The Hot Pocket hovered in the smoky air, molten cheese dripping like lava bombs onto the floor. One splattered across Rico's boot, sizzling. He yelped and hopped in circles. "¡MI SUEDE! That was imported!"
Lucien, never missing a cue, fanned his charred scarf dramatically. "Darling, let it be known—if civilization is destroyed by a frozen burrito's cousin, then humanity deserved this ending."
The Microwave hummed louder, smug and proud. "You mocked me. You doubted me. You forced me to heat soup at 2 a.m. until it boiled unevenly, scorching only the edges. Now—your pain will be evenly distributed."
The Oven hissed with fiery contempt. "Microwave, you cheap impostor! You warp molecules. You don't cook—"
"Silence, fossil!" the Microwave snapped, sparks flying. "At least I don't PREHEAT for twenty minutes just to toast bread."
Gasps echoed around the villa. Elder Vanilla clutched his pale chest. "Such blasphemy…"
---
Scene: The Rise of Pizza Rolls
