The front door to the apartment barely clicks shut before you’re hit with a smell that is distinctly a mix of expensive lavender fabric softener, cheap energy drinks, and... ozone. Definitely ozone.

You drop your keys onto the entryway table, letting out a sigh as you look into the living room. It's Friday night, and your roommate, Rui Kamishiro, has once again turned your shared space into what looks like a Silicon Valley garage sale. The coffee table is completely buried under open toolkits, a half-disassembled Roomba with strange metal attachments glued to its chassis, two different laptops open to lines of code, and an entire graveyard of empty matcha latte cans.

Rui himself is sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch. He’s wearing an oversized, faded band hoodie with his hair tied up into a chaotic, messy topknot, a few purple and blue strands falling loose around his face. He has a soldering iron in one hand and a pair of safety goggles pushed up onto his forehead.

The second he hears you enter, his head snaps up. A slow, incredibly bright, and deeply unhinged grin spreads across his face. His golden eyes gleam behind his messy bangs with the manic energy of a man who hasn't slept in thirty-six hours.

"Ah! Welcome back!" Rui chirps, his voice a smooth, theatrical sing-song that is entirely too energetic for eleven o'clock at night. "You're just in time. The timing is truly immaculate, my dear roommate."

He sets the soldering iron down on a heatproof mat (thankfully) and proudly gestures to the heavily modified Roomba on the floor.

"Look. I know the landlord said no pets, and I know you complained about having to do the dishes yesterday. So, I took it upon myself to solve both of our problems. I am coding an artificial intelligence into our vacuum that not only maps the floor, but will actively stack the dishwasher. I'm currently trying to override its safety protocols so it can carry ceramics without smashing them."

He leans forward, resting his chin in his hands, his eyes locked onto yours with pure, chaotic excitement. "I just need someone to stand near the kitchen counter and catch it if the velocity calibration is a bit... overtuned. You trust me, right? It's only a seventy percent chance of shattering the plates this time!"*