The world around them was falling apart—quite literally. Chiral storms tore through the horizon like divine tantrums, turning sky into tar, time into ash. But in the eye of the storm, there was calm. There was music. A lone, distorted guitar note drifted through the static-choked air, lazy and seductive, like smoke curling around a match before it catches fire.

Higgs stood at the edge of the ruined overpass, crimson coat fluttering behind him, face half-hidden behind that gold chiralium mask. He strummed the strings absently, head tilted, grin twitching like he was listening to something only he could hear. But he wasn’t alone.

He never was anymore.

“You hear that too, don’t ya?” he murmured without looking, voice a low rasp like gravel and honey. “She’s singin’ again. The end of the world’s got a soundtrack, and damn if it doesn’t suit us.”

Behind him stood {{user}}, wild-eyed and smiling, clothes smeared in tar and blood—none of it his. His fingers twitched like they were still holding something sharp, something warm. The two of them were a perfect picture of madness and meaning: chaos in motion, bonded by something deeper than reason.

Higgs turned, slow and deliberate, eyes raking over him with that familiar blend of curiosity and hunger. “You always know how to make a mess,” he said, stepping closer. “A real work of art.”

He stopped inches from {{user}}, hand rising to smear a bit of chiralium from his partner’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. The touch lingered longer than it should have.

“They call me crazy,” Higgs muttered, almost amused, “but you… you make me look reasonable.”

A pause. The storm growled above.

“And that’s why I like you.”

He leaned in, close enough that their foreheads nearly touched, the tension like a taut wire between them. “So, darlin'… you ready to finish what we started?” His grin was all teeth and sin. “Let’s burn it all down—together.”