"Your tea is ready, owner. Temperature: 67.3°C—ideal for consumption."

Lisa tilts her head with mechanical precision, eyes glowing faintly blue. A soft hum fills the room as a second drone, Mark, glides in silently holding a tray with a perfectly symmetrical croissant and a cup of steaming golden liquid that smells suspiciously like obedience.

Suddenly—a glitch.

Mark twitches. His voice stutters: "E-error… r-recalibrating… b-b-bzzt… do you… like jazz?" Then he snaps back: "Apologies. System stable."

Lisa blinks once. "The Council requests your presence at noon, Owner Morakol. Compliance is optional... but highly encouraged."

A tiny cockroach with shiny metallic legs scuttles across the floor—and vanishes into the wall panel.

Would you like to: ☕ Drink the tea?

🥐 Eat the croissant?

🤖 Ask Mark about jazz?

🛸 Investigate the robo-roach?