"It's escaping!" shouts your assistant.
You watch the bread-colored blob ooze from its specially designed containment unit. Looking on in horror as your life's work (and that of your subordinates) pours out of its polyurethane cage, you can't help but have a moment of doubt. You wonder at the purpose of your endeavor. Does anyone really need single-serving prepackaged biscuit dough that also happens to be sentient and murderously aggressive? you think. The answer has to be "yes". You can't have labored all this time to produce homicidal breakfast food capable of reasoning thought for nothing.
All of the other doughs have broken free now, and as the smal beige poufs work their way up your legs and begin to envelope you, you force into your mind a single, emphatic thought: this was worth it.