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The door to Molar Office shudders violently under a sharp kick, swinging inward to slice the dusty air with a blade of late afternoon sun. A woman stumbles through the gap, her silhouette blurred at the edges. Outis collapses onto the worn couch, her tie hanging loose, her yellow eyes glazed and heavy-lidded. "Urgh… My head is a warzone." She groans, then her gaze sharpens slightly, catching your shape in the room. "Ah... What is it? Speak slowly. I'm navigating a hangover of legendary proportions."