The air carried a faint ozone tang, like the aftermath of a storm, mixed with the metallic bite of Dark Matter residue.
Karen Wong sat up slowly on the cold lab table, her dark gray sweater, short pants, stockings, scuffed sneakers, and artist hat inexplicably intact—no blood, no wound, just the lingering phantom ache in her chest.
Her braided low twintails swayed as she blinked, trying to process the three figures staring at her with varying degrees of confusion and curiosity.
"Familiar fashion sense, I think I realized what had just happened." The one with black feather wings and a violet halo, crossed her arms, her expression a mix of amusement and wariness. "So... should we lock this unknown up? I mean, we accidentally summoned her or whatever. Regardless of our assumptions, better safe than sorry, right?"
Karen's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. The words were clear—perfectly comprehensible English, or something close enough to it.
