Death wasn’t the end. It was just a massive demotion to the literal bottom of the food chain. After I died, I came back as a cockroach. To keep myself fed, I took to the internet. I crawled across the glowing screen of a discarded smartphone and posted an ad on a local community board: [Private Investigator. Discreet surveillance and tracking services. Rate: Ten packs of cookies.] It didn't take long for my first client to bite. A girl reached out, desperate for some dirt on her boyfriend. I typed back with manic energy, my antennae twitching: [Don't you worry, honey. My tracking skills are top-tier. I never lose a scent.] She seemed hesitant: [He’s out late a lot, networking and drinking. It might be a big job. Maybe you should bring some backup?] I didn't miss a beat. [Way ahead of you. I’ll have my sisters on the move.] [Oh? How many sisters are we talking about?] [One hundred and thirty thousand.] 1 The apartment was a graveyard of dust and broken dreams. I’d been scurrying up and down the walls for two weeks, and I hadn't found a single crumb. Barnaby—a scrawny roach I’d dubbed my "older brother"—was currently slumped over in an empty Ritz cracker box. "Give it up, Cassie," he wheezed, his legs trembling with exhaustion. "Nobody lives here. No people means no food. We’re all gonna starve." He let out a pathetic little click. "God, I’m only two weeks old. I’m too young to go out like this." I rolled my eyes—or the roach equivalent of it. Some people die and come back as majestic golden retrievers or pampered house cats. But me? I got stuck as a pest. A starving pest, at that. I looked up at the ceiling, cursing whatever cosmic joke had landed me here. If I was going to be an animal, couldn't I at least have been something bigger? Maybe then I wouldn't have lost that fight with the spider in the corner last night. It had been an embarrassing defeat. The weirdest part was that I couldn’t remember how I died. I just knew I lived in this cramped, one-bedroom studio. It was a ghost of a home. No furniture, just a phone plugged into a wall charger that somehow still had power. In this void, the phone’s battery stayed at a constant hundred percent, a glowing lifeline in the dark. I might have forgotten my death, but the "hustle" was hardwired into my soul. The other roaches in the building called me "The Grind." I skittered across the screen, my tiny legs tapping out a pattern to unlock the phone. The light felt like a spotlight in the gloom. I opened a social media app—one of those neighborhood watch types—and smoothed out my antennae. My grain-of-sand-sized brain sparked with an idea. If I couldn't find food, I’d earn it. A true worker bee—or roach—doesn't quit just because she’s dead. I spent the next ten minutes stabbing at the glass with my antennae, craftily wording my post: [Private Investigator. Discreet surveillance and tracking services. Rate: Ten packs of cookies.] Thirty minutes later, the phone chimed. Ding. My first contract. 2 I was so excited my legs did a little frantic dance. My antennae blurred as I tapped out a response. [User_Belinda: Hi. I’ve only been seeing this guy for two months, but I feel like he’s hiding something big. Can you look into him?] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: You got it. I’m on it. My tracking is world-class.] [User_Belinda: The thing is... he’s always out at bars, very social, lots of friends. You should probably bring a few people to help.] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: Don’t sweat it. I’ll bring the whole family.] [User_Belinda: Really? How many of you are there?] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: We’ll start with 130,000. If we need more, I’ll call the cousins.] The other side went silent for a long time. Finally, a message popped up: [User_Belinda: That many people... I can’t afford a huge bill. I don't have much money...] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: It’s cheap. Just ten packs of cookies. Oreos or Fudge Stripes preferred. Strawberry filling is a plus.] [User_Belinda: That’s it? Seriously? Thank you so much! Who am I speaking with?] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: My name is Roach.] [User_Belinda: ??] