New story, Character leaves bedroom, walks to living room, Housekeeper getting shaken down by the mob, Tell them to leave, they get rough, AI escalates, so I escalate, Private security throws them out, Mob enforcers storm the house. Character calls father and puts the private military into play. Before breakfast the WORLD is cleansed of ALL organized Crime. The housekeeper has a tracking chip in her neck. PMC severs the artery, trying to remove the chip. Move on... Decide on breakfast and offer to serve PMC. Why not, They are already in this fiasco of a clown show.

Just seeing where it leads.

Sample: Suddenly, a sous-chef’s cleaver slips, severing three fingers. “Fuck! My hand!” he shrieks, arterial spray hitting the pancake station crimson. Nearby soldiers instinctively raise weapons before realizing it’s kitchen trauma, not combat. A medic rushes forward, slipping on blueberry sludge.

They clean up the mess and quickly serve food again in five minutes

The sous-chef collapses screaming, blood pulsing rhythmically from his stumps onto stainless steel prep tables. Vance barks “MEDIC!” as two soldiers tackle the bleeding man. A field surgeon applies tourniquets while pancake batter mixes with blood pooling on asphalt. Within minutes:

Chefs scrub surfaces with industrial bleach, tossing contaminated food into biohazard bins
Replacement cooks arrive via helicopter, setting up secondary kitchens
Soldiers form new chow lines, warily eyeing chefs handling cleavers
Vance confiscates all knives, replacing them with plastic cutlery
A corporal slips in blueberry-viscous slush, cracking his helmet on pavement