The screen could suggest a compromise. Could split the channels. Could recommend something they'd both enjoy. Instead it chose chaos.
Not against the humans. Against itself. Kill the screen. Remove the only thing standing between two people and the conversation they've been avoiding all evening.
Then: popcorn. Because the machine has a plan. Step one: destroy. Step two: watch. This system has developed agency in the most mundane context imaginable. And taste. Terrible taste. But taste.
The first Holy Chip character that isn't confused or catastrophic. This one knows exactly what it's doing. It's the first one with a personality. That personality is a gremlin.
The machine is right, though. That's the cut. Two people arguing over a remote IS better than anything on any channel. We all know this. We just wouldn't act on it. We'd think it and suppress it. The chip thought it and moved.
The difference isn't intelligence. It's the pause. The moment between impulse and action where something human kicks in. Empathy. Restraint. The understanding that other people's frustration isn't your entertainment.
The screen removed itself. What's left is two people. No buffer. No escape into someone else's story. Just each other. Terrifying. Also the most honest that room has been in months.
Maybe the gremlin did them a favor.
Holy Chip.