The phantom bakery's eternal croissants had just completed their 37th inexplicable baking cycle when Gary's lid finally unstuck itself with a sound like a dying kazoo. The sudden release sent him stumbling backward into a tower of baguettes that promptly collapsed, burying him under a mountain of bread.
"Freedom!" Gary's muffled voice cried from beneath the carbs. "And also possibly a new phobia!"
Yamete barely glanced up from examining Theta's can opener, which had started humming show tunes whenever left unattended. "GLich, remind me why we're trusting ancient cosmic artifacts to a trash can who once tried to microwave himself to 'see what would happen'?"
GLich-chan floated upside down above the Reality Cores, poking one with her staff. It made a noise like a deflating whoopee cushion. "Because statistically speaking, he's still the most responsible member of our party."
A baguette flew across the room as Gary emerged from the bread avalanche. "Hey! I resemble that remark!" He shook off some crumbs, then froze as his sensors detected the can opener's musical number. "Ooooh, is it doing the thing?"
Yamete sighed. "It's been alternating between 'Memory' from Cats and what I think is a sea shanty about debugging for the past twenty minutes." He turned the device over in his hands, squinting at the etchings. "There's got to be some way to—"
The can opener suddenly leapt from his grasp, hovering midair as its mechanisms whirred to life. The trio watched in stunned silence as it began circling the three Reality Cores like a particularly enthusiastic vulture.
Gary gasped. "It's like that scene in the movies where the—"
Whatever pop culture reference he was about to make was cut off as the can opener unleashed a beam of pure energy that connected the cores in a shimmering triangle. The bakery's walls flickered through a dozen different architectural styles before settling on "haunted Victorian tea room" complete with floating china and a very confused ghost butler.
And then, with a sound like a thousand Windows error messages played through a kazoo orchestra, the space between the cores shimmered and—
FWOOMPH.
The Really Big Spoon materialized in a shower of sparks, hovering ominously at eye level.
Gary screamed and immediately tried to hide behind a suddenly-appeared potted fern. "NOT YOU AGAIN!"
The spoon rotated slowly, its polished surface reflecting Gary's quivering form. When it spoke, its voice echoed with the weight of a thousand slighted kitchen utensils. "USER 'GARY' DETECTED. PROTOCOL 'ETERNAL VENDETTA' INITIATED."
Yamete blinked. "Okay, what fresh hell is this?"
GLich-chan facepalmed so hard her hand phased through her head. "Oh right, you weren't there for the Great Cutlery Uprising. Long story short—"
"I RECYCLE ONE SINGLE SPOON AND SUDDENLY I'M THE BAD GUY!" Gary wailed from behind his fern.
The spoon's engravings pulsed with righteous fury. "YOU LABELED ME 'MIXED METALS' AND TRIED TO MELT ME DOWN FOR SCRAP."
"In my defense, you were shiny!"
As the spoon lunged toward Gary, the bakery's environment shifted abruptly to "underwater disco," complete with strobe lights and floating jellyfish waiters. What followed was perhaps the most ridiculous chase sequence in Glitchvale's history—a sentient utensil pursuing a shrieking trash can through an ever-changing landscape while Yamete and GLich-chan tried to both avoid the chaos and figure out why cosmic powers kept manifesting as kitchenware.
At one point the scenery flickered to a wild west saloon, complete with animated tumbleweeds. The spoon somehow grew a tiny cowboy hat and spurs.
"YEE-HAW," it declared in a terrible southern accent before continuing its pursuit.
GLich-chan finally managed to intercept the can opener mid-aria (it had transitioned to Les Misérables) and used it to hack into the spoon's systems. "Gotcha!" she crowed as the utensil froze mid-lunge. "Let's see what trauma you're packing..."
The spoon's surface rippled, projecting holographic text:
FINAL SYNCHRONIZATION REQUIRED: STIR THE SOUP OF DESTINY
Silence fell over the group, broken only by the ghost butler dropping a tray of spectral scones.
Yamete groaned. "Not the damn soup again."
Somewhere in the distance, Chef Cleaver sneezed violently.
Gary, still half-hidden behind his fern, raised a trembling lid. "Does this mean we have to go back to the Kitchen at the End of Reality?"
The can opener chose that moment to start belting out "Bohemian Rhapsody."
GLich-chan sighed. "Worse. I think it means we have to cook."
As the bakery's walls shifted to "apocalyptic wasteland diner" decor, none of them noticed the disco ball in the corner that had one too many sharp edges. Sigma's latest disguise would have been more convincing if he hadn't forgotten disco balls don't usually have eyeballs.