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Ze noticed immediately—because the constant background noise of humming, commentary, and singing for no reason had stopped entirely. The silence was wrong. Suspicious. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
Regect sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his phone, scrolling with intense focus. Just the occasional soft, thoughtful 'mhm' like an intellectual.
Ze narrowed his eyes from the couch.
“…Why are you thinking?”
“I’m innovating,” Regect said without looking up.
“Oh, I hate that word when you use it.”
Regect glanced up, non-present eyes glowing with something feral. “Okay, hear me out.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear it yet.”
“I don’t need to. Every time you say that, something breaks, disappears, or becomes legally questionable.”
Regect gasped, offended. “Wow. Zero support for small businesses.”
“You are not a small business.”
“I could be.”
Ze stood, slow and cautious, like approaching a wild animal. “Explain. Carefully. Using words that won’t make me regret not pulling out a gun on you.”
Regect grinned and slapped a box onto the table.
It was brown. Unlabeled. Slightly damp.
“They’re called Zabubus.”
Ze stared at the box.
“…That’s just Labubus but... worse.”
“Yes!” Regect said brightly. “Exactly!”
“That’s not a selling point.”
“It’s a knock-off. It’s supposed to be worse.”
Ze sighed and opened the box despite every instinct screaming at him not to.
Inside were small plastic figures with a Z misprinted on their fur. Almost cute. Almost. Their eyes were just slightly misaligned, their limbs uneven. One had three ears. Another had no face. One felt warm when Ze picked it up.
“Why does this one feel… warm?”
“That’s the charm,” Regect said. “They’re alive-adjacent.”
“These are haunted.”
“No, no,” Regect waved him off. “They’re quirky— Heh, FNAF reference.”
Ze put it down like it might bite him. “Where did you even get these?”
“I made them.”
“…You don’t know how to make things.”
“I outsourced.”
“To where?”
Regect shrugged. “The internet.”
Ze exhaled slowly. “You cannot just start a counterfeit brand.”
“They’re not counterfeit,” Regect corrected. “They’re legally distinct.”
One of the Zabubus fell over.
Another whispered something in a language Ze didn’t recognize.
Moe wandered in at that exact moment, took one look at the box, and honked sharply. She stared at the table, then at Regect, then back at the box.
She honked again. Louder.
“See?” Regect said. “She loves them.”
Moe honked aggressively, almost like a guard dog trying to scare away intruders, promptly hiding behind Ze at the sight of the damned creatures.
“That one’s her favorite,” Regect added, pointing at the faceless one.
Ze crossed his arms. “What is your plan?”
“I sell them,” Regect said simply.
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
“No one will buy these.”
Regect smiled proudly. “You underestimate the human desire for garbage.”
Unfortunately, he was proven right.
Within hours, Regect had set up a “store.” By store, he meant a folding table outside the house with a poorly drawn sign:
ZABUBUS
Almost As Good
No Refunds
People stopped. Stared. Whispered.
Someone picked up a Zabubu, squinted at it, and nodded solemnly before handing Regect emeralds.
Regect gasped. “SEE?”
Ze watched from the doorway in horror. “This has to be illegal.”
“I asked ChatGPT,” Regect said. “It’s perfectly fine”
By sunset, the table was empty.
Ze sat on the couch, staring into space. “…You made money.”
Regect flopped beside him, counting emeralds. “I’m a visionary.”
“You sold haunted plastic.”
“Affordable haunted plastic.”
Moe sat between them, holding a Zabubu.
It bit her.
She honked, offended.
Regect beamed. “Aw, bonding.”
She put it down immediately, clearly unhappy about the situation.
By morning, the floor was a hazardous landscape of cardboard, packing peanuts, and stray Zabubus. Moe navigated it like a seasoned explorer, honking warnings at every misplaced item. Ze stepped carefully, trying not to trip over a rolling Zabubu that had somehow escaped the pile.
Branded boxes had multiplied overnight.
ZABUBUS™
Now With More Personality!
(Some May Bite)
“Did one just… wink at me?” Ze asked, squinting.
Regect leaned back in his chair, proudly surveying the chaos. “They’re socially aware. That’s premium quality.”
Moe flapped onto the counter, honked sharply, and shoved a Zabubu into the sink. It squeaked in protest.
“I don't think you can drown them Moe.” Ze muttered.
“You cannot, it likes water,” Regect said. “I had an—uhh, Aquatic testing phase.”
Ze pinched the bridge of his nose. “There is no testing phase. There’s only chaos in here!.”
