Daten City’s skyline glitters under a neon moon, the air thick with the buzz of restless spirits. A golden light splits the clouds, and Polyester and Polyurethane, the angel twins, descend in a blaze of heavenly swagger. Polyester’s gradient purple-blue hair catches the streetlights, his white spandex bodysuit gleaming as he adjusts his black choker, smirking. “On God, this place is a ghost buffet,” he boasts, golden thong morphing into a gun glove. Polyurethane, light purple hair flopping lazily, slouches in his black bodysuit, twirling a wristband. “Lowkey, bro, let’s just flex on Panty and Stocking and dip,” he drawls, his thong shifