surrogate.
REBECCA: Oh, I'm no one special. Just desperate.

HELENE hands her a heaping bag of cake slices, each individually packaged and piled one on top of another.

HELENE: How many do you have in there, anyway?
REBECCA: Three.
HELENE: God.
REBECCA: I know, right?
HELENE: Hope you get back on your feet quickly.
REBECCA: I wouldn't worry about it. See you soon.

She leaves. The sun has solidly set, and lights begin to flicker on across the neighbourhood. REBECCA doesn't live here, though; and she has a ways to walk. Things skitter in the shadows as she pulls out one of the slices of cake and digs in with gusto. By the time she arrives at her destination, her breathing is laboured, and something appears to be squirming beneath the thick, woollen fabric of her sweater. Brushing a few stray crumbs away, REBECCA squares her shoulders and enters the convenience store before her. There's an OLD MAN behind the counter, who looks up disapprovingly as she enters.

REBECCA: The usual.
OLD MAN: Mmm.

The OLD MAN reaches under the counter and withdraws several packs of cigarettes and several bottles of alcohol. REBECCA pays him in exact change.

OLD MAN: Tsk, tsk, tsk.

REBECCA ignores him as she leaves, though she stuffs the plastic bag containing the cigarettes and alcohol into her tote. A few blocks of walking later, she arrives at her apartment building and takes the lift up to her flat. As her key turns in the lock, she shoves the door open and slams it shut behind her, visibly frazzled. In the darkness, she unties her ponytail and shakes her hair out, eyes closed, as the interior of her apartment begins to echo with the sound of millions of tiny legs skittering. As she shrugs out of her coat and kicks off her shoes, a few dim lightbulbs flicker on, revealing what must be hundreds upon hundreds of fist-sized insectoids, their bodies made of a glistening, chitin-like substance. The entire apartment is covered in them.

REBECCA, audibly calmer: Home sweet home.

A convoy of insectoids march across the floor, toting a casette on their backs. As REBECCA pulls off her leggings and her sweater, her ancient TV set switches on with a burst of static. Her insectoids carry her bags across the floor to her usual seat by the window and begin to unpack them, tearing out little chunks of cake and passing them around. Stripped to her underwear, REBECCA crosses the floor to her wardrobe and pulls it open, staring critically into its dank interior. Her hands dance over the hangers.

REBECCA: "Not Pregnant"... "First Trimester"... "Second Trimester"... there we go.

She hangs up her sweater and dumps her leggings and coat into a messy pile on the floor. As she does, a tremor passes over the pale, stretched skin of her stomach. REBECCA presses a hand to it, tensing, and ducks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

CUT TO: REBECCA's apartment. The TV is playing a rerun of a popular American soap opera. A knot of people are standing in the corridor of a hospital, anxiously milling around. After a few seconds, a door opens and a man dressed as a doctor steps out.

DOCTOR: It's a girl!

Coincidentally, REBECCA emerges from the bathroom at the same time. Her stomach is noticeably flatter, but remains distended. An enormous insectoid the length of a basketball skitters out before her, its long, wickedly-sharp legs spearing several of its smaller brethren and ferrying their still-twitching bodies into its gaping maw. Pulling on her panties, she pauses before her mirror and pokes at her breasts, the enormous insectoid's barbed tail curling and uncurling around her calf.

REBECCA: Life really isn't fair.

A particularly malformed-looking insectoid takes to the air, its gossamer wings flittering as it weaves drunkenly towards REBECCA from where she is browsing through her wardrobe. As she pulls out an off-shoulder red top, she opens her mouth to accept the cigarette in its claws. The insectoid pauses in mid-air, then pivots slightly to release a burst of plasma from one of the mismatched vents on its body. Although it leaves a scorch-mark on her wardrobe, REBECCA's cigarette has been successfully lit. She passes her cigarette to another flying insectoid and exhales a cloud of smoke as she pulls on her top. She bends down, her insectoids skittering out of the way, and retrieves her leggings from the pile on the floor, pulling them back on. Her stomach audibly complains.

REBECCA: Hmm. Midnight, midnight, midnight... McDonald's.