Regect shrugged. “Chaos is just structure waiting for interpretation.”
“…You are not a philosopher,” Ze said flatly.
Regect tapped his chin. “Maybe a bit of an avant-garde philosopher.”
Breakfast was attempted anyway.
Ze poured cereal. Normal cereal. The good kind Moe liked.
Regect poured cereal too.
Six boxes worth.
Directly onto the counters and tables.
“I’m experimenting,” Regect said.
“With what?”
“A new feeding method.”
One of the Zabubus climbed into the cereal pile and disappeared.
Ze slowly put the milk back in the fridge.
“…I’m eating later.”
Moe refused to eat at all, instead standing guard on top of the fridge like a gargoyle.
She hadn’t slept.
None of them had.
The Zabubus were louder at night. They squeaked, muttered, shuffled. They climbed walls, bounced off ceilings, and whispered in the corners.
By mid-morning, the house phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
Ze answered one.
“Hello?”
“IS THIS THE ZABUBU HOUSE?”
“…No.”
“YOU’RE LYING.”
Ze hung up.
“Who was that?” Regect asked curiously
“I don't fucking know” Ze sounded on the verge of yelling from stress. “Why are there people outside?!” Ze added.
Regect peeked through the curtains. “Oh, sick. The line’s wrapped around the block.”
“Why is there merch already!?”
Regect avoided direct eye to non-eye contact. “…Oh. Yeah. About that.”
Someone outside was chanting, someone was Streaming.
The Zabubus were so popular hashtags started trending online.
#ZabubuLove
#ZabubuSlay
#WHYISITWARM
Regect sat Ze and Moe down and showed them analytics.
Charts. Graphs. Comments scrolling too fast to read.
“See?” Regect said proudly. “Growth.”
One comment read:
mine keeps whispering coordinates
Another:
my zabubu learned my dog’s name
Yet another:
Mine keeps staring at me while I sleep
Ze closed the laptop concerned.
“No.”
“You didn’t even read the reviews.”
“I don’t need to.”
Moe remembered when the house was quiet.
She remembered adventures and the normal quantity of chaos.
This was different.
These things watched her when they thought she wasn’t looking.
They mimicked sounds now. Footsteps. Breathing.
One had tried to honk.
It failed.
She nudged it off the counter.
It climbed back up.
They were learning preferences. Who yelled. Who ignored them. Who fed them attention.
They liked Regect the most.
That terrified her.
By afternoon, the house smelled like plastic and ozone.
More boxes arrived. None of them ordered.
“Free inventory!” Regect excused and signed for them anyway.
Moe lost it.
She flapped, honked, knocked boxes over, shoved Zabubus into drawers, cabinets, the microwave.
Ze, concerned, unplugged it to avoid a possible fire hazard.
“This ends today,” he said.
Regect woke up to the smell of… capitalism gone wrong.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Then he saw it.
Boxes. Everywhere. Bigger boxes. Smaller boxes. On the counters—Zabubus. All of them. Sitting in neat little rows. Staring. Judging.
Regect cleared his throat. “…Hello? Team?”
A faceless Zabubu raised an arm. Another hopped onto the table. A third squeaked something that sounded suspiciously like Quarterly report overdue.
“…Wait. What?”
The Zabubus had taken over. Literally. They’d rearranged the counters into a boardroom layout. Moe sat on the windowsill, wide-eyed. Ze leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Regect scratched his head. “This… isn’t… they’re… they’re my subordinates!”
One Zabubu climbed a chair and bounced onto the table, pointing a plastic arm at him.
Regect staggered backward. “…What does that even mean?”
Another hopped up, speaking in a vaguely humanoid voice. "Your title is revoked."
"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" Regect swallowed. “…I… I’m still the CEO. Of Zabubus!”
Faceless one tilted its head. "You are… consultant."
Regect flailed. “…Consultant?! I made you! I—”
The Zabubus ignored him. One rolled a miniature gavel across the table. Another scribbled tiny notes on a post-it with its little uneven limbs.
Regect stumbled to the couch, defeated and looking like a man who lost the mortgage at the casino
“I—What am i supposed to do with my life now? without my glory..."
Moe honked, sharply. Very clearly. 'This is all your fault.'
Ze didn't even bother consoling Regect, he enjoyed the view with Moe from a distance instead.
The Zabubus had started reorganizing the brand. Boxes now labeled:
ZABUBUS™
Fully Autonomous
Some May Bite, All Will Negotiate!
Emails were typed. Marketing campaigns drafted. Social media posts queued. They even released a cryptic teaser: New CEO incoming.