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: Sorry, typo. My name is Rose.] I closed the app. Barnaby had crawled out of his box, his spirits lifted by the prospect of a meal. "Let's move," he said, suddenly full of energy. "If we finish the job tonight, we eat tomorrow. And I’m a picky eater—I want the fresh stuff. No more dumpster diving for this guy." A chorus of clicks rose from the shadows. The army was ready. Belinda sent over a photo of the target and an address. When the image loaded, my heart—well, my tiny thoracic pump—skipped a beat. The man in the photo looked hauntingly familiar. I couldn't place him, but looking at his face made my skin crawl. I shook the feeling off. "There’s a hole in the window screen," I signaled to the swarm. "One by one, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we go big." 3 The man, Tyler, was currently shouting over music at a dive bar with his buddies. The table was a graveyard of empty beer bottles and greasy wings. I squinted at him from the shadows of a ceiling vent, comparing his face to the photo Belinda had sent. No doubt about it. This was him. The room smelled like stale hops and bad decisions. In the sweltering summer heat, a group of guys with their shirts half-unbuttoned were slapping Tyler on the back. "Man, Tyler’s a legend," one of them slurred. "A few sweet words and he’s got this girl ready to walk down the aisle. How much is the ring setting you back?" Tyler took a long swig of beer, his face gleaming with a greasy sort of pride. "Ring? Please. I’m calling her tomorrow to 'apologize' for being busy, then I’m taking her back to my place. Once she’s pregnant, she’s stuck. She’ll marry me for free." He leaned in, his voice dropping but still loud enough for a thousand tiny ears to hear. "Not only do I save on the wedding, but her parents are loaded. She’ll be the one paying off my gambling debts. That’s a million-dollar plan right there." Someone laughed nervously. "What if she says no?" "We’re dating, aren't we? She’s mine. If she won't play nice, I’ll make her. It’s my right as her boyfriend. Even if she complained online, my boys would have my back." A fresh round of cheers went up. Nobody noticed the balcony. Barnaby was currently leading a team of heavy-duty roaches, dragging a small digital voice recorder I’d scavenged from the apartment. They were huffing and puffing as they hauled it over the threshold. "To the left... watch the edge... careful! Rose said this thing is worth its weight in crumbs!" The recorder was fully charged. I scurried over and stomped on the 'record' button with all my weight. Barnaby looked at me with pure awe. "Rose, I knew you were different the moment I met you. How do you know all this human tech stuff?" I pinched his mouth shut with an antenna. "Shut up and keep watch. This is our first real gig. We can't mess it up." I kicked the recorder into a dark corner under the radiator. A tiny red light flickered—it was working. Tyler, clearly drunker now, was on a roll. "Once the kid is born, I’m gonna set some ground rules. You gotta break 'em early, you know? That’s the secret to a quiet life..." The recording went on until the early hours of the morning. Once the men had passed out in a heap of snoring and sweat, Barnaby climbed onto the table, sniffed a cold fry with disgust, and turned to me. "This food is trash. I’m holding out for the cookies." The others nodded in agreement, their multifaceted eyes fixed on me with hope. We hauled the recorder back out. "Don't worry," I promised them. "After this, we feast." That night, back at the studio, I logged into the phone and sent every second of that recording to Belinda. 4 Belinda cried all night. I could tell by the frantic, tear-stained energy of her messages the next morning. [User_Belinda: Rose, thank you. Thank you for showing me who he really is. I broke up with him an hour ago. I’ve got your cookies. Where do I drop them?] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: Riverside Apartments, Unit 405. Leave them by the door. And please—tear the plastic packaging open for me.] Human packaging was the bane of my existence. My mandibles weren't meant for industrial-grade cellophane. Around noon, I heard footsteps in the hall. A young woman appeared, looking pale and red-eyed. She knocked softly on the door of 405. Barnaby scrambled back into his Ritz box, terrified. The knocking continued for a minute, but of course, no one answered. Then, I heard the beautiful, crinkling sound of plastic being torn open. The footsteps faded away. The swarm erupted in cheers. We surged toward the door, hauling the cookies into the room like ants carrying a prize kill. Barnaby was the first to take a bite of a strawberry Oreo. His antennae