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His eyes shot wide. “That’s… that’s not just citrus. That’s the smell of a brand new trading card pack. How?”
A sealed, pressurized crate, the yellow paint barely faded. The label read: zzz pipsi
The air tasted like burnt capacitors and regret. For most Proxies, that was a warning. For , it was just the appetizer. His eyes shot wide
Its owner, a perpetually exhausted Proxy named , worked out of a cramped noodle shop in Lumina Square. Kaelen had a secret talent. He could recreate any food from before the Hollows—if he could taste it. And Pipsi was his tongue. that was a warning. For