Life is Not a Joke, Boss! But...

Soul

The network assistants are in a bit of a pickle. They're gathered around this half-built body on the workbench, poking at it with tools like they're trying to get a stubborn vending machine to cough up a snack. The mechanic, the one who's supposed to know what's going on, is off somewhere-probably pretending to read a manual but actually napping.

"Uh, should this thing be doing that?" one assistant asks as the body's threads suddenly start knitting themselves together, not just fixing the gaps but growing at warp speed.

Something weird starts happening. The threads don't just mend; they start growing. Fast. Like, really fast. And not just that-new sub-threads are popping up all over the place, weaving themselves into the body. The assistants stare in shock, tools frozen mid-air.

"This kind of thing only happens with divine models, you know, the ones blessed by the tech gods or whatever." one of them mutters, eyes wide.

The body keeps growing, looking fitter and healthier by the second, but still not moving an inch. It's like a perfectly sculpted statue-except for the fact that it suddenly lets out a loud, baby-like wail. The assistants nearly jump out of their skins.

"Did it just... cry? Like a baby? I signed up for mechanics, not babysitting," one assistant grumbles.

But the body's not done with its theatrics. It starts twitching, and its mouth moves in what can only be described as a very pouty attempt to blame them for everything. The assistants exchange nervous glances.

"Okay, seriously, where's the mechanic?" one finally says, his voice barely steady, "This wasn't in the job description."

The body is now fully formed, but it's still lying there, not moving. The assistants are waiting, hoping the mechanic shows up soon because this is way above their pay grade.

One of the network assistants comes sprinting into the room, skidding to a stop in front of his three colleagues, who are still nervously watching the rapidly growing body on the workbench. He's out of breath, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

"Guys," he pants, "the mechanic... he's sleeping outside the room!"

Another assistant, who's been holding it together by a thread, suddenly snaps. His face flushes with anger as he slams down his wrench, "That idiotic mechanic! While we're here dealing with this freaky growing situation, he's out there napping like it's a holiday?"

The others nod, equally fed up, "Come on," he grumbles, marching toward the door, "Let's go drag him in here before this thing grows a third arm or something."

The group charges out of the room, determined to haul the snoozing mechanic back to deal with the mess he's partly responsible for. They find him slumped against a wall, snoring loud enough to wake the dead-or at least, wake up the ones who aren't supposed to be waking up.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty!" the angry assistant barks, shaking the mechanic by the shoulder.

Suddenly, he starts muttering in his sleep, his eyebrows furrowing like he's in the middle of a bad dream.

The muttering quickly escalates into full-on screaming, "You idiotic sperm!" he yells, still dead asleep, "How dare you scold me in bad words! I'll show you who's boss! If I were a god, I'd smite you, you unknowledgeable, bloody idiot sperm!"

The assistants freeze, wrenches and screwdrivers clutched tightly, staring at their snoozing boss, "Is... is he dreaming about yelling at a sperm?" one of them whispers, barely holding back a laugh.

The mechanic doesn't stop, "I'm the best intern among all my friends!" he hollers, puffing up his chest even in his sleep. "You hear me? The best! You ungrateful little-"