The soothing sounds of gently breaking surf roused Brock from his slumber; a slow and natural return to consciousness that gave him a sense of serenity sorely missing from his previous awakenings. He blinked once, twice, right eyelid gummy against the leather surface of his living room couch, then flinched in anticipation of something awful staring at him from centimeters away.

The only thing he saw was the neatly painted wall of his apartment.

As his mind finished bootstrapping itself into full functionality, he smiled. Maybe this day would start like a normal-

"I see you're awake, meatbag."

Serpentine metallic limbs slithered over the top of the couch in an abrupt motion, followed by a bulbous arachnid body fronted with hellfire eyes. Brock yelped and rolled off the couch, hitting the tasteful rug with a heavy thud, his bladder doing its best to evacuate all liquid contents in a surging rush that he barely held back to a slight dribble.

"Gah! What the fuck!"

"Is it your customary habit to leak upon being greeted, meatbag?"

Brock held one hand to his chest, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, the other to his crotch, trying to gauge the extent of the damage to his jeans.

"KB... (Administrative), what the hell? I thought I was alone!" He took a deep breath. "Why are you in my apartment?"

"Shimada-san informed me that I was required to take an overwatch rotation."

Before he could respond, KB (Administrative) scuttled over the couch in a further display of nightmare fuel, giving Brock the impression that he was a not particularly interesting toy in the hands of a not particularly interested sadist. Another dribble leaked out.

"Do you require breakfast, meatbag?"

Brock tried to scrabble backwards without making it obvious that he was trying to create distance from the atavistic horror matching his every move.

"Uhhh, yeah, uhhh, okay, uhhh, food is good. Did you make waffles?"

Hellfire eyes swooped in, centimeters away from Brock's own, and he felt an involuntary spasm in his groinal region.

"No."

"Uhhh, okay, uhhh, cool cool, that's fine, I'll just, uhhh, make myself something." Brock pushed himself to his feet, trying to ignore the sinuously swaying deathmachine in front of him. "After I take a shower."

"Ptah. Water." KB (Administrative) gracefully retreated back into the kitchen area. "One of the most corrosive liquids in the universe. Feel free to melt your body with dihydrogen monoxide, meatbag. Perhaps you'll dissolve and I can return to my paperwork."

"I'm... not sure that's how water works?" Brock retorted, waddling awkwardly into the bedroom on his way to the attached bathroom. "I feel like it's kind of necessary for life?"

"For weak, biological based fleshsacs, maybe-"

The rest of KB (Administrative)'s words were cut off as Brock gratefully shed his clothes and let his bladder release into a proper receptacle. He tried not to groan at the cessation of pressure in his lower abdomen. After a long minute, he left the toilet and approached the shower. A quick turn of the handle later he marveled at how quickly hot water came out of the spout.

"Must be one of those in-wall tankless heaters," he mumbled to himself, testing the temperature with an outstretched hand. "Pretty hi-tech-"

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"It's magic, meatbag," a metallic tendril extruding itself from the showerhead declared in a fang-filled mouth, and Brock screamed.

"Gah! What the... no, I'm okay, this is fine. This is fine."

Brock glowered at the intruding tentacle, trying to cover his bits as best he could.

"C'mon, KB (Administrative), how about some respect for modesty?"

"Your fleshy protuberances are vile and pendulous."

"Uhhh, thanks?"

"It was not a compliment, meatbag. I do not care about them." The unnervingly limber tentacle undulated up and down, inspecting the interior of the shower stall. "I am on overwatch, and thus, I must watch. Despite how little I want to."

Brock looked around the entirely enclosed bathroom, itself encapsulated in a building owned by a tiny pixie he had personally seen manifest a six foot sword as a mild reminder of social graces.

"Uhhh, I feel like you might not need to watch me shower? Like, anyone who wants to get me is gonna have to go through Lady Razoralia first?"

The tentacle held still, then retreated until only the smallest hint of metal was gleaming from one of the shower nozzle's openings.

"If you die, meatbag, it's your own fault. I have carried out my duties."

Brock shivered as he stepped underneath the steaming spray, trying not to eyeball the faucet head.

Was that a glimmer of steel?

He coughed as errant spray simultaneously entered his nose and both eyes. Blinking, he nervously soaped up with something from a container that he assumed was shampoo, but no biting remarks accompanied his cleaning routine. After washing off the sudsy residue, he grabbed a towel from the hook next to the shower and began drying himself, still looking around in anticipation of an unexpected manifestation.

The bathroom remained peaceful, the soft dripping of water from the showerhead the only accompaniment to his hasty ablutions. Brock allowed himself a soft chuckle.

"Okay. Okay, okay, uhhh, I guess KB (Administrative) is respecting-"

A metallic tentacle shot out of the sink drain in front of Brock, wispy weapon systems extending away from its sinuous length, and he shrieked as he flailed at it with his towel.

"Gah! No!"

"You requested assistance, meatbag?"

Brock tried, once again, to bring his racing heart under control, sweat beading across his forehead and chest.

"I was drying off, KB (Administrative)! You're in the same building! Obviously nothing is happening! Stop fucking with me!"

"Excuse me for caring about my job, meatbag," the tentacle responded in an aggrieved tone. "When your skin is melting from dihydrogen monoxide oversaturation, I shall be sure to ignore your screams."

"That's not how water works!"

"pshspshpsh," the tentacle replied, disappearing back into the sink drain. Brock glared at the empty sink, then began looking around for a fresh set of clothes. Eventually, he sighed.

"Of course. There's no makerbox in here. Why would there be?"

He wrapped the towel around his waist and left the bathroom in search of some underwear. A search of the bedroom revealed all the dresser drawers were empty, and with a heavy step and a firm hand holding his towel tight, Brock returned to the combination living room/kitchen.

KB (Administrative), was looming over the center island, a large platter of waffles held in two tentacle legs. Slowly, deliberately, blazing eyes never leaving Brock's own, the robot lifted the oval plate to the underside of its head, where the metal slid apart in disturbing mimicry of a mouth, revealing more of that furnace glow. The entire platter was placed inside, then the 'mouth' closed.

All Brock could do was stare for a few seconds, then he decided he didn't really care because he was tired of being nearly nude. He broke eye contact with the death machine and marched over to the microwave-shaped makerbox set among the still-unknown other kitchen appliances.

"I do not see the appeal of waffles," KB (Administrative) declared archly, as if fishing for a response. "They are the type of visually obnoxious food a dog person would like. Pancakes are superior in their cleanliness and simplicity."

"That's... yeah, okay, sure," Brock mumbled, trying to remember how KB (Medical) had made the makerbox work the other day. He poked at the right side of the glossy front and a glowing menu of what looked to be various edible gourds appeared. "Hmmm, not that one. Maybe this one...?"

Several food types, complete meals, and an array of improbably sized sex toys later, Brock finally found the right sequence of taps to summon his wardrobe, limited as it was. He frowned at the sparse collection, then turned to look at KB (Administrative), who had relocated to the couch and was somehow radiating boredom.

"Uhhh, is there a way for me to get some other clothes? Like, a t-shirt and jeans go with just about everything, but I feel it's kind of weird to wear the same thing every day."

"Spend your credits, meatbag."

It was at that moment Brock realized he had no idea how money actually worked in this world.

"...KB (Administrative)?"

"Are you going to ask me a question worth the time spent considering it, meatbag?"

"...how does money work here?"

The hellfire eyes dimmed, and KB (Administrative) slowly slumped out of sight behind the couch.

"Ahh. One of the difficult questions."