Baby Bump Battle 2 - Attack of the Ultrasounds

[Youngbritishbitch]

Dr. Bartholomew Bumplethwaite Jnr III Snr did not believe in coincidences.

He believed in patterns, anomalies, and--when necessary--firmly documented absurdities.

So when word reached him (via a panicked midwife, an overexcited receptionist, and a yoga instructor who had begun ending emails with "???") about the "prenatal confrontations," he did what any serious researcher would do:

He secured funding.

He requisitioned equipment.

And he built what he insisted on calling a *Dual Fetal Interaction Observation Array*--

--which looked exactly like a two-player arcade machine.

No one questioned it.

Not the technicians.

Not the hospital board.

Not even Emily and Hannah, who were now seated side-by-side in padded chairs, each facing their respective screen, each with a joystick-shaped handle they had been specifically instructed *not* to touch.

"It's for ergonomic symmetry," Dr. Bumplethwaite had said firmly.

He adjusted his glasses and regarded them with the grave intensity of a man who had once stared down a malfunctioning MRI and won.

"Before we begin," he said, clipboard poised, "I must ask--have you selected names?"

Emily nodded. "If it's a girl, Samantha."

Hannah smiled. "Tori, for mine."

Dr. Bumplethwaite froze slightly.

His pen hovered.

"Samantha... and Tori," he repeated.

A pause.

"I see."

He did not see.

Not really.

His mind briefly flicked through his extensive catalog of cultural knowledge, which consisted primarily of David Attenborough narrating the migration patterns of arctic terns, and several deeply confusing but emotionally compelling episodes of Doc McStuffins.

He frowned thoughtfully.

"These names... are they... rivals?"

Emily and Hannah exchanged a glance.

"...Sort of?" Emily said.

"Ah," he murmured, writing something down. "Pre-established narrative tension."

He underlined it twice.

"Excellent."

Without further comment, he snapped on gloves with unnecessary precision.

"Let us proceed."

The gel was applied.

Cold.

Clinical.

A moment of stillness--

Then the machines powered on.

The screens flickered to life.

Static.

Grain.

And then--

There they were.

Two tiny figures.

Perfectly visible.

Perfectly framed.

Facing each other.

Dr. Bumplethwaite leaned forward slowly.

"...Good lord."

On the left screen, Samantha floated in the dim, watery glow--arms slightly bent, posture unmistakably... squared.

On the right, Tori drifted into view--

And immediately adjusted.

A shift.

A turn.

A stance.

Not random.

Not reflexive.

Intentional.

"Oh no," Hannah whispered.

"Oh *yes*," Dr. Bumplethwaite said, eyes lighting with terrifying academic delight.

The figures moved.

Samantha raised what could only be described as a tiny, defiant arm.

Tori responded.

A mirrored motion.

A challenge.

The machines emitted a cheerful *bloop*.

A digital bar appeared at the bottom of each screen.

Dr. Bumplethwaite did not react to this.

He simply wrote: *"Interface adaptation observed."*

Emily stared. "Why are there... bars?"

"No idea," Hannah said faintly.

On-screen--

Samantha lunged.

Not violently.

But decisively.

A small, determined push forward.

Tori pivoted.

Actual pivot.

A smooth, fluid turn that had no business being that coordinated at that stage of development.

Dr. Bumplethwaite inhaled sharply.

"...Motor control far exceeds baseline expectations."

*Bloop!*

The bars flickered.

Rose.

The machine gave a small, celebratory *ding.*

"Why does it sound happy?" Emily asked.

"I don't like that it sounds happy," Hannah added.

On-screen, the two figures circled.

Slow.

Measured.

Like fighters who had met before.

Like fighters who remembered.

Dr. Bumplethwaite's pen was moving rapidly now.

"Note the spacing... the restraint... remarkable..."

Samantha made the first move.

A quick forward motion--

Tori blocked.

Blocked.

There was no ambiguity.

A clean, unmistakable defensive shift.

Both screens flashed briefly.

*Ping.*

The room fell silent except for the soft hum of the machines.

Emily swallowed. "They're doing it again."

Hannah nodded. "Yeah... but this feels different."

It did.

There was no frantic energy.

No chaotic jostling.

This was controlled.

Technical.

Almost... practiced.

Dr. Bumplethwaite leaned closer, utterly captivated.

"This is not random movement," he whispered.

"This is structured interaction."

Another exchange--

Push.

Turn.

Counter.

The bars filled slightly with each motion.

No one touched the controls.

No one *dared*.

"And you're certain," he said slowly, "that you have not exposed yourselves to... competitive stimuli?"

"...We went to prenatal yoga," Emily said.

"...And there were croissants," Hannah added weakly.

He nodded, as if that explained nothing and everything simultaneously.

On-screen--

The figures paused.

Held.

Then, in perfect synchronization--

They stepped forward.

And stopped.

Face to face.

Closer than before.

The bars glowed faintly.

No strike came.

No impact.

Just stillness.

Dr. Bumplethwaite exhaled.

"...Fascinating."

A long beat passed.

Then--

Samantha lowered her arm.

Tori tilted--just slightly.

A shift so subtle it almost didn't register.

But it did.

The machines responded with a soft, almost... respectful tone.

*...ding.*

The bars faded.

The screens dimmed slightly.

And just like that--

The moment ended.

The figures drifted apart.

Calm.

Weightless.

Quiet.

Emily let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Is that... good?"

Dr. Bumplethwaite did not answer immediately.

He removed his glasses.

Polished them.

Replaced them with ceremonial gravity.

"...I believe," he said carefully, "we have just witnessed the earliest recorded instance of..."

He paused.

Searching for the right words.

"...pre-natal rivalry transitioning into... mutual recognition."

Hannah blinked. "So... less fighting?"

He considered.

"...Oh no," he said plainly. "Almost certainly *more* fighting."

A beat.

"But significantly better technique."

Emily laughed despite herself.

On the screens, the tiny figures floated peacefully.

For now.

Dr. Bumplethwaite straightened, already scribbling notes with renewed intensity.

"Next session," he muttered, "we introduce variables."

Emily's eyes widened. "What kind of variables?"

He glanced at the unused joysticks.

Then back at the screens.

Then, very deliberately, wrote one word on his clipboard:

*"Multiplayer."*

Somewhere, deep in the quiet hum of the machines--

There was the faintest, almost imperceptible...

*...bloop.*

[Nataliefightsyou]

This is very cool concept and a rivalry

[fight fan steve]

Outstanding! I can't wait to read what happens next!

[Debbiedoes]

Looking forward to where you go with this. It's very different and original.

[Debbiedoes]