Regect clutched his laptop. “…I… I don’t even… I—”
Regect sank to the floor. Moe flapped down beside him, honking softly even if she was still kind of mad at him.
“…You just got demoted by your own toys.” Ze giggled instead.
Regect looked up at him, trembling. “…I… I can still advise, right?”
Ze shrugged. “Depends if they listen.”
The Zabubus were already on a call with an influencer. One typed furiously with its tiny uneven arms: New product line: Haunted Deluxe. Launching tonight.
Regect whimpered. “…They’re… running the company. Without me.”
Moe honked twice. Very final. 'Yes. Without you.'
Regect buried his face in his hands. “…This is… existential.”
Ze shrugged. “…At least you made something people actually fear. Congratulations?”
Moe honked. Loud. Very approving.
Regect peeked up. “Can…We… fix this?”
Ze smirked. “We either reclaim the office. Or we… accept our tiny overlords.”
The Zabubus shuffled forward in perfect coordination, squeaks rising into a chant. Faceless one raised a hand: Board meeting adjourned. Consultant dismissed.
Regect sat up on the floor. “…Well… at least I invented them?”
Moe honked sympathetically. Ze just stared.
The Zabubus were in charge now.
And Regect… was officially out.
Moe looked around the corner, eyes narrowed, scanning the room like a war general. Ze rubbed his temples. Regect bounced on the balls of his feet, looking uncharacteristically cautious.
“Plan?” Ze asked, voice tight.
Regect held up a hand. “We… need strategy. Precision.”
Ze groaned. “No. We need removal. Burn it. Smash it. Shoot it. Whatever it takes.”
Moe honked sharply. Clearly agreeing with Ze.
The plan was made, three steps.
Step one: containment.
Ze piled the nearest horde of Zabubus into the laundry room. They squeaked in protest, bouncing off walls and floorboards, whispering in whatever twisted dialect they had picked up. Moe darted in after them, honking orders and nudging stragglers.
Step two: inventory.
Regect scribbled down names and features in a notebook. “We need to know how many there are to make sure they're all gone,” he said, consulting the chaos. Moe flicked one with her wrist. It squeaked in alarm.
Step three: disposal.
Ze looked at the pile and gulped. “We… can’t just throw them in the trash. They’ll come back. They always come back.”
Regect scratched his chin. “Maybe we can sell them… to another dimension?”
“No,” Ze said flatly. “Definitely not. They need to leave. Permanently.”
Moe honked twice. Ready.
They devised a plan for the final act and got to work
Firstly, they contained them using laundry baskets, Tupperware, and a large cardboard box labeled Definitely Not Haunted laying around the house.
Then, Ze carried boxes carefully outside. Moe walked alongside, honking at any that tried to escape mid-transport.
Finally, Regect had found an old, rarely-used industrial shredder in the shed. “It’s for the best” he said, feeling the slightest hint of sadness at having to kill his inventions.
The first box went in. Moe pressed at the shredder button. Screeches, whispers, and faint squeaks filled the air.
The Zabubus resisted, but one by one, they disappeared into the machine, leaving behind shredded plastic bits and an occasional echoing “Why?” that faded almost instantly.
Regect wiped a tear from his face, conveniently appearing for dramatic effect. “I… I feel like a dad sending kids off to college.”
Ze ignored him. Moe honked once in approval as the last box went in.
The house felt… different. Lighter. Quieter. Almost peaceful.
Regect looked around nervously. “…Did we really get them all?”
Ze squinted. “If one shows up tomorrow, you’re personally dealing with it”
Moe hopped onto the windowsill, scanning the horizon. No movement. No squeaks. Just birds and wind.
A faint plastic smell lingered in the air. Ze grabbed a rag and scrubbed the counters. Regect sighed and began stacking the shredded remains into neat piles. Moe inspected each shred and pecked any suspicious lumps.
By evening, the house was finally theirs again. Even Moe dared to nap, her honks replaced by gentle snores.
Regect sat on the couch, dejected but contemplative. “I guess… maybe my ‘vision’ was too ambitious.”
Ze, incredulous, replied. “Wait— you actually admit that?”
Moe opened one eye, honked softly, and curled back up. Peace had returned.
Outside, the wind shifted. Somewhere, a faint squeak echoed—maybe from a lost Zabubu, or maybe imagination. Ze shook his head.
“Let’s never start a business again.”
Regect nodded solemnly. “…Unless we find a dimension that’s really into this.”
Ze groaned. Moe honked angrily.
At least they were victorious.