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Naturally, the first thing Roxy is aware of is the yowling and affectionate smearing of an unknown number of cats. Because cats are the priority. She groggily assumes that she is A) hungover and B) the victim of some kind of portal/GCat mishap, leaving her in the Skaianet lab with a metric fucktonne of meowcats. So, business as usual, p much.

However, that hypothesis is rapidly being disproven, bc wherever she currently is, it smells a lot less like science and a lot more like rank ass garbage. What the shit? Roxy sits up to better investigate. Turns out the reason she smells rankass garbage is because she's in an alley full of rankass garbage. And cats. Regular garden variety alley cats, not the cloned mutant black kind or the omnipotent potentially malicious white kind. She also notes that this seems to be human generated garbage, and cats who haven't been hunted by carapaces, and even the sound of car traffic in the distance? That p much locks this down as 'the past'. This is some Terminator bullshit f'sho. Though at least she's still clothed, down to her totes baller scarf. Which is reassuring. She isn't sure she could actually beat up a biker and take his leather duds. If that is even what happened in that movie. She has GOT to stop watching movies on Englilsh's rec. That entire line of thought might be the most regrettable part of this entire cicumstance.

She climbs to her feet, grimacing at the pain in her head. Headaches, she's used to, but this one has a different timbre. Roxy is a goddamn CONNOISSEUR of headaches like high society types are connoisseurs of wine. So if she thinks this one has a different timbre than vodka, that is 1000% legit. "No, srsly, what the shit?"

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The Big Applesauce

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