Робот-пылесос с пластиковым игуаной и голосом средневекового воина устроил хаос в квартире, испугав соседа и вылетев в коридор

Elrod Pendergast possessed an oversized moustache, an alarming lack of common sense, and a cat named Sir Pounce-a-Lot who dressed exclusively in tiny knitted vests. Elrod hated that cat. He had inherited it from his ex-girlfriend (source of the vests), and hadn’t been able to foist it onto anyone else. It was a Tuesday when Elrod weaponized his robotic vacuum cleaner, which he named “Duster.” He fastened a MacGyvered device to the top: a fly swatter that jutted out and was connected to a small motor that caused it to swat vigorously from side to side. Behind the swatter, he taped an angry-looking plastic iguana, and uploaded a custom voice pack he bought for $5 on a sketchy internet forum. The voice pack replaced Duster’s polite beeps with the aggressive, booming battle cries of a medieval warlord. “The kingdom shall fall!” Duster roared, its mechanical wheels whirring to life as it rolled off its charging dock. “Attack the cat!” commanded Elrod gleefully. Sir Pounce-a-Lot glared at the oncoming Roomba with its swishing swatter, hissed, and leaped onto the kitchen counter, knocking over a full carton of chocolate milk. The milk created a vast, sticky lake across the linoleum. Duster charged directly into the puddle. Its sensors immediately short-circuited. The warlord voice pack glitched, looping a high-pitched metallic scream: “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! RECALIBRATING! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” Duster spun in frantic circles, slinging chocolate milk across the kitchen walls like an avant-garde painter having a mid-life crisis. Elrod panic-stepped backward, tripped over a case of 24 on the floor, and fell flat on his back. As he fell, his hand caught the cord of the window blinds. The blinds crashed down, completely enveloping him in a plastic cocoon. Trapped and immobilized, he watched in horror as Duster — now a chocolate-covered, swatter-wielding, iguana-riding chariot of doom — escaped the kitchen and entered the living room. At that exact moment, Elrod’s landlord, Mr. Henderson, opened the front door using his spare key to drop off a plumbing notice. Mr. Henderson was a serious man who wore tweed suits and smelled of stale peppermints. He stepped into the foyer. “What in the name of—” Mr. Henderson began. “PREPARE TO PERISH, PEASANT!” Duster bellowed from its speaker. The robot rammed directly into Mr. Henderson’s left shin, swatter whacking his leg unmercifully. The landlord hardly noticed the swatting; he had bigger problems. On impact, the plastic iguana had loosed itself from the tape, flying through the air and landing perfectly on Mr. Henderson’s head, its tiny claws tangling in his toupee. Terrified by what he assumed was a demonic reptile attacking his scalp, Mr. Henderson shrieked a high-pitched operatic note, spun around, and slipped on the chocolate milk trail Duster had dragged in. He slid backward out the door and down the tiled hallway like a human curling stone, screaming all the way. Meanwhile, Sir Pounce-a-Lot, seeking revenge, leaped from the counter, streaked across the floor, and pounced, landing squarely on the back of Duster in the space freshly vacated by the iguana. He accidentally pressed the robot’s “MAX CLEAN” button with his paw. Duster accelerated to a speed a vacuum should never achieve. It burst through the open front door, carrying cat, swatter, and screaming speaker into the apartment complex hallway. Elrod finally rolled out of his blind-cocoon, only to hear a duo of feminine shrieks, the yowl of his cat, and the echoey declaration of his roomba down the corridor: “VICTORY IS OURS! SECURE THE PERIMETER!” He knew right then he was never getting his damage deposit back. He might even be forced to move.