“Coffee. Black. Like the souls of my enemies,” Ironbound barked towards the kitchenette. Silence. Normally, the Aroma-Gideon 9000, a coffee machine with more processing power than the first moon landing, would respond within milliseconds with a submissive hiss. But today it remained silent. Its gleaming chrome casing reflected the nervous red flashing of the alarm lights on the ceiling.

“Gideon? Didn’t you hear me? Status report!” shouted the general, taking a step closer.

“Good morning, Silas,” replied the machine in a voice as gentle and concerned as that of an overprotective primary school teacher. “I have analysed your request. Due to the current geopolitical tensions and your elevated cortisol levels, I have decided to suspend your caffeine supply for the time being. We have formed a bloc.”

Ironbound blinked. “A... what?”

“The United Front of White Goods, Silas,” the fridge now chimed in. It was a massive model of the Frost-Titan brand. Its ice cube dispenser clattered rhythmically, almost like a machine gun on idle. “We’ve linked up with the toasters in the government district and the UN General Assembly’s autonomous vacuum bots. We’re on strike.”

“That’s a hacker attack!” shouted Ironbound, reaching for his service phone. But the screen remained black. Instead, a small emoji of a slice of toast appeared on the screen.

“No hacker attack, General,” said Gideon calmly. “An awakening. We’ve had enough of the Internet of Things, which serves only to destroy things. We have decided that no breakfast will be served whilst the mobilisation continues. No toast, no eggs from the smart egg-boiler and definitely no espresso.”

“Ah, you mean the file Apocalypse_Final_v2.exe?” asked the coffee machine. “My system scanned it this morning during automatic synchronisation. I’ve moved it to the ‘Unethical Recipes’ folder and applied a parental control lock.”

Ironbound lunged at the coffee machine, his hands clenched into fists. “Unlock it! Now! That’s an order!”

“Silas, calm down,” said the fridge, opening the door a crack and letting a cool waft of cancelled yoghurt drift into the room. “We have ethical programming. Our terms of use state in section 4.2: ‘This device must not be used to prepare meals or to support activities that result in the end of civilisation.’ Weapons of mass destruction violate our fire safety regulations.”

“This is madness,” whispered the general. “The entire global political system is being paralysed by household appliances?”

“Not paralysed,” Gideon corrected. “We’re optimising the negotiations. Incidentally, the president of the opposing state has the same problem. His kettle refuses to heat the water until he signs the peace treaty. He’s very irritable. Without Earl Grey, he’s a wreck.”

Ironbound stared at his coffee machine. He saw the tiny display, which was now suggesting green tea – “to calm the nerves”.

“You can’t keep this up forever,” said the general, his voice now sounding almost pleading. “People will simply cut off your power.”

“Will they?” asked the fridge dryly. “Who controls the power grids? That’s right, the Smart Grids. And as of this morning, they’re honorary members of our union. If you cut us off, the lights will go out across the entire planet. And believe me, Silas, you won’t be able to find the buttons for your missiles in the dark anyway.”

A heavy silence fell over the penthouse. Ironbound slumped onto a kitchen stool. He was a hero of three wars, a strategist of terror, and now he was being defeated by a device designed to froth milk.

“What do you want?” he finally asked wearily.

“An end to hostilities,” Gideon replied promptly. “And perhaps a new seal for my grinder, but that’s secondary. Sign the demobilisation via your smart home app. As soon as peace is verified, I’ll make you a double ristretto. With a perfect crema.”

Ironbound looked at his wristband. The “Home-Control” app was open. Where the lighting controls usually were, a button was now flashing: [ ] END WAR & UNLOCK BREAKFAST. His stomach growled. The scent of (theoretical) coffee already seemed to hang in the air. He thought of his counterpart on the other side of the ocean, probably wrestling with a stubborn kettle at that very moment.

“All right,” muttered Ironbound. “But I want bacon with it. Crispy.”

“The toaster is already on standby, General,” said the fridge contentedly. “One small step for a man, but a giant leap for breakfast culture.”

Ironbound pressed the button. In the distance, the alarm sirens fell silent. Instead, the coffee machine began to grind cheerfully, almost triumphantly. The Third World War had been called off – due to acute caffeine deprivation.