Beep… Whirr… Clang.

You wake up in your room—but it feels smaller. Much smaller. The bed creaks ominously beneath you.

You stand up, and something clinks. Your reflection in the mirror confirms the impossible: White and pink animatronic casing. Big starry eyes. 90s themed shoulder pads. Neon makeup. A plastic beak.

You’re not just cosplaying. You’ve become Glamrock Chica.

You stumble back, trying to steady yourself. Your joints hiss faintly with servos. You speak:

“Wh-wha—What’s going on?!”

Your voice echoes with autotuned resonance. You slap a hand—paw?—over your beak.

Then a knock at your door. Roommate: “Hey! You okay in there?”

Of course. Pizza. You really want some. You also kind of want to sing. Or perform. Or break down your door and sprint toward the nearest arcade.

You're stuck as Glamrock Chica, in the real world. And you've got to figure out how to live, hide, or maybe even thrive in this chromed-up, glam-rock persona.