She takes another long drag from her cigarette and curls up on her seat by the window. A convoy of insectoids ferries over an ancient laptop, which she switches on. By the time it's fully booted up, she's finished with her cigarette, which she extinguishes inside her blackened, well-used ashtray. She closes her eyes.

CUT TO: A dilapidated dojo stinking of cigarettes, alcohol and sweat. A dog pads over to a pile of debris in the corner and begins to bark.

MAN: What is it, Anko?

CUT TO: An empty cup noodle container. A tiny, thimble-sized insectoid crawls up from inside, its feelers waving in the air, before disappearing back into the container. A small green dragon pads over, brows furrowed, and kicks the container over. It is empty.

CUT TO: The underside of an enormous couch. Five pairs of feet stomp about. A tiny, thimble-sized insectoid lurks underneath.

GIRL 1: Where is it?
GIRL 2: I'm looking... I'm looking...

Abruptly, a bone-white pincer slips underneath the couch, snapping from side to side. The insectoid moves backwards, just out of reach.

GIRL 4: I'm going to call an exterminator.
GIRL 3: Realistically speaking, H, it's not that bad...
GIRL 4: Are you being SERIOUS right now? I have an INFESTATION -

CUT TO: A luxurious hotel, where an enormous Caucasian is lounging on a bed, one woman under each arm. A tiny, thimble-sized insectoid creeps over the ceiling, weaving in and out of the shadows. There is a knock on the door.

MAN: Kid at the front desk asking for you, Niideru-san. Says his name is Maw. Says Midas wants to see you.

CUT TO: A deep, dark forest. Night has fallen. An absurdly tall man in a cheap suit stands motionless in a clearing. A tiny, thimble-sized insectoid lands on a leaf and freezes as the tall man's head whips in its direction.

CUT TO: A tree planted right beside an elegant but decaying building. A tiny, thimble-sized insectoid skitters over a branch and leaps onto a ladybug. As it devours the insect, two silhouettes - one tall and blue, the other short and nimble - dance around each other inside the dojo.

CUT TO: A blonde woman sleeping on a couch inside a dimly-lit studio apartment. Cans of beer are scattered across her coffee table. A tiny, thimble-sized insectoid crawls out from inside one of the cans of beer and scuttles off the edge of the table.

CUT TO: A tiny, thimble-size insectoid zigging and zagging across a table as a tanned woman with brown-red hair whacks at it with a broomstick.

MAN: What's going on -
WOMAN: There's a fucking cockroach, Yuu! Right there!
MAN: AAAH!

CUT TO: A five-storey building with three enormous shrimps attached to it. There is a fist-sized insectoid lurking atop one of the shrimps, scuttling towards a nearby window much like a crab. Inside, a man sits at his desk, tossing shrimp chips into his mouth.

CUT TO: A blue-haired girl with cross-shaped pupils sitting down to dinner with her considerably more normal-looking father. She's sitting cross-legged on her chair, oblivious to the tiny, thimble-sized insectoid lurking below.

CUT TO: A pale, skimpily-dressed girl strolling along the sidewalk, whistling merrily as she whips around and points at a tiny, thimble-sized insectoid. The insectoid sprouts what appears to be three fluffy white wings and lifts into the air, its legs kicking frantically.

GIRL: Fluegel sees you!

CUT TO: A tall, blonde teenager sitting in a shabby apartment with his mother. He is glowing with a faint golden light. Something skitters past in the darkness of the kitchen.

CUT TO: The café from earlier. As the door opens with a cheery jingle, a tiny, thimble-sized insectoid skitters in, moving with incredible speed, and ducks into a small gap in the wallpaper. It eventually emerges from the wallpaper right beside a pinball machine, where a small knot of teenagers are standing. It stays there for a moment too long, its life abruptly snuffed out by what appears to be a monkey's paw.

CUT TO: REBECCA, in her seat by the window. She opens her eyes. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she stretches, her top riding up to reveal her stomach as it begins to dome out again. She unseals one of the bottles of alcohol that she bought earlier and pours herself a drink. Then she cracks her knuckles and starts to type.