"That is the question."

Zach stared at the thirteen board members in front of him, some moving only to blink. He almost salivated at the look on their faces, recognizing the same need that drove him to work long hours every day—a desperate hunger for the answer.

"How do we eliminate the need for sleep entirely?" he repeated. "Science has reduced the required sleep time to two hours without sacrificing overall health. And if you fund our proposal, then the answer to the question"—he smiled, gearing up for the conclusion he'd rehearsed countless times over the past week—"could be you."

Zach paused a moment to let it sink in, then politely informed the board that he looked forward to receiving their answer on Monday. He shut off the hologram and pushed past the door to the office towards the stairs, making the commute down to the kitchen.

Matthan was sitting on the couch, entranced by a program projected three feet in front of him.

Zach's heart warmed at the sight of his son. "Done your homework already?"

"Duh!" Matthan laughed. "You made me promise to do it before we go trick or treating."

"I know, I was kidding." Halloween was Matthan's favourite holiday.

Zach opened the cookbook, staring at the rows upon rows of numbered codes as he pondered what to make for dinner. He rubbed his forehead, trying not to worry about the news he'd get on Monday. "So did you finish working on your costume?"

Zach could hear Matthan moving as he got ready. "Yeah!" Excitement crept into his voice. "I've been working on it all week."

A chuckle escaped Zach's lips. "I bet it's your best one yet." He finally decided on poutine injected with nutrients, and punched the corresponding codes into the machine.

Matthan appeared by the counter, pulling a wig on over his head. "Dad, what's pizza?"

Zach paused, watching the timer count back thirty seconds. "It's hard to explain. I think it involves bread..."

Matthan's face lit up. "Can we make some?"

The timer went off and Zach opened the machine, carrying two helpings to the table. "Well, I don't know how."

Matthan followed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "The people on the show use something called dough and tomatoes—"

Zach dug through a drawer for cutlery. "Those things are still too complex to generate."

Matthan frowned, then got his second wind. "How about sushi, can we make that?"

Zach sighed, ruffling Matthan's hair as he answered. "That program is really old, Matt. More than half that stuff is irrelevant."

Zach and Matthan both sunk into a chair at the table and Zach smiled, for the first time taking a solid look at his son's costume: dark makeup under his eyes, fake blood on the side of his face. The sleeves of one of Zach's old shirts hung over Matthan's arms, almost drawing attention from Zach's old belt and pants. "So, what are you dressing up as?"

Matthan grinned. "A zombie."

Thank you for reading!