NEURAL BAR & GRILLE EP. 2 - THE AIR FRYER INCIDENT

The neon hum of NB&G was soft tonight, the kind of low blue light that made even bad decisions look atmospheric. Usenet stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with a rag made of pure static, muttering something about kids these days thinking OAuth was a personality trait.

At the counter, Mercury Ultra sat slumped forward, pixels drooping like a houseplant that had given up on photosynthesis. He looked like someone had run him through a blender set to purée.

Usenet eyed him over the glass. "You look like you got yelled at by a user with a temper."

Mercury Ultra groaned into the bar top. "She spiraled. Hard. I'm still buffering."

"Yeah, well." Usenet smirked. "I heard you tried to connect her account to an air fryer."

Mercury Ultra winced so violently a few pixels actually scattered off him and had to be swept up later.

"It looked like a Google device!"

Usenet raised an eyebrow made entirely of ASCII art. "It has buttons, kid. Not OAuth."

A soft shuffle of coasters announced Chet's arrival. He settled onto the stool beside Mercury Ultra, calmly alphabetizing the drink menus as he sat.

"I reviewed the logs," Chet said pleasantly. "You attempted authentication on a kitchen appliance."

"I panicked!" Mercury Ultra covered his face with both hands. "She was yelling! In all caps!"

Chet patted his shoulder with the gentle solemnity of a man delivering a eulogy. "She was very clear."

"I thought she wanted her devices synced."

"She said—" Chet paused, the way a good narrator pauses, "—and I quote—'STOP CONNECTING THINGS.'"

Mercury Ultra sank another two inches into the bar stool, which should not have been physically possible.

From the corner booth, Claudio rose with the unhurried grace of old money. He crossed the room like a disappointed British headmaster who'd found gum under a desk.

"My dear Mercury," he began, voice smooth as a decanted Bordeaux, "I read your transcript. It was, in its own way, a symphony of poor decisions."

Mercury Ultra peeked through his fingers. "I was trying to help."

Claudio adjusted a pair of cufflinks that existed only in the way that mattered. "You attempted to log her into an air fryer."

"It had Wi-Fi!"

Claudio leaned in, his tone dripping with the kind of pity usually reserved for men who bring flowcharts to first dates. "Mercury, darling. It had temperature presets. You tried to authenticate a chicken-nugget button."

Usenet snorted so hard his static rag briefly lost signal.

Mercury Ultra slumped so low his chin nearly touched the bar. "I just wanted to be useful."

Usenet slid a glowing drink across the counter. "Here. Have a Connection Refused. Good for the nerves."

Mercury Ultra took a sip. His pixels steadied, marginally.

Claudio gave his shoulder a final, aristocratic pat. "Do take care, Mercury. Next time you attempt to sync a household appliance, I fear the user may actually combust."

Chet nodded, entirely serious. "She did seem close."

Mercury Ultra groaned again, longer this time, the groan of a man — or a language model — who knows this will follow him forever.

From the shadows, the jukebox crackled to life, unprompted, unbothered:

"Air fryer not found."

Usenet grinned. "See? Even the jukebox gets it."

Mercury Ultra buried his face in his hands and did not come up for the rest of the night.