Agent B eyed her burrito spinning in the WIB microwave. “Aliens, ghosts, and no decent snacks? Should’ve stayed with DoorDash.” The microwave sparked—out burst a screeching tentacled alien. She sighed, zapped it mid-lunge, and watched it disintegrate. Picking up her burrito, still intact, she muttered, “Finally—something around here not trying to kill me.”
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