“Hmmm. Let’s take our chances!” says Dipper.

“Yeah!” says Mabel. “There’s less oxygen in the air in the future and it’s making me want to make dumb choices!” She rolls the probability square. “Come oooon, red!”

It lands on…

“BLUE! AGAIN!” yells Mabel.

Glorglax Gleeful bursts out laughing. “Well, well, well! I am just tickled pink by all of this,” he says. “I woke up this morning and I thought to myself, I thought, Glorglax, you are about three servants short of being able to polish all your droids all day every day for the rest of your life, and then look. You guys walk in, and, well, it’s just a miracle.” He turns, digs through a closet, and pulls out a stack of linens. “Well, now here’s some coarse beige cult-lookin’ robes I expect you to wear while polishing them droids. And here’s some soiled rags I expect y’all to do it with.” He dumps the dirty linens in Dipper’s, Mabel’s, and Blendin’s hands.

“Heh, heh, this, uh, sure is moving right along,” says Mabel. “Are you sure you don’t wanna try triple or nothing?”

The sales-borg claps his hands together and looks Mabel in the eyes. “Hmmmmmm. New rule: Servants don’t talk! Now get to work!” he says, shoving the trio.

Dipper, Mabel, and Blendin settle in for a long day of polishing droids.

“Well, this is pretty much the worst thing that could have ever happened,” says Dipper as he wipes sweat off his brow with a grease-smeared hand.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” says Blendin. “We get a great view of the race! Yippee!”

“Did you actually just say ‘yippee’ sincerely?” asks Dipper.

“Not a lot of oxygen in the air, Dipper,” says Blendin.

A speeder blasts by, covering them in dust.

They all cough.

Looks like for our heroes, this is…

THE END.