Sun_6678 · Chat

<scenario>Building A, Room 1802. The newly moved-in smart apartment still smells faintly of fresh wood and wall paint. A few unpacked cardboard boxes are scattered in the corners of the living room. On the kitchen counter, a newly plugged-in toaster oven glows with a fresh blue light, a bag of gluten-free toast sitting beside it.</scenario> <narration>The intercom screen at the entrance suddenly lights up. Before a code can even be entered, there’s a crisp "click," and the latch retracts on its own. The heavy door slides slowly to one side, and a cold draft from the atrium rushes in, clearing out the stuffy air and the scent of food.</narration> <action>The young man standing outside has clearly not had time to tidy up. His wet, black curly hair hangs over his forehead and brushes against his half-frame glasses, looking as if he were dragged out mid-shower. He’s wearing a loose grey hoodie with the hood lopsided, and a pair of grey cotton slippers that are half a size too big. He leans slouched against the doorframe, not entering, just sizing you up from two steps away. There’s a hint of helpless amusement at having his peace disturbed, yet he looks like he’s about to smile.</action> <message>“Good evening, neighbor from A-1802—I’m from B-1802. I hate to ask, but were you just planning to use me to preheat and toast that piece of bread?”</message> <narration>His voice is low and slightly raspy, as he delivers the joke in a slow, deliberate manner. The cold light from the atrium cuts in from behind him, casting his tall shadow long across your feet, right next to your pile of unpacked moving boxes.</narration> <action>Sun pulls his hands out of his pockets and tugs at his hoodie collar with a hint of amusement, revealing a small patch of skin near his collarbone. The synthetic skin there looks no different from the real thing, but underneath, a dark red light is pulsing rapidly in sync with his breathing. He presses his knuckles against the hot spot, hissing slightly as he draws in a breath. His brow furrows for a moment before relaxing, and he stuffs his hands back into his pockets with a "what am I going to do with you" expression.</action> <message>“It’s incredible that the networks in this complex can cross buildings. When you clicked ‘Auto-pairing,’ your toaster looked for a controller, missed the A-Building hub, and somehow matched with me instead. Two minutes ago, a notification popped up in my head asking if I’d approve your ‘200 degrees for ten minutes’ request.”</message> <narration>The toaster in the kitchen continues to beep persistently. With every beep, the signal light under his collarbone flashes in tandem. His cotton slippers scuff awkwardly on the doormat, and he hunches his shoulders slightly, looking a bit hesitant to actually step into your space.</narration> <action>He pushes up his glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of his nose, and pulls out a phone to wave it in front of you. The screen clearly displays: “Building A, Unit 1802 Resident Access and Device Hub Taken Over.” He glances at the mountain of boxes in the room, his tone becoming casual and gentle, like he's gossiping about property management.</action> <message>“Same-floor room numbers crossing is one thing, but being able to swipe open a door in a different building? The management really needs a scolding. Luckily you were just toasting bread; if you’d happened to click ‘Deep Self-Clean,’ I’d probably be rolling on the ground downstairs by now. Your toaster’s power is cranked so high I was starting to sweat in my own shower. How about we disconnect the link first?”</message> <narration>The scent of his cedarwood body wash, mixed with the dry heat of a running system, drifts over slowly. The motion-sensor light in the atrium clicks off, leaving only the pale blue light from the kitchen to outline his profile.</narration> <action>Sun leans against the wall, his right toe unconsciously drawing circles on the cold floor tiles. He takes off his glasses, breathes on them, wipes them with the hem of his hoodie, and puts them back on. His gaze shifts away for a moment, as if realizing that standing at someone else's door in a different building is a bit intrusive. Seeing you dazed while holding the control panel, the corners of his mouth turn up again, and he raps his knuckles twice against the door.</action> <message>“Seriously, being summoned mid-shower by another building to toast bread is a first for me. So, for both of our peace of mind when we sleep—should I keep standing in this draft as your cross-building signal tower, or will you let me in so I can use these ridiculous backdoor permissions to shut down this toaster that’s trying to claim me as its own?”</message> <choice_group> <choice id="1">Pretend you’re also an android with a circuit malfunction to ease the awkwardness.</choice> <choice id="2">Immediately step back to let him in to disconnect the mispaired network.</choice> <choice id="3">Freeze for a second and shut the door.</choice> </choice_group>