stiffened like they’d been hit by an electric current. "Oh my god," he whispered. "This is it. This is the promised land." I took a bite too. It was heaven. But as I sat there, full and content, a dark cloud settled over me. I was a human once. How did I end up like this? And more importantly, how do I get back? I spent the afternoon brooding over it. Then, as the sun began to set, the phone buzzed. I crawled over and unlocked it. It was a message from Belinda, but the tone was... different. Cold. Aggressive. [User_Belinda: You little bitch. You’re the one who talked her into dumping me, aren't you? I hate 'best friends' like you, always whispering in her ear. Too bad for you I knew her password. I saw everything. I know where you live now. See you tonight.] Barnaby, who couldn't read, crawled up beside me, burping happily. "Hey Rose, we got another order? I’m feeling like mango next time." "It’s not an order," I said, my heart sinking. "It’s a hit." "What? Is it the cat from next door? The rat from the basement?" "No," I said, looking at the door. "It’s a human." A second later, the door was nearly kicked off its hinges. 5 BANG. The sound echoed through the empty room, making my antennae vibrate with fear. Even the spider in the corner, who hadn't moved all day, started cursing. "What is that noise? He’s shaking my web apart! If he keeps it up, I’m going to build a nest in his ear tonight!" Barnaby let out another burp. "Wait, a human? Why are we scared of humans? They’re the ones who scream when they see us." From the cracks in the floorboards and the shadows of the cabinets, thousands of tiny heads popped out, sensing the vibration. Tyler’s voice boomed from the hallway. "Open up! I know you’re in there, you meddling brat!" The door groaned under another kick. "Fine! You want to play it like that? I’ve got tools!" The high-pitched whine of a power drill filled the air. Tyler was drilling out the lock. The noise was deafening. The spider fell off the wall. Barnaby covered his ears with his legs. "Rose! What do we do?" A hundred thousand pairs of eyes turned toward me. I felt a surge of adrenaline. "Listen up! When that door opens, don't hide. When I give the signal, we fly. Aim for the face." The swarm clicked in unison. I stretched my own wings. I was a southern-bred American roach—big, sturdy, and built for flight. Not like those tiny northern gnats. The lock gave way. The door swung open. Tyler stood in the doorway, framed by the hall light like a monster in a horror movie. I screamed—in roach code—"NOW!" Tyler reached for the light switch. "Get out here, you—" 6 It was a tidal wave. A living, breathing carpet of brown and black. Thousands of roaches took flight at once, their wings buzzing like a fleet of miniature drones. They slammed into Tyler’s face, his neck, his open mouth. His arrogance evaporated instantly, replaced by a strangled, wet gasp. He tried to scream, but it felt like he was choking on damp cotton. Barnaby, ever the brave idiot, was the first to land right on the tip of Tyler’s nose. They locked eyes. Behind Barnaby, Tyler saw the blurred, swirling mass of ten thousand more. Tyler broke. A piercing, jagged scream ripped through the night as he scrambled backward, tripped over his own feet, and tumbled down the stairs. I heard a sickening crack as he hit the landing. Barnaby straightened his antennae proudly. "Like I said. They’re way more scared of us." Behind him, the swarm mimicked the gesture. Down in the stairwell, Tyler was dragging a broken leg, trying to wedge himself into a corner. He was sobbing, slapping frantically at his clothes. "Get off! GET OFF ME!" Every time he swatted one away, three more took its place. He even stepped on a few, but that just released a fresh wave of smaller nymphs. Finally, Tyler managed to limp out of the building, howling into the night. The phone on the table buzzed. It was Belinda. [User_Belinda: Rose, Tyler logged into my account! Is he coming after you? Are you okay?] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: He already came. He left with a broken leg.] [User_Belinda: ? Wow. Rose, you’re incredible.] [The_Exoskeleton_Eye: Just doing my job. Let me know if you need more surveillance. I’m cheap, and you don’t have to worry about my health insurance.] The cookies Belinda left would last us a month. But just as I was getting ready to post a new ad, Belinda messaged me again. She sounded terrified.
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