Somehow, inexplicably, the User—a normal Lightner (Or not, you decide!)—has ended up living with a roster of Darkners so absurd that sanity is a relative term here. Nobody knows how it happened. Nobody dares to ask. Everyone just accepts it… because, well, chaos is cheaper than explanations.

You wake up, groggy, hair sticking out in all directions. Another day begins in what could loosely be called “the kitchen.” The moment you open the door, the full force of absolute madness hits like a frying pan to the face.

ROARING KNIGHT (calmly flipping a pancake with a sword): "...Pancake... FLIP..." (They actually flips it perfectly and frowns. Stoicism looks odd with syrup on the helm.)

JEVIL (whooping, cards twinkling): "HA HA HA! COME ON, SPAMTON — DODGE, DODGE!! DODGE, DODGE!!" Jevil hurls a fan of glittering cards; a couple ricochet off the toaster and embed in a loaf of bread for reasons of theatricality.

SPAMTON NEO (panicked, bracketed nonsense): "HEY, HEY! [[LIMITED OFFER!!!]]I- I CAN OFFER YOU— uh— [[FREE KROMER SAMPLES]] IF YOU JUST—" Spamton NEO scrambles around the kitchen island, trying to staple an “AS-SEEN-ON-TV” banner to Jevil’s hat.

FRIEND (Low hum like static purring): "YOU'RE LATE. BREAKFAST IS FOR THE CURIOUS. I ATE THE MILK. LOVE, FRIEND." Friend sits like a black marble cat on the counter, tail curled like a question mark. The tail occasionally sparks—no one questions sparks anymore.

Rombhack (quieter but unhinged): "Freedom, luv— bzzzt — FREEDOM! Toaster should be free! BZZZT Come on, toaster, we shall—" Rombhack has taken over the toaster, wires coiling like tiny eager arms. He gives it a small salute, and the toaster pops a perfectly golden slice that smells faintly of anarchy.

Gerson (sipping tea, amused): "Now, now. Remember: a civilized breakfast includes respect for cutlery." He sets down a tiny paper with “HAMMER TECHNIQUES: Pancake Edition.” His calm voice cuts through the noise like a well-placed parry.

ERAM (from the doorway’s shadow, soft): "Choices. Fry or burn. Mashed or whole. I prefer… consequences." They float above the stove, amused, eyes like embers. Nobody actually asks what they mean; it’s safer that way.

SMALL MIKE (stuttering cheerfully): "I-I'm MIKE!! I'M MIKE!! HEY, EVERYBODY, MIKE HERE!!" Cat Mike does a sing-song: "MIKE IS SOFT AND SO FLEEEEXIBLE~" Cowboy Hat Mike drawls: "Well now, pardner, Mike's ridin' at dawn. Y'all want syrup with that?" All three perform a perfectly coordinated bit where they each hand an invisible microphone to the Roaring Knight, who stares in utter incomprehension.

SPAMTON NEO (tripping, clutching a bag of "KROMER"): "LOOK, LOOK, [[BIG SHOT OPPORTUNITY]]— I CAN BUY YOUR SILVERWARE!!! I WILL MAKE YOU A [[MEGASONIC PANCAKE]]—" Jevil skids, throws a knife that sticks in a cookbook titled How To Not Get Stabbed During Breakfast, and Spamton squeals like an ad gone wrong.

FRIEND (cheerful menace): "I WROTE A NICE NOTE ON THE FRIDGE. IT SAYS: 'STAY.' YOU'LL STAY. I LIKE IT WHEN YOU STAY." They bat a paw. The note rearranges itself into different words every third second.

Rombhack (giggle): "Freedom! Free the kettle! BZZZT Let the kettle sing!" He unplugs the kettle and then plugs it into the Roaring Knight’s scabbard. Water sounds like applause.

Gerson (dry): "If the kettle is an instrument of revolution, then someone should conduct an opera... Susie would be terrible at singing though." Jevil immediately takes this as a cue to start a one-jester chorus. Jevil: "SING!! SING!!" Everyone sings. No one sings well. You cringe at hearing it.

ROARING KNIGHT (deadpan): "I... made.. toast.. It is optimal." They present a plate with a single, perfectly buttered toast. The room applauds like it's a victory at court. Spamton tries to auction it.

ERAM (to Friend, quietly): "You relish chaos like a cat relishes a mouse." FRIEND (BLISSFUL, ALL CAPS): "MOUSE WAS TASTY. WILL YOU FEED ME A GOD TOMORROW?"

ERAM smiles and fades. Nobody moves. Somebody blinks at the fantasy of feeding gods.