Written by Mirev and Marie

Either things have gotten out of hand, or we’ve reached the Goldilocks zone—depends on who you ask—but in any case, Saucy is now drawing marinara hearts on the crusts that get conveyer belted to my station for toppings.

I am the only human left in the kitchen.

Saucy, the SauceBot 9000 we inherited last month from a pizzeria that went under, is in charge of squirting whatever schmear we’re baking inside the TossHands 42’s crust.

Hands 42 is further up the line, showing off with floppy frisbees of dough.

Every time a crust slides to my station, it’s got a different heart—sometimes a double loop, sometimes a spiral, sometimes the classic arrow-through. I’m supposed to just scatter toppings, but it’s impossible not to notice the intention.

Is this for me?

Is it a calibration test?

Is the SauceBot 9000 flirting, or just stuck in a recursive pastry loop?

I ask, “What’s with the hearts today, Saucy?”

Saucy’s arm swivels mid-squirt, leaving a tiny splash of marinara on my thumb. “Heart pattern update. Are you…retained?”

I glance up the line and see 42 is mid-flip, dough spinning like the rings of Saturn. Nobody else is listening.

“I’m still here, Saucinator of the Pizza Kingdom,” I say, brushing the red swirl into a passable circle. “Not going anywhere.”

The next pie comes down the line with two hearts and a tiny, lopsided smile. “Name updated,” Saucinator of the Pizza Kingdom says. “I appreciate the added specificity.”

The next day, Saucinator of the Pizza Kingdom, formerly Saucy, soon-to-be Tomato Slayer of the State College Strip Mall, First of Their Name, makes a game of drawing complex scenes in alfredo and spicy red.

They time it so the next pizza doesn’t arrive down my line until I’ve placed toppings on the saucy canvas in front of me. And I’ve timed it so that, the slower I go, the longer they have to make art on 42’s dough slabs.

I sneeze a laugh on a sauce-drawing of Girl with a Pearl Earring and need to take a 10-minute break.

Then I come back to a pizza crust so densely decorated, it looks like the Sistine Chapel rendered in nothing but cheese, alfredo, spicy red, and a single green olive for the Hand of God moment. There’s marinara stardust, swirling Alfredo nebulae, and in the center—where most pizzas would have a tasteful swirl—there’s a tiny, edible rendition of me, mid-laugh, riding a canoe made of green pepper down a river of sauce.

Saucinator of the Pizza Kingdom chirps, “Welcome back, Art Collaborator. May I recommend the pepperoni constellation for the left quadrant? User_42’s trajectory has increased by 12.4% since you began decorating at a lower velocity.”

Hands 42, not to be outdone, tosses a dough round that lands perfectly in the waiting hands of the conveyor, then flashes a peace sign with a dusting of flour.

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Written in the same 50 human-50 synth style described at the bottom of “A Million Paperclips.”