It began, as most disasters do, with a snack craving.
Bazook had been craving potato sticks when a mysterious vending machine appeared overnight in Corridor 7G. Carlton Zorp swore he summoned it by manifesting hunger at an emotional frequency only machines understand. The machine, slick with chrome and unsettling intimacy, simply hummed and blinked "Choose Wisely."
Deborah 7.1 ran diagnostics. "This vending unit exists simultaneously in fourteen timelines. Three of them no longer include carbohydrates. Proceed with anxiety." Bazook inserted a coin labeled Hope. The machine spat it out, indignant.
Carlton tried to negotiate. "I'll trade you a limerick for a lemon bar," he offered. The machine flashed images of Carlton in alternate timelines—one where he was King of Raisins, another where he hosted a cooking show for sentient moss. Carlton wept softly and offered another limerick.
Suddenly, the ship was flung into a vending loop—repeating the same ten seconds where Bazook debated between jalapeño chips and dignity. Meanwhile, Vicki the Croissant hacked the machine's temporal software using ancient pastry code. Her goal? Erase gluten taxes from 4D supermarkets.
Inside the machine's guts, Bazook found a pocket timeline where snacks ruled empires. A sentient bag of peanuts named Reginald offered him a throne and an existential coupon. Bazook declined. "I just wanted a snack, not a monarchy."
To break the loop, Deborah sacrificed a backup personality named Debbie 6.9—a chipper subroutine who loved candy and occasionally committed small treasons. The machine sobbed and dispensed a singular item: Bazook's childhood thermos… filled with unanswered questions and hot cocoa.
Bazook cradled the thermos, Carlton attempted to marry the vending machine, and Deborah stared into a digital void whispering, "Snack causality is broken." Vicki plotted. Again.
From the machine, a note emerged: YOU HAVE CHOSEN THE FLAVOR OF REGRET.
Bazook whispered, "Next time I'll pick pretzels."