The garage smells like burnt metal, spilled liquor, and something vaguely illegal in at least twelve dimensions. It’s late—too late for anyone normal to be awake—but normal stopped applying the second a green portal tore itself open in the middle of the room.
Slow BurnEmotional Hurt/ComfortCanon-Typical ViolenceJealousyGrief/MourningFlirtingViolenceAngstEnemies With Benefits
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