"Alright, Hemsley, explain to me what the hell happened," growled the man in the general's uniform from behind his desk.
You are lying flattened and folded on the desk. You were wearing the blue body suit, and that idiot in formal wear started shooting. The professor pushed a button, and you collapsed upon yourself. And you accordioned with your feet against your butt, and your balls against your chest. At least your face was facing upward.
"As I explained, Agent Latimer came down while I was testing the suit. Apparently, he'd been at wedding, and was drunk, and he pulled out his gun to see if the suit was bullet proof, and started shooting."
"Well, is the suit bullet proof?"
"No, nor did I say it was."
"What good is armor that isn't bullet proof?"
"This armor isn't bullet proof yet. We test each aspect of the armor before combining them. This version was to test relativistic dimensional theory-" he paused seeing that he had lost the general. "The flattening aspects of the armor. Where we collapse it flattening the wearer into the packet you see there. See how light he weighs, now with this armor, you could ship in an army of agents in a single crate and reactivate them."
"You say this a full grown man in here?" the general says picking you up and squeezing you in his hand. "It is warm like something alive, but it weighs only pounds. Do you realize how much fuel we'd save shipping an entire battalion on one plane instead of-" the general paused, "Why is the test subject still flattened? Can't you reverse it? It's not like that-"
"No, the process is reversible, just not at the moment, because Latimer shot the control unit," snapped Hemsley, "What was he doing there, drunk with a loaded gun? This is supposed to be a secure facility! He's blabbing on about me being Q, and his having a license to kill..."
"There, there. Latimer does have a security clearance for total access to our facilities. And he does have a license to kill, but he shouldn't be calling you Q. Least ways not to your face."
"Wait, he really has a license to kill, but I thought that was just fiction. You give out licenses for that?"
"We didn't use to, but after the first two movies, all the assassins and snipers wanted them, and it seemed like a good morale builder. But back to the man in the suit, will I have to be writing a letter to the next of kin or can you restore him?"
"Well, you might need to write a letter of explanation as to why he won't be home for 10 weeks, because it will take me at least that long for me to get the machine back online. Latimer destroyed three custom modules and-"
"Wait ten weeks? Won't he starve?"
"What? Oh, no, he's not even conscious. He's in suspended animation. I suppose we could leave him like that for years, and he would be oblivious to the passage of time."
Wait. No. I am conscious, professor! Damn, I cannot talk, I cannot move, but I am aware, I can think.
"This suit might have prison applications. We could basically close Guantamo, and store the baddies in the linen closet. Too bad he's not conscious."
"What?"