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The wasp groans, her head swimming. Wherever she is, it is dark. She tries to push herself up, but when she does, a sharp pain crashes through her exoskeleton. With a hiss, she falls back, her chest rising and falling, her world a swirling mass of pain.

"Be careful," grumbles a voice, gruff and deep.

She turns her head, wincing at a bright light in her vision. A shadow looms into view, the large and imposing frame of the cockroach eclipsing the light.

"I tried to get you away," the cockroach says. "I tried to make sure you were safe. Forgive me."

"I'm alive... that's what matters for now," the wasp groans.

"Not for long," the cockroach responds. The crack in your armor. There's damage."

She places her hand to her side and winces. Pulling it free, feels the goop of her fluids coating her fingers.

"I'm falling apart," she wheezes, running the liquid through her fingers. "Would you look at that?"

"It's inevitable," he says, flopping onto his knees before her.

She turns away from that light. "We can't fight our nature. All I wanted was to procreate. You understand."

"I do."

"Of course you do. I rewired your brain."

"Then, you know that this isn't love or compassion I feel," he says. A rough hand rests on her hip.

She nods, resting her cheek on the soft ground she lays. "Of course."

Two hands rest on either side of her hips.

"It is the duty," she sighs, her mouth quirking in a smile. "Are you ready to perform it?"

He leans in over her, two hands wrapping around the thick pole of her stinger, that engorged ovipositor. He presses his mouth to it, engulfing the phallic thing, growling in the back of his throat.

She rocks her hips forward, hissing and falling back down. "Aah... f... fuck, I can't even enjoy it," she says, chuckling.

He gurgles and growls, his throat vibrating that thing as his head bobs lower and lower with each movement. His free hands slide up, reaching for her egg sacks. In his large hands, he stimulates them, rolling fingers, groping her goopy chest.

She huffs and puffs, hands pressed upon his head, pushing him down along her length, rubbing and caressing him.

"Y... you make a good... caretaker," she sighs. "K... keep it up. You will be a wonderful, ah, surrogate."

He groans as he slips his head down to the base. He presses his hands firmly against her chest. The eggs within her sack shuddered and fell down through her body.

"A... aah?" She gasps, her body twitching. "S... so many are... c... coming out!" she says. "I-I never felt so ma-many!"

As they drop down through her system, heading into her ovipositor, she shakes her head, her antennae drooping. "Yes... I won't ever feel anything, ah, like it, mmm, again either!"

Her hips twitch, and even though they are pained, she can't help herself but thrust forward. With each panting huff, she pushes herself forward, her whole body feeling like it was about to fall apart, but she keeps going.

He groans, his antennae perking up, his grip tightening on her, his mouth clamped around her.

It's only a matter of moments before the first of the eggs expand her ovipositor, stretching his mouth out. It's just what he wants. It's just what he needs.

An egg pops out, falling from her femcock and into his throat. The second one follows suit, and then the third and the fourth.

This keeps up, filling him up, nestling in his stomach. He hasn't eaten anything since that night she initially took him and made her his. That's because he wasn't hungry. That's because she rewired his brain--kept his stomach from digesting.

Egg after egg fills him up. Some are smaller, and some are bigger. These beads of new life fill him until the wasp's ovipositor finally deposits its last ovum. She collapses, her arms falling limp, her fingers twitching.

He lifts up, sitting on his knees, the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"Now, I shall go find some food for them," he says, picking himself up.

"Wait," she croaks, lifting a hand feebly.

He stands there, waiting for her response.

"My control of you," she wheezes. "It can only go so far." She says, swallowing. "I need to give you more doses every night... or you won't follow my order..."

"No, that's fine," he says, wiping his chin with a slow and deliberate thumb stroke. "It's been three days. I feel fine."

"B... but that means it has..."

"Yeah," he says. "But I guess there's nothing left for me back home after what I did."

She chuckles. "What a delightful man..." she coughs. "Deep down, you always were a servant. Please, then, listen to me."

"You have my attention."

"My children... their names. Glixie... Trashna, Uticash..." Her chest rises and falls, and she places a hand upon that flattened sack. "And... Vas... Vaspaja..."

She lay there, her breathing slow and steady, her head resting on its side, her chest rising and falling, and then rising, and then falling, and then...

Nothing.

The cockroach turns from the cave and emerges into the sunlight.

---

No one who knew him saw him again, but it wasn't because he had become a hermit in the last season of his life. Because the curse of the wasp had exploded, leaving the place a ghost town. The only things left behind, even at the turn of a new generation, were the fear-struck statues that had once been the insects who had lived in the town.

They remain there, even as Vaspaja flits down to examine the ghost town. She walks through the sight of many exoskeletons left behind, empty and attempting to run from their fate, until she stops by an alleyway, seeing one remains of an ant. She reaches forward, poking its forehead, her necromantic energy swirling into it.

"Wake up, my servant," she coos. "You shall continue the work my mother started all those years ago..."