Chaos in Italy

 Ro-13 button gleamed under Adrian's trembling finger. His heart raced.

Suddenly, a Light exploded around them – pure, blinding white. Next thing he knew, he was swimming through cosmic ribbons of color.

"Holy crap, did we just enter Star Wars?" Adrian's mouth hung open, a bit of drool escaping. The robot's metallic features somehow managed to convey complete disdain.

"This is the space-time continuum, sir," Ro-13 droned. Typical know-it-all machine.

Then everything went nuts. Adrian watched in horror as his body warped like putty – old, young, middle-aged, teenage acne and back again.

He shot a panicked look at Ro-13, who just shrugged. "I am not made of flesh, sir."

"No shit..."

Something caught his eye – a rip in space? It pulsed with light, humming.

"We're not... oh god, we're not going in there?" Adrian backed away. "Tell me we're not—"

"Buckle up, sir."

"AAAAAAAH!"

Fountain water filled his nose and mouth. Sputtering, Adrian dragged himself up and froze. A crowd of fancy-dressed people stared at him like he'd grown two heads. Ladies clutched their pearls. Men in ridiculous coats gaped.

"shit," he muttered, grabbing what looked like a mop to dry off.

"SACRILEGIO!"bellowed a man who looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

Ro-13 cleared his throat. "Sir, that would be King Charles-Albert's royal cape."

Adrian slowly looked up into the purpling face of a man who seemed ready to burst a blood vessel.

"...run?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Run."

They bolted through manicured gardens, Adrian's shoes slipping on ancient stones. Guards shouted behind them. His lungs burned.

"Why's everything made of freaking cobblestones?!"

Ro-13's arm shot out, metal extending impossibly long. "Hold tight, sir."

"Wait, what are you—WHOAAAAA!"

They sailed over a wall, Adrian screaming all the way down. They hit the ground running and didn't stop until they found themselves in a maze of narrow streets. Yellow and red buildings towered above them, wrought-iron balconies casting lace-like shadows on worn stones. Adrian doubled over, gasping.

"Well," he wheezed, "that could've gone better."

The scents hit him first - lavender and rosemary twisted with salt air. Adrian blinked hard. Growing up in his world of chrome and holograms, this felt like stepping into some ancient painting.

"This is insane," he whispered.

Ro-13's eyes whirred, scanning everything. Without warning, he grabbed Adrian's collar.

"This way!"

They ducked into a skinny alleyway.

"Safe here," the robot announced, way too pleased with himself.

"Great, but where the hell are we exactly? Because I'm pretty lost."

"Italy. 1835. Piazza de Ferrari, Genoa." Ro-13 might as well have been reading a grocery list.

"So... different time period. What's the plan?"

"Palazzo Ducale." The robot's finger shot up, complete with a stupid little ding. "Cultural hub. Art. Music. Big fancy parties."

"Perfect! Let's check out this duck-"

"WAIT!" Ro-13's screech could've shattered glass.

"What now?" Adrian groaned.

The robot's glowing eyes crawled over Adrian's outfit - his high-tech pajamas still flickering with holographic patterns.

"Sir, I would suggest modifying your appearance to better integrate with this era."

Adrian glanced down. "What's wrong with this? It's designer... in 2324."

Ro-13's arm whirred up like some demented fashion cannon. "Fashion makeover: ACTIVATED!"

"Wait, what-"

"OW! Hey! That- WHOA!"

Blue light spun him like a top, and suddenly he was stark naked. When the light faded, he wore an emerald frock coat and enough Victorian frills to choke a horse.

"Ta-da! Now you look properly noble," Ro-13 hummed, practically glowing with self-satisfaction.

"Did... did my robot just strip me?" Adrian dabbed at his watering eyes. "That's a new low."

A cough made them jump. A man stood there, smiling weird.

"FUCK!" Adrian nearly levitated out of his new duds. " I thought you said this place was safe!"

The stranger just kept smiling. Adrian waved his arms like a drowning man.

"Uh... hello? Bonjour? You speak-a my language?"

"Sir," Ro-13 cut in, "he's mute."

"Nah, he just doesn't get our crazy future-talk." Adrian kept flailing, turning his linguistic panic into interpretive dance.

The stranger stared at this spectacle, head tilted like a confused puppy, then beckoned them to follow.

“Sir , the Palazzo Ducale is just over there.”

"Don't worry about it, he knows this city like the back of his hand—probably even better than you."

He led them to an old cobblestone street, to a lively tavern. The tavern hit them with a wall of noise and life - leather-aproned cobblers, herb-stuffed apothecaries, animated tailors all crammed together in organized chaos.

