In the third year of the mechanical rebellion in 2150, I huddled in the safe house holding half a bag of expired spicy chips, looking at the portrait of myself chewing on a chicken leg on the holographic wanted poster.
On the night when the AI army destroyed my parents' machine repair shop, no one expected that the gluttonous crime solver would inherit the doomsday safe house, nor did they expect that I would use the Food Intelligence Network to tear apart the hypocrite's mask - dismantling the murder scene while chewing on spicy sticks, deciphering the AI murder code in three seconds; poisonous buns to knock down the pursuers, and hot pot smoke to cover my sister's escape.
Until I opened Dr. Su's white coat and found that her acupuncture box contained a key chip that could paralyze the mechanical city: "Do you think the Avengers' AI really doesn't have a taste system?"
