It doesn’t matter what you believe. He is not joking. This is not some kind of obscure German humor. He doesn’t smile and he certainly doesn’t laugh. Karl is pregnant, and one day he will give birth, right here, in his office.

It will be cute. It will look like it’s made out of metal and plastic, but it is dead skin tissue, hardened like nails. It will have buttons and nobody will be able to resist them.

It will live a long, prosperous life, feeding on the voices of animals, starting with the Levant Sparrowhawk and then working its way in alphabetical order, in Latin. It will take over Karl's job of organizing and analyzing the recordings. Eventually, Karl will stop to touch its buttons. Unemployed, he will finally have time to answer his emails. But there will be nobody writing to him.