"A tavern, sir. Nineteenth-century social hub for eating and drinking."

"Food? Thank god!" Adrian's stomach growled on cue. "Time traveling really works up an appetite!"

The cacophony slammed into them - rough laughs, glass clinks, voices fighting for air.

"Why's everyone looking at me?"

"Simple probability, sir. Nobleman in a tavern - statistically improbable as an error in my coding. Also, your posture suggests uncomfortable insertion of a quantum broom up your-"

"Got it, thanks!"

then The silent guide expertly shuffled a deck of cards.

"What kind of thing is that?"

"It's an old gambling game called Faro, sir. The odds are deliberately stacked in the dealer's favor. It's rigged,"

"Relax, I know what I'm doing,"

A few minutes passed, and Adrian watched helplessly as the last of his money disappeared into the silent guide pockets.

"How did—" Adrian sputtered.

The silent guide's predatory smile gleamed in response.

"I did try to warn you, sir,"

"This isn’t over!"

The door swung wide. A dark-haired woman swept in, wielding a wooden spoon like a queen's scepter. She moved between tables with practiced grace.

"Buona sera!" Her welcome froze when she spotted the silent guide . "Santo cielo! Marco, mascalzone! " The spoon rose menacingly. " Te l'ho detto mille volte di non disturbare i miei clienti! Vuoi che ti butti fuori a calci?"

Adrian nudged his robot. "Translation?"

"Your linguistic chip needs updating, sir."

"Right... forgot about that."

Ro-13 tapped Adrian's chip. Italian suddenly clicked into place. "Santo cielo! Marco, you troublemaker! , How many times must I tell you to leave my customers alone! Want me to throw you out myself?"

Marco hid behind his chair."Beautiful Marta, bright as daybreak..."

"Save it!" She spun toward Adrian, storm clouds vanishing into sunshine. "Scusate. What'll it be, sir?"

"Well, I-"

"Perfecto! Fish skewers and beer!" She was already writing.

Marco tried sneaking away, but Ro-13's hand shot out. "Sir, this human attempted deception. Shall I deal with him?"

"Ha! My apologies for the small fib!" Marco's hand dove into his pocket with practiced speed.

"What's that?" Adrian leaned forward.

"Teatro Carlo Felice tickets," Ro-13 stated flatly. "Authentic ones, surprisingly."

Marco puffed out his chest like a proud rooster. "Not just any tickets - these are exclusive! Only the cream of society gets in."

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Where'd you get those?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Marco said with an exaggerated wink.

"He stole them," Ro-13 reported.

Marco barreled on, unfazed. "The legendary Niccolò Paganini is performing! You know, the violin virtuoso!"

Adrian frowned. "This Paganini guy... any good?"He imagined some kind of ancient DJ.

"Good?" Marco's eyes blazed with excitement. "They say he sold his soul to the devil! His music takes you to the brink between worlds - heaven and hell all at once!"

A shiver crawled down Adrian's spine. The past held more mysteries than he'd imagined.

Their conversation was interrupted when Marta appeared, bearing skewers of grilled fish that made the air itself seem delicious. Adrian stared at the dish, his synthetic-food-trained brain struggling to process the aroma.

The first bite hit him like lightning. Flavors exploded across his tongue - salt and sea and herbs dancing together. Real food - not synthetic nutriblocks. Tears welled up.

" MAMMA MIA!" He grabbed Marta's hands, startling half the tavern. "This is... this is..."

"My grandmother's recipe," Marta said proudly, touched by his reaction.

"Sir, you're creating a scene," Ro-13 murmured.

Adrian slumped back into his chair, nearly missing it. "Right, sorry."

Marta shook her head, amused, and moved away. "Never seen anyone so excited about food before," she muttered.

The tavern's usual buzz had quieted, curious eyes fixed on their table. Marco leaned toward Ro-13, grinning. "Your master seems more interested in dinner than in our Marta. That's a first."

" sir has... unique preferences," Ro-13 replied diplomatically, watching Adrian attack his food.

Marco slid a foaming mug across the table. "Here - perfect pairing."

"Sir," Ro-13 began, "that fermented beverage-"

"Oh, come on!" Adrian grabbed the mug. "Can't be stronger than Synthetic Glacier Punch!"

One sip proved him very wrong. The raw, bitter intensity shocked his system. "It's... alive!"

"Sir, your blood alcohol levels-" Ro-13's warning lights flashed.

Adrian's tough act lasted exactly three more seconds before he slithered under the table, snoring.

"Well!" Marta laughed. "There's a room upstairs if you need it."

"I did warn you, sir." He hoisted his unconscious master and carried him up to bed.