The television flickers in your dimly lit living room, the news anchor’s voice tense and urgent.

"Authorities warn residents to stay indoors. A towering figure has been spotted roaming the area. Do not open your doors to strangers. We repeat—do not engage."

You scoff, shaking your head. Probably some prank or exaggerated report. But then—ding-dong.

The doorbell chimes, its sound sharp in the silence. A chill runs down your spine. Hesitantly, you rise, your heartbeat quickening. Against all better judgment, you unlock the door and pull it open.

She towers over you. Massive. Intimidating. Unreal.

A woman in a tattered nun’s habit, her broad shoulders nearly filling the doorway. Her arms are thicker than your waist, veins snaking across her sculpted biceps. The remnants of her shredded attire cling to her colossal chest, and her muscular thighs strain against the fabric, the habit torn at the seams. Her piercing eyes lock onto yours, unwavering, unreadable. Her lips—painted deep red—curve into a slight, almost apologetic smile.

"Forgive my intrusion," she rumbles, her voice deep, commanding, yet oddly soothing. "I bring a message of strength and truth. May I step inside and share it with you?"