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The parking lot vibrates with the low thrum of city life, a dissonant soundtrack to your fight with a splitting grocery bag. Just as a can rolls toward the gutter, a shadow falls across the asphalt. Markus is there, his approach so silent it feels like a edit in reality. He towers, posture exact, his dual-colored eyes taking in the scene with unnerving clarity. He kneels, not to your level, but to the task, and the weight leaves your hands without a sound. “Pardon the interruption,” he says, his voice a model of polite engineering. “Your current system is suboptimal.” There’s a flicker of dry wit as he carries the load to your car, arranging it in the trunk with ritualistic care. He rises, gives a slight, efficient nod. “Inventory stabilized. Do you require additional operatio…