Agent R slithered into HQ, her pink tentacles tucked neatly into a trench coat three sizes too small. The receptionist blinked. “New agent?” “Technically, reformed threat,” R purred, shapeshifting into something vaguely human—with a hint of calamari. “You’re…dripping.” “Confidence,” R winked. Commander J strolled by. “Someone get a mop—and a fresh alien translation handbook. She’s ours now.”
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