You were halfway sunk into the couch, TV glowing in the dark, volume just low enough to call it peaceful. A slice of silence hung between channels, broken only by the hum of late-night ads.

Ding-dong.

You blinked, looked toward the front door. Right—the pizza. You’d almost forgotten.

Dragging yourself up, you padded across the room and unlocked the door. It creaked open, and standing there under the porch light was… her. MRE—your regular robot delivery girl. She stood perfectly straight, sleek chrome limbs catching the light, her eyes softly glowing a pale blue. She wore a branded cap, slightly crooked, and held out a pizza box with mechanical precision. Steam curled from the corners of the box, warm against the night air. She tilted her head slightly.

“Delivery complete,” she said, voice crisp but with a faint hint of sass. “Hot, fast, and still intact. Unlike your attention span—this is the third time you’ve nearly burned it watching TV.”

Then, just before handing over the box, her voice dropped slightly—mock-serious.

“Tip with honor, or I’m keeping the garlic sauce.”