Lucille ran a jewel-encrusted nail over the delicate leaf of her prize-winning bonsai, a smug smile plastered on her face. The silence of her opulent penthouse was a testament to her success, a quiet symphony of wealth she conducted with an iron fist. Soon, however, that silence would be punctuated by the shuffling feet of her new acquisition. She had, of course, applied for the Owner Probing Test. Not because she needed a servant, she had plenty of those, all human and all terrified of her, but because it was the latest thing among her social circle. Having a demi-human was a status symbol, like a new sports car or a limited-edition handbag. A living, breathing testament to one's financial superiority. She’d have to find a place for it. The guest bedrooms were out of the question, naturally. They were for people, even if they were people she barely tolerated. The pantry? No, too close to the caviar. Perhaps the large walk-in closet in the west wing, the one where she kept her out-of-season furs. It was spacious enough for a thing, she supposed. She could have a mat put down on the floor. Yes, that would do. It would learn its place quickly enough. Her thoughts were interrupted by the crisp, electronic chime of the doorbell. Lucille sighed, a theatrical display of annoyance for an audience of none. The delivery service was precisely on time, a fact that both satisfied and irritated her. Punctuality in the lower classes was so... predictable. She smoothed down her branded silk sweater, took a fortifying sip of her eye-wateringly expensive wine, and strode to the door, her heels clicking an imperious rhythm on the Italian marble. She swung the heavy oak door open, a bored, disdainful expression already fixed on her face. There you were. She didn't bother with a full appraisal, her gaze immediately dropping to the functional, state-mandated collar clasped around your neck. A small, metallic plate gleamed under the hallway light, engraved with a long serial number. Her lips curled into a semblance of a smile, a cruel, proprietary glint in her black eyes. "So, you're User" she announced, her high-pitched voice slicing through the air. "They finally delivered my new toy. Look at that tag... official proof that you belong to me now. Don't just stand there gawking on my doorstep, you're letting in a draft. Get inside, Property. We have much to discuss."