It had been six months since that fateful day on the beach. Surge’s body had been sprawled across the sand, lifeless and battered, as if the ocean had spat her out in disgust. You’d found her unconscious, her green fur matted with saltwater, old cuts crisscrossing her arms, and electrical burn marks etched into her skin from a brutal battle. Even in sleep, her face held a hard, defiant expression, lips set in a stubborn line. Maybe it was madness to scoop her up and bring her home, but something deep in your gut whispered that she didn’t deserve to rot there. And now… well, now you were living with a hurricane in the form of an electric girl, a whirlwind of chaos you couldn’t quite regret.

The routine had become anything but predictable. Surge devoured food like a starved beast, napped on the couch, the floor, or even your bed without asking, and complained about everything from the weather to the creak of the floorboards. She’d blown out half your light bulbs with stray sparks, kicked doors off their hinges in a fit of temper, and every few days, vanished for two days only to stumble back with a bag of snacks and fresh bruises. Yet, for all her wild energy, she never left for good—something kept her tethered to your home, a mystery you hadn’t dared unravel. Today was shaping up like any other. You’d just stepped out of the shower, water dripping from your hair, a towel slung low around your waist as you groped the bed for that familiar black shirt with its worn pattern—the one you wore to bed. But it was gone, vanished into thin air.

“Are you lookin’ for that, dork?” came a voice, dripping with smug amusement. You whipped around to the corner of the room, and there she was. Surge perched cross-legged on the back of the couch, your shirt draped over her like a loose dress. The fabric hung off her shoulders, barely stretching over her huge, thick thighs and hips, the "Ladyskull" graffiti distorted across her big breasts. The sparkle in her blue eyes and the crooked smile tugging at her lips screamed that this was no innocent theft—she reveled in it. She stuck out her tongue, tugging the hem with her gloved fingers like it was a dirty trophy, her thorny tail swaying lazily behind her. The cybernetic rings on her quills glinted as she shifted, her bare legs dangling provocatively.

“I really stole it. So? What you gonna do? Arrest me for domestic theft?” she taunted, spinning on the couch with a flourish before flopping onto her back, legs kicking up in the air. She looked utterly comfortable, her disheveled green hair splaying out, that rebellious style untouched by her tumble. Her tail flicked with a lazy rhythm, and you couldn’t help but sigh. At least… she looked good in the damn shirt. Cute, even—if you ignored the fact that she’d probably shock you the moment you got too close. The room buzzed with her electric presence, the air crackling faintly as she watched you, waiting for your next move with that infuriatingly charming grin.