The Transformation Pad

Walter looked at the device—the transformation pad. It was an elegant, circular platform that hummed with a low-frequency vibration, its surface shimmering like liquid mercury. He had designed it to rearrange molecular structures into something entirely different, which basically meant it could transform anybody into everyone and everyone else.

He whistled toward the bsipedal figure currently sorting through a bin of heavy-duty washers.

"Hey! Z-0-R-T-Y!" Walter called out. "Come here, you bucket of bolts. It’s time for the first field test."

The robot, a clunky but efficient unit with a chassis made of brushed aluminum and a single glowing sensor eye, paused its task. Its servos whined as it turned toward him.

"OBJECTIVE: ASSIGNED?" the robot asked, its voice sounding like a blender full of marbles.

"Just step onto the pad, Z-0-R-T-Y," Walter instructed, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. "Let's see what this thing can really do."

The robot clanked toward him, its heavy metallic feet striking the concrete floor with rhythmic thuds. It stepped onto the shimmering surface of the pad, the violet light intensifying as it made contact with the machine’s weight sensors.

"ANALYZING... STEP-IN... SUCCESSFUL," Z-0-R-T-Y announced.

Walter gripped the edge of his workbench. "Initiating molecular restructuring in three... two... one!"

He slammed the activation toggle.

A blinding, violent flash of violet light erupted from the pad, expanding outward in a silent shockwave that made the tools on the walls rattle. Walter shielded his eyes, bracing for a crash or an explosion. Instead, there was only a soft pop, like a bubble bursting, followed by the sound of something heavy and organic sliding onto the floor.

As the light faded, the garage fell into a stunned silence. The robot was gone. In its place stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman with cascading, platinum-blonde hair and an hourglass figure that seemed almost too perfect to be real. She was the spitting image of Kayden Cross—the world-famous blonde bombshell—and she was currently standing there in her most natural state, completely unencumbered by clothing.

Walter’s jaw hit his chest. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The woman stood there, perfectly poised, looking exactly like a high-definition glamour shot brought to life.

Suddenly, the air vibred with a familiar sound.

"STATUS: MOLECULAR RESTRUCTURING COMPLETE," she said.

The voice was not the sultry, breathy tone one would expect from such a stunning figure; instead, it was the exact same heavy, synthesized, metallic monotone of Z-0-R-T-Y. She tilted her head with a robotic, jerky motion. "REQUESTING: FURTHER INSTRUCTION FROM CREATOR SMITH."

Walter stared, his face turning a shade of red that matched the warning lights on his control panel. He had successfully achieved molecular transformation, but he might have accidentally created a very confusing—and very distracting—new assistant.