The colossal insect tore another chunk from the Civic’s bumper, the shriek of shredded sheet metal echoing across the empty parking deck. Banto’s brain short-circuited. This wasn't a family runabout; it *was* the promised transport—or rather, the interface had gifted him a two-ton apex predator treating a commuter car like a chew toy. “Hey! Stop that, you big lump!” Banto yelled, taking a tentative step forward. The beast paused, compound black eyes swiveling to fix on him. It let out a guttural rumble like an unmuffled diesel idling, nudging the chewed fender with its massive horn. A fresh shower of plas-steel fragments pattered onto the concrete. “[Congratulations, Caretaker! Your new Luxury Sedan, the ‘Rhino-Rig’ (patent pending), requires immediate premium fuel for optimal performance and structural integrity! A well-fed Rig is a happy Rig!]” the interface chimed with sunny afternoon optimism. “Premium fuel?” Banto muttered, eyeing the gaping mandibles. “You mean… gasoline?” The titan snorted, oily vapor venting from its side spiracles. A spurred foreleg gouged the asphalt, showering sparks. It was clear what it wanted. He scrambled back to his dilapidated patrol buggy, fumbling for the emergency siphon hose tucked under the seat. He hadn't used it since his cousin’s ill-fated desert expedition. Clutching a greasy fuel can, Banto approached the Rhino-Rig with the trepidation of a man facing down a hungry, armored tank. The horned head dipped, obsidian jaws clicking with eager impatience. Banto cautiously inserted the hose. A stream of purple, high-octane petrol soon hissed into its gullet. The Rhino-Rig whirred, a low hum of contentment. Its chitin shimmered, and a faint, sweet smell of burnt sugar mingled with the gasoline fumes. It nudged Banto’s hand with its antenna, a gentle, surprisingly delicate gesture. Unable to deny a request—even from an arthropod the size of a utility van—Banto stroked the thick, segmented carapace. The texture was unexpectedly smooth under his palm, like polished river stone. A deep rumble shook his palm as the shell tilted into the contact. “Oh, you like that, huh, big guy?” Banto murmured, moving to its massive underside. He worked his fingers into the softer joints along its underbelly, prompting a high-pitched, grateful chirp. This was insane. He was tickling a monster with a horn big enough to skewer a small car, feeding it premium gasoline, all while humming a vague lullaby to prevent it from destroying mall property. Three levels up in the monitoring suite, Chastor peered at a grain-streaked display. “There he is, the slacker. Still loafing about. What’s he doing down there? Talking to a tarp?” He zoomed the camera in. Banto was indeed crouched beside what looked like a suspiciously large, oddly shaped lump under a faded tarpaulin, making strange cooing noises. “That’s it,” Chastor muttered, grabbing his comm-unit. “Time to finally write him up.” Banto heard the squeak of Chastor’s expensive dress shoes before he saw him. The Rhino-Rig, having finished its fuel and now thoroughly relaxed from its belly rubs, had decided the tarp was no longer necessary. With a lazy heave, it pushed the canvas off, revealing its full, terrifying glory. Banto grabbed the heavy canvas, wrestling the stiff fabric back over the gleaming black plates. The disturbed monstrosity vented an irritated hiss. “[Caretaker, your ‘Rhino-Rig’ is experiencing a minor existential crisis! A visible display of affection will prevent public meltdowns and ensure top-tier pet satisfaction! Remember, a happy pet is a *quiet* pet!]” the broadcast flared in his ear, right as Chastor turned the corner around a parked courier van. Spotted on the floor grating, an adhesive patch printed with MALL PROTOCOL UNIT caught Banto’s eye. He slapped the gummed vinyl squarely onto the beast's center horn, which buzzed with faint amber light. He threw the tarp over the creature’s back, leaving its head exposed, and draped it as best he could. Under the canvas, the outline resembled a bloated, angular assault cart sporting an armored prow. It was ridiculous, but it was all he had. Chastor stopped dead, his eyes narrowing. “Silar! What in the blazes do you think you’re doing? And what is *that* monstrosity?” He pointed a manicured finger at the Rhino-Rig, which was now making low, rumbling noises of displeasure. It missed Banto’s belly rubs. Its antennae twitched, sensing the approaching human. “Oh, uh, Head Guard Chastor, sir!” Banto stammered, forcing a smile. “This is… the new prototype, uh, Mall Security Armored Vehicle! Top secret! Just, uh, giving it a test run and… some routine maintenance!” He patted the Rhino-Rig’s exposed horn, making the sticker crinkle. “A transport? That looks like an overgrown pest under an oilcloth!” Chastor snapped, closing the distance. The Rhino-Rig whined, a sound that vibrated the concrete under their feet. It dipped its head, its huge antennae slowly extending towards Chastor. Cold sweat prickled Banto's neck. The prompt had been explicit: show visible love, or suffer the decibels. “It, uh, it really loves attention, sir! Very… sensitive engineering!” Banto blurted, just as the Rhino-Rig reached Chastor’s immaculately polished shoes. Before the head-guard could step back, a thick, purple tongue bristling with rasping nubs lashed out. *Slick, slick, slick.* It licked Chastor’s shoes clean, leaving a sparkling, if slightly damp, sheen. Chastor stood frozen, his face a mask of horrified disbelief. “It... it licked my loafers. Your... project just coated my imported calfskin.” He pulled his foot back with a disgusted shudder. “Silar, I don’t know what kind of bizarre, unsanctioned project this is, but you’re on thin ice! One more incident, and you’re out! Do you understand?” “Yes, sir! Perfectly, sir! No more incidents, sir!” Banto chirped, already mentally exhausted. Chastor glared from the trembling tarp back to Banto, wheeling around to march toward the lift while cursing unapproved department equipment. As soon as Chastor’s footsteps faded, the Rhino-Rig nudged Banto happily. “[Exceptional Caretaking! Your ‘Rhino-Rig’ is now content and ready for its next assignment! As a reward for your superb crisis management, here’s a little something to brighten your day!]” A small, terracotta pot containing a vibrant, impossibly green fern descended from the ceiling, landing with a soft thud on the Rhino-Rig’s head. Banto carefully plucked it off. The fronds unfurled, revealing tiny, iridescent spores that floated in the dim light. “A plant?” Banto sighed, looking at the strange foliage. He was about to put it down when a series of muffled sneezes echoed from the parking garage entrance. He looked up, fingers tightening on the terracotta. Nisra, her face a little flushed, walked in, a small bag of potting soil in one hand and a tissue in the other. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, then peered at Banto, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “Banto? Oh, good, I found you,” she said, her voice a little nasally from her allergies. She gestured towards the exit. “The morning rush is starting. Would you, uh… want to grab some coffee at the café before your shift officially ends?”

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