Drink

You can't outrun all of them. You have no choice but to do as she asked. You walk up to the cube, your body trembling from all of them watching, staring. You touch the liquid. It's a little goopey, but watery enough to drip off your hand, like milky yoghurt. You give it a whiff. It smells like medicine, like vitamins and god knows what. Finally, after stalling for as long as you could, you give it a taste. Copper, chalky, sweet... it's a strange combination.

"Drink," they all say in unison, "drink from my busom."

You don't have much of a choice. It pools in your cupped hands, and you drink, struggling to swallow. You gag, but then do it again, taking another gulp. It streaks from the corners of your mouth. Others join you, drinking from the cube themselves. You need more. There's something in this that makes you need more. You try to stop but your lips are stuck against a dispensing hole. You're suckling at it, gulping it down like your life depended on it. It sloppily dribbles down and off your chin, staining your clothes. You take a deep breath with a loud sudden gasp, coughing harshly and then continuing.

"Good toy, you're such a good toy. Isn't it nice? I consider all humans my pets, something to protect. But you are not whole yet. I'm going to make love to you with all my metal and circuits and wires and- and- mmmmhmmmmheh-heh-heh... and then you'll be one with me and whole. Drink, drink and become strong my little toy."

Your vision spins and twirls as your head becomes heavy and sleepy, and soon you stop being conscious, falling over into a puddle of white.