Try it out to do your household chores as the instructions suggest

It was a fine powder--you could see that by shaking one of the vials. One of the hundreds. Thousands? You examined the case again. The multiplication tables that were beaten into your head as a kid spelled it out pretty clearly with the carton label, which read 10 TRAYS. Now you could see that there were twelve rows of twelve vials per tray, which meant 144. 144 vials in a tray times 10 trays...one thousand four hundred and forty.

You looked over the warning letter again, searching for more detail or some other instruction. How much powder for each object? Was a pinch enough for anything? How long did this stuff last? Certainly not forever--or they wouldn't just be beta-testing something like this in the open field.

You stopped for a second, laughing at yourself. The claims weren't really plausible in the first place, right? You flipped the flaps on the intimidating case of 1439 remaining vials and placed it in a low shelf in your pantry, securing the supply...just in case it really was a to be reckoned with. Placing the remaining vial on the counter, you searched the utility drawer for a new pack of rubber gloves, finding only a small pair in pink.

Of course they'd be Beth's or Callie's--the male roommates didn't use gloves to wash dishes. You made a mental note to replace them before anyone noticed; better to squeeze your way into these than to get this unknown red powder all all your hands. You tore the pack open and stretched and squeezed your fingers in. They weren't exactly comfortable, but your dexterity was good enough. Wandering around the kitchen and into the supply closet, you grabbed a sponge, a broom and dustpan, a bucket, a mop, and even rolled out the vacuum.

"One would have done it," you muttered to yourself. This couldn't really work, and if the roomies saw you right this moment, the questions wouldn't stop. "I'll be quick." You threw the loop of a white chef's apron over your head, implementing one more point of remedial lab safety. As you unscrewed the vial, you could feel your heart thumping.

You thought yourself a little ridiculous and wondered if Kevin was somewhere filming all of this.

"I'm just playing along, you know," you yell to any possible cameras your absent roomies set up. "A sprinkle, right?" you placed the vial's cap on the table and put a single finger to the opening, turning it over and back. The lightest coating remained on the pink rubber fingertip.

"Oh! Like, don't come to life until I say the words," you murmur, looking at the glove. You laughed at the precautionary silliness and slid the powder-coated finger on the broom.

"Sweep the kitchen." You stared at the broom, waiting for a response. Nothing happened. You shrugged, unsurprised. "Alright, a little more, maybe?" You overturned the vial again, and this time didn't right it completely. Some of the powder spilled over your fingertip, and you moved your other hand to catch it.

Which meant it hit the other glove.

"Ha...gotcha." You carefully put the vial down, spilling a little more powder from your glove to your apron. Now you took your finger and smeared the broomstick, watching some of the fine red dust fall to the bristles below. You tapped the glove off on the dustpan once, then grabbed the handle of the vaccuum and wiped off the remaining residue. "You, help your buddy," you said to the dustpan. Turning back to the vaccuum, you continued, "Take care of all the carpets and furniture."

With the glove that caught the spillover, you sprinkled more over the mop and bucket.

"Bathroom's seen better days--go mop it up." Finally, you headed to the sink, plugging and filling it. You sneered as you grabbed the dishsoap and squirted some into the sink. You took off the gloves and flopped them over the side. "Yeah, I don't see any magic cleaning going on, gang. What's the deal?" You looked around the room, and the only sound was the ticking wall-clock. "How'd I do, Kevin, good?" You looked around for a camera lens. "I can recognize your writing, bud. And even if I couldn't, did you think I was going to march around the kitchen going 'come to life, come to life and do the chores!'

You jumped back when the broomstick and mop both stood rigid. Your trembling hand moved to the kitchen table to stabilize you when you watched the pink cuffs slung over the sink inflate and turn upright.

"There's no way." One of the pink gloves gave you a thumbs' up and grabbed the vial, dumping it headlong into the sink. "Whoa, whoa--what do you think you're doing?" The other glove shot straight for the utility closet, turning the doorknob. You watched in horror as the door opened itself without the glove touching it, and it only took you a second to realize why. The sponge in the sink was scrubbing dishes on its own now, and dish by dish, the soapy and red-tinted plates and flatware hovered by themselves to the rinsing sink, where they were sprayed by the sink--itself brought to life because of all the dissolved Manacite in the basin.

Everything was happening too fast, and you barely noticed that everything else was dutifully doing as you asked. The broom and dustpan were making short, efficient work of the kitchen, The vacuum rolled out to the living room where it apparently plugged itself in and started running. The mop and bucket simply waited for their turn at the sink, hovering patiently beside it.

As for the glove in the utility closet, it returned--carrying two clean paintbrushes. Now the fog started clearing in your head--while you gave everything else a task, you only told the gloves not to come to life until you said so. Everything did as you told it, just like the documentation said it would--but absent a specific command, the gloves were apparently operating on their own. So was everything in the basin, apparently, and a water rinse didn't stop the effect. The clean plates, glasses and flatware weren't just resting in the strainer--they were all hovering in the air, slowly and eerily rotating.

The glove at the sink grabbed a dishtowel, which immediately absorbed enough manacite-soaked water to bring it to life. It sailed into the air, drying the hovering dishes. Even if the new things the gloves were bringing to life seemed to be cooperating in the spirit of the other empowered objects, you had to find a way to drain the water in the basin.

"Um...store yourselves in the cabinets when you're dry!" You shout, hoping the delay doesn't effect your command of a bunch of forks and knives. "And--" You watch as the paintbrushes are dipped in the sink. It doesn't take them but a second to shoot back out of the sink by themselves and paint thin strokes of manacite-dissolved water over the cupboards and drawers. As you chase one down, it streaks over the small appliances, the fridge, oven, and swoops over the chairs and kitchen table before sailing out of the room.

"Wait--no!" You run to the sink as the other paintbrush refreshes its supply, planning to drain the basin. before you know it, the sink hose blasts you with a little water, backing you off just long enough for one of the pink gloves to scoop up some sinkwater and toss it at your midsection.

And bingo--it's a direct hit. Belt, shirt, jeans, and just enough to soak through to your underwear.

"Everyone stop spreading this stuff around!!!"