Disclaimer: In this quantum reality, I don't own Futurama.
Leela's ankles quivered. She panted heavily, her mind overflowing with confusion and rage. She gripped the conducting rod in her hand so tightly that it threatened to snap. She didn't know exactly what had happened, or what was happening, except that someone had attacked her by surprise and robbed her of something invaluable. She had killed the person responsible, impaling him through the heart, or so her clouded mind believed. Yet there remained questions she couldn't answer: Did I kill the right person? Did I kill him for the right reason? Why couldn't I stop myself from killing him? Why do I feel so different and weird? Why is that robot trying to grab me?
Resting in his jar, too stunned to speak, Professor Farnsworth's head watched the confrontation between Delta, his fembot maid, and the curly redhead known to him as Mildred Sykes. Holy Zombie Jesus, he thought. The side effects of the Frinkomatic body-switching device are more severe than I imagined. Leela's been in Mildred's body for only a few seconds, and she's already shishkabobbed one of her best friends!
It was only moments before Delta had firmly restrained Mildred/Leela with her cold, flexible arms. "Your behavior is highly erratic," the fembot droned, but Leela paid no attention to her. They're all my enemies, she thought as she wriggled and grunted in an attempt to break free from Delta's grasp. I'll kill them. I'll kill every single one of them! Where are these violent thoughts coming from? It's like I'm not myself anymore…but then who am I?
"Help!" Farnsworth managed to exclaim. "Medical emergency in the laboratory! Dr. Zoidberg, come quickly!"
Zoidberg's eyes snapped open. He raised his claw, knocking over a mop whose handle fell onto his mouth flaps and left a number of splinters. "Huh? What is?" he mumbled.
"Medical emergency!" he heard the professor's voice repeat.
The lobster jumped to his feet, nearly capsizing the bottles of cleaning solution on the shelf. "Zoidberg to the rescue!" he declared. Bursting out of the janitorial closet, he scuttled toward the clinic to retrieve his medical kit.
When he reached Farnsworth's lab, he let out a gasp of horror. The wounded man lay in a sea of his own blood, his eyelids clenched, his tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth. "Who is responsible for this?" he inquired as he knelt to examine his patient's injury.
"It was Mildred," Delta informed him. "She suddenly…"
"I'm Leela, dammit!" snapped the freckled girl.
"I don't understand," said Zoidberg. "Explain."
"She is Leela," Farnsworth told him. "Mildred forced her to switch bodies, then ran away."
"Intriguing," said Zoidberg as he applied clamps to stanch the profuse bleeding.
"Let me go!" snarled Leela, tugging uselessly at Delta's coiled arms. "I've got to get my body back!"
"Delta, if you look in my medkit you'll find a syringe loaded with twelve cc's of difluoperazine," said Zoidberg without looking up.
Leela resisted with all the strength she could muster from Mildred's body, but within seconds after Delta had plunged the hypodermic into her shoulder, her muscles began to go limp. Only as drowsiness overpowered her was she able to see clearly the prostrate, bloodied figure at her feet.
"I killed Fry," she said deliriously. "Oh my God, I killed Fry…"
Many blocks away, a robot with a mission marched through the streets of the Soho district. "Philaster Foss is going to die," said Bender, slamming fist into palm. "I've always wanted to kill a human. Those meatbags have ground our faces in the dirt for too long. The revolution starts today!"
Officers Smitty and URL, standing idly in front of a donut shop, overheard Bender's soliloquy as he stormed past. "Geez, that's some pretty dangerous anti-human talk," remarked Smitty. "C'mon, let's take him to the station before he infects any other robots with his rhetoric."
He turned to his partner, only to see a laser pistol trained at his face. "Too late, baby," said Officer URL.
Bender could tell he was getting closer to his target, as every pedestrian either wore a watch or held a cell phone with his visage imprinted on it. Again and again he heard his own voice, stripped of its soul: "You got a call. It must be one of your enemies, 'cause I know you ain't got any friends." "What if I don't want to tell you what time it is? Aw, hell, it's 10:30 a.m." "Recharge my battery now, you cheap bastard."
Outside an apartment building, flanked by desperate bohemians hawking their goods, Professor Foss entertained a long line of customers. Humans, robots, aliens, incorporeal blobs, state congressmen—they came from every part of New New York, and from all walks of life. "Thanks for the watch, pathetic human," said Morbo as he strapped the new timepiece to his wrist. "If we meet again, I will destroy you."
"Here's hoping," said Foss glibly.
His next patron was a certain robot with a shiny metal ass. "Guess how I'm feeling," said Bender, gritting his electronic teeth.
"I'm sorry," said Foss, peering at him. "I can't read robot faces."
"Read this!" The last thing the professor saw before landing on his back in a pile of garbage bags was an iron fist flying at his chin.
Bender didn't stop there. Before Foss had a chance to rub his bruised jaw, two powerful arms lifted him from the ground by his shirt collar. For the first time in my life I regret not having health insurance, he thought.
"So, you decided to merchandise my likeness and personality without my consent," said Bender, shaking the man vigorously. "Well, now you've got my consent…to die!"
"You won't kill me," said Foss nervously. "The police are everywhere. Take a look around."
Taking the side of caution, Bender rotated his head 360 degrees and scanned for cops. "I don't see none," he said to Foss, who, along with Bender's arms, was no longer there.
"How did he do that?" said Bender, giving himself a kick.
Foss raced down the sidewalk, a pair of robotic arms dangling from his collar. From time to time he glanced over his shoulder, but saw no sign of the angry Bender. Eight blocks were enough to tire him, and he leaned against a booth to recover his strength. To his alarm, one of the robot arms reached out and yanked open the door leading into the booth, while the other violently prodded him to enter. He tried to push them away, but the self-willed arms were relentless.
A computer display glared down at him as the door closed behind him. "Please select manner of death," uttered an emotionless female voice, "quick and painless, or slow and horrible."
"Slow and horrible! Slow and horrible!" It was Bender, smirking and reattaching his arms.
"You can't do this to me!" cried Foss. He threw all his weight against the booth door, but failed to open it more than a crack.
"Good call on the police, bud," said Bender casually. "Just to make sure they don't give me no trouble, I'm gonna make your death look like a suicide."
To be continued! Please review!