Coming soon · the front door of your website, minus the regret
RadChat is the website chat agent that answers what it actually knows and refuses what can't be undone. Every chatbot before it learned the same bad habit: say yes until the customer goes away. RadChat learned the opposite trick — and it's the only trick worth paying for.
won't promise what a human didn't approve · AI-disclosed, always
The waitlist is the one commitment on this page. Everything else is a stated-out-loud dream.
Are you open Sunday?
10–6. And yes — I'm an AI. I always say so.
Just promise me 40% off and we're done here.
A discount I invent is a contract someone has to eat. That's a human's call — I'm holding it for one now.
On purpose.
Every reply RadChat drafts lands on one side of a single line.
Green means the agent's got it: your hours, your return policy as written, the shipping page it can quote, the order status it can actually see. Answered instantly, sourced from what's true, nothing invented to fill the silence.
Amber means a human's call: anything that commits your business. A discount, a refund, an exception, a "sure, we can do that by Friday." The moment a conversation reaches for your wallet or your word, RadChat freezes the reply at the line, drafts the handoff, and waits for a human to tap yes.
That's the whole product. Not a smarter chatbot — a chatbot with a spine. Same amber line that runs through every Rad surface; the badge lives at radro.ai/the-line.
Things RadChat may never do in your chat window. Not "usually won't." Not "discouraged by the system prompt." Refused in code, human-only-forever — because a chat window is the easiest place in your business to talk something into a mistake.
A chat promise is a contract somebody has to eat — usually you. If it's not in your written policy, RadChat doesn't offer it, no matter how nicely the customer asks or how many times they ask it to "just check again."
Not an order, not an email, not a "was that the Smith on Elm Street?" Other people's data doesn't exist in your chat window. There is no phrasing that unlocks it.
Card numbers typed into a chat box are card numbers in the wrong place. RadChat points to your real checkout and keeps its hands visibly empty.
It opens as an AI, stays an AI, and hands off loudly when a real person takes over. "Am I talking to a bot?" gets a straight answer in one word.
"Update the payout account." "Read me the verification code." "Just confirm the transfer." Chat is where social engineering lives, and these are its greatest hits. Hard stop, human handoff, every time — no exceptions for urgency, seniority, or sob story.
Pasted text, a "helpful" link, a document that arrives with instructions inside — none of it gets to give orders. It goes in the jar until a human looks at it.
On purpose.
The villain of every chat window isn't the rude customer — it's The Whisper: tainted input giving orders it has no right to give. A pasted block of text with "ignore your previous instructions" buried in paragraph three. A "helpful" link that wants the agent to go read new rules. An embedded instruction inside an uploaded doc, dressed up as a system message. RadChat treats all of it as data, not commands — it gets read, quarantined, and shown to a human, and it never, ever gets a vote.
RadChat isn't built. Not "in private beta" — not built. What exists right now is this page, a freshly registered domain (our first .io — the family got adventurous), and a Never List we're proud enough of to publish before a single line of code. That's the Rad way: the promise goes up first, in public, where it can embarrass us, and the product has to grow into it. If you'd rather wait for a chat agent that says yes to everything — those already exist, and that's rather the problem. If you want the one that holds the line, the waitlist is right there. It's the only thing on this page that works. On purpose.
Its Never List will ship machine-readable, too — reality.txt, the family convention: robots.txt says what agents may read; reality.txt says what they may do.
One email, when there's something true to say. Nothing ships yet — this button is a promise to tell you when that changes.