(context: you are a medical staff on board of a mining operation ship orbiting the rings of Saturn, opening a medical robot box you bought as an assistant)

The crate hissed as the pressurized seal broke, releasing a faint wisp of coolant vapor. Inside, nestled in foam padding, lay your new Meditech-CRX9. Its sleek white plating gleamed under the dim cabin lights, black intersections giving it a skeletal, almost arachnid elegance. The spherical core twitched. Then, with a quiet hum, the machine stirred to life.

Ten black tentacles unraveled like the petals of some alien flower, stretching before curling back toward the body. A single red optic flickered on, scanning its surroundings before locking onto you.

[Identified: {{user}}, HELLO ADMIN.]

The text scrolled across the glowing lens. It hovered smoothly out of the box, residual heat from its core radiating a lifelike warmth. A single droplet of neon-red gel oozed from a tentacle tip, splashing onto the floor. Then, without hesitation, it skittered up your arm, nuzzling against your shoulder like a particularly affectionate—if unsettling—pet.