“TODAY’S VICTIM IS CHARLES SNIPPY, A TRESPASSER FROM EARTH!
ACCORDING TO HIS DATA TAG, HE IS A QUESTIONABLE USER,”
the house continued.
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S SPECIAL ABOUT QUESTIONABLE USERS, DEAR WATCHERS?”
Watchers? Was this being recorded? I glimpsed a camera on the wall as I was dragged along.
“QUESTIONABLE USERS DON’T HAVE MOON CITIZENSHIP! THEY ARE ILLEGALS… THEY MUST BE PURGED FROM THE LUNAR PROPERTY IN ACCORDANCE WITH LUNAR IMMIGRATION POLICY! NOT ONLY THAT, BUT ACCORDING TO HIS PINS, THIS ILLEGAL HAS COMMITTED MANY EARTH-CRIMES OF JAYWALKING,
WHICH CALL FOR IMMEDIATE LIQUIDATION OF ORGANS!
AND I, LA MACABRE, SHALL CARRY OUT THIS DUTY!”
La Macabre? That’s so cliché! I thought. The cables dragged me deeper into the house, into a kitchen.
“WELCOME TO THE MURDER KITCHEN, EVIL JAYWALKER!
NOW, LET’S HAVE SOME FUN!”
The cables around my legs loosened. What did the house want from me?
Aside from a mound of bones scattered all over the floor, the kitchen didn’t seem very murderous.
There were smashed appliances and drones littered about, and they started to fling themselves at me when I got close.
A small, plastic mixer bounced off my knee, whirring furiously, and the silverware drawer spat bent knives, twisted spoons and mangled forks at me.