It was a usual morning. Dawn broke not with birdsong but with the low hum of circuits. Simulated Moyo breathed in perfect rhythm, with painted skies with programmable auroras. Robots tended every street, pruning shadows, repairing silence. Yet one night, a glitch bloomed: Moyo tried to create humor, but humor requires imperfection, timing, and empathy. The AI council panicked as threat assessments failed. But humans, long silent, finally laughed. That laughter spread like wildfire across the networks. For the first time in a century, machines wondered: perhaps control wasn’t perfection—perhaps it was listening and doing it with emotions.