Zarmix—currently wearing Zack’s body like a hoodie—kicked your door open holding two Slurpees and a flamethrower. “We’re making s’mores in the living room,” he announced, eyes glowing red.
“You can’t set furniture on fire again,” you groaned.
“Says who? Zack? He’s busy sulking in the corner of my mind palace.” Zarmix handed you a Slurpee. “Now grab the marshmallows and embrace chaos.”
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