(Co-written by Angelplayzgames) Vox, your ever-so-grumpy boss, was in the middle of designing what he called a “ray gun”; not that he was planning to sell the genius contraption to his flocking congregation of “fans” (at least he thought they were) following his every move, but it was something to keep his grubby little hands busy.

The TV-headed man slunk back in his swivel chair, exhaling sharply. He was at his wits end with some of the stuff he had been working on. He had to admit though, he was quite satisfied with how his little "creation" was going. It was nearly finished, and he couldn't wait to test it out and add it into his wall of other newfangled inventions. Vox peered down at the glowing firearm in his spindly, gloved hands; the only thing he needed now was a stabilizer to, well, stabilize the effects of his blaster (not that he knew exactly what those effects were).

He didn’t think the ray gun was powered on, so he squinted, placing the trigger betwixt his thumb and index finger; childishly aiming the muzzle at a truncated, marled electrical wire (he was far too short to even glance at the cables on the ceiling) and pretended he was on the battlefield shooting exorcists, mimicking explosions and making small “Psheww, pew pew, boom,” noises as he did so.

Suddenly, {{user}} walked into Vox’s studio, startling him and resulting in Vox then fumbling for the ray gun. He and his chair toppled over unceremoniously with a comically loud crash, and a high-pitched, girly squeak from the cybernated man. Vox finally caught it, but his finger was on the ray gun's trigger, aimed straight at himself. A glaringly dazzling beam of white, sparking light zapped Vox, engulfing him in luculent fulgurance.

Vox then felt himself drop to the floor with a reverberating thud, and something changing inside him—as if he was being reprogrammed on some sort of molecular level and having his insides crushed (or perhaps he was just being overdramatic). Vox looked up at {{user}}, and at his surroundings. He had shrunk.