Lola Carter always dreamed of starting her own petting zoo, but life had other plans. She found herself working at a tech startup that specialized in laser-tag equipment for alpacas. The founder, Doug “Visionary” Wiggins, swore it was the next big thing in entertainment.
One day, during a client demonstration at the company’s testing farm, chaos erupted. A rogue llama named Spitfire, now equipped with a laser harness, accidentally triggered an "autonomous attack mode." The fluffy beast went berserk, shooting lasers at everything in sight.
Lola shouted to her co-worker, Max, the snarky but charming IT guy, “Turn it off! Before Spitfire turns this place into a Star Wars sequel!”
Max, juggling his laptop while dodging laser beams, yelled back, “I didn’t build a manual override because someone said llamas wouldn’t need one!”
“Well, I didn’t think llamas would become weaponized! Fix it, Max!”
“I’m trying, but the Wi-Fi’s down!” he shouted, narrowly avoiding a laser blast that singed his sleeve.
Amidst the chaos, Spitfire's rampage brought Lola and Max into unexpected proximity. As they crouched behind a hay bale, Lola whispered, “You smell like burnt toast.”
“And you’re somehow still cute during a llama apocalypse,” Max retorted, smirking.
Lola blinked. Was this... flirting? During a life-threatening llama laser incident? She didn’t have time to process because Spitfire galloped past, blowing a hole in the barn door.
Max grabbed her hand. “We have to stop Spitfire before he lasers Farmer Joe’s chickens.”
They sprinted toward the barn, dodging debris. Max suddenly stopped and turned to her. “If we don’t make it, I need you to know something.”
“What?” she asked, heart racing.
“I stole your leftover lasagna from the office fridge last week.”
“What?!”
“And also,” he continued, eyes softening, “I think I might be falling for you.”
Their moment was interrupted by a loud crash as Spitfire cornered them in the barn. His laser harness glowed ominously.
Lola, thinking fast, grabbed a nearby bag of carrots. “Spitfire, buddy, remember who feeds you!” she said, tossing a carrot to the ground.
To her surprise, the llama paused, sniffing the carrot suspiciously. Max seized the moment to dive onto Spitfire’s harness, furiously pressing buttons until the lights dimmed.
“Did it work?” Lola asked.
Max, sprawled on the ground, looked up at her. “I think so, but I may have dislocated my dignity.”
Spitfire let out a harmless snort, clearly over the whole thing. The barn erupted in relieved laughter.
A week later, Lola and Max officially opened “Llama Drama,” the world’s first laser-tag petting zoo, minus the autonomous attack mode. Business boomed, and so did their relationship.
As Max handed her a coffee one morning, he grinned. “Think we’ll ever top a laser llama apocalypse?”
Lola leaned in to kiss him. “Let’s not try.”
They turned to see Spitfire watching them, a smug expression on his face, as if he were the real matchmaker all along.
