The Control Room

You approach the service droid. His appearance is somewhat unremarkable. He’s about two or three feet tall, chrome, and has arms that resemble metallic noodles. You wonder how something of his stature can possibly maintain something as complex as a space station. Nonetheless, you decide to be polite and greet it. It responds quickly. “Greetings. I am unit 5Q-15H. My function is to maintain operations of the Cassiopeia Station without the presence of manned personnel. You are here ahead of schedule.” You don’t know exactly how to respond. “Yeah, I guess I am” you reply. Surprisingly, the robot seems confused. “But this cannot be! My programming has indicated that there will not be any inhabitants for several more weeks. I have been created with these very functions, but... but...” The robot begins to twitch and shudder. Something doesn’t seem right. Maybe it was something you said? Then, the robot ceases, returning to a calm demeanor. Maybe it was just a glitch? “SYSTEM RESTART. ANALYSIS: My visual sensors have malfunctioned. I am alone. New directive: store foreign object for later inspection.” 5Q-15H’s arms begin to extend several feet beyond their original length. Like a bat out of hell, they fly right at you, grabbing your head and legs at the same time. Before you can even react, you feel both ends of your body slowly smoosh together. Despite muffled protests, there is nothing your body can do but submit. In no time, you’re squished and kneeled into a large mound of dough. The feeling is like an hyper-intense massage of some kind. You wince from the repeated presses and rolls your body endures. After what feels like forever, the droid ceases its actions. All you can think about is how sore you feel from head to toe. Or, rather, head to arm to head to toe to leg? You can’t quite make sense of what part of your body has gone where. As you grumble in your pliable state, you fail to notice the sound of a vacuum cleaner. In a flash, your entire body gets sucked up through a tiny nozzle, managing to squeeze itself into a tiny compartment in the robot’s body. Then, after another few seconds of clicking, you pop out of a small dispenser on the metallic brute as a tiny orb, squeezed to a fraction of your original size. Then, 5Q-15H recites a report. “Sample secured. Preparing storage unit.” A small receptacle opens in the wall. Dazed, you can’t notice yourself being placed inside. The small door closes, with a click locking the hatch. That should secure you until some proper scientists can make it to the station. Hopefully their busy schedules will have enough time to squeeze you in…

Robot Attack!

You have found 24 Endings out of 24!