Your fear was quickly replaced with confusion.

All of your teammates were dead, whether from Ex-Pops or Gooseberry herself. But not you.

Instead, you were strapped to a leather chair in Gooseberry's office, the same one used in the Drill The Futterman Trial. However, the looming drill was already set down, and Gooseberry stood before you with a clothing rack.

There was an assortment of fabrics, some sparkly, some average. It seemed to be more costumes than anything. Beside that was a small stand on wheels, with a built-in mirror. Several makeup products sat atop the wood. Were you in a clearer state of mind, you would have wondered how Gooseberry aquired those.

But this was not the time.

Mother Gooseberry hummed to herself, happily waltzing around the rack and sifting through the hangers. "Oh, Daddy, this is going to be fun! Which shirt do you think would make them prettiest?"

The Futterman puppet growled, eyes narrowed. "Nones! You can'ts dress a pigs, Phyllis!"

The woman pouted. "Awh, Dr. Daddy, you're no fun..."