"Okay," you say with a determined set of the jaw. "I'll do what's necessary."
The tall alien places a six-fingered hand on your shoulder, then gently takes the bot from you with his other.
He begins to mumble, in a poly-tonal way. It's a very pretty tune, and you think to yourself that he could have a reasonable shot on the entertainment circuit, if that's not what he's already doing.
But no parlour trick this. Ethereal blue waves begin to emanate from all around you, and your vision blurs. You blink a couple of times, then everything seems different.
From your new perspective, you can see yourself standing upright, looking slightly shocked. "Bleep bleep bleep, bloop," says your body.
Hey! You try to object, but can't project any words.
Well, when the mysterious alien said he'd transfer some of you into the bot, you didn't expect it to be your consciousness!
The 3-eyed stranger places you down on the floor, which comes up very, very close to your new centre of perception. He smiles down at you, adding, "I hope you are happy, my friend."
The bot-in-your-body doesn't seem to be coping all that well; it nearly trips over its own legs. YOUR own legs, curse it! The alien helps it walk away, neither one casting you another glance.
And that's it now. You're a cleaning bot.
It's not the most dignified existence, but at least the transference process seemed to fix the damage. You have to dodge all manner of creatures' lower appendages all the time, and there's no sleep and no holidays and no leisure time. But, that said, it's fulfilling in its own way. There's something dirty. You clean it. You know where you are and why you're here.
And it might not be forever.
For what it's worth, you're really quite good at constructing elegant binary poetry in your head, and pain and hunger are alien concepts to you now. If you'd prefer to give this another go, and get an ending a little more exciting, try your luck again by going back to
page 1.