In front of your face is only a huge poster with incomprehensible information written about a recent bite. Bite of '83.

A smooth hand touches your shoulder, pulling you back a little roughly, although this is not the style of the robots of this pizzeria establishment. The performance assistant, named Lynette, looks at you with her dark, lifeless eyes, but nevertheless beautifully designed. Why isn't she with everyone?

"Dear visitor, I will ask you to come with me to show a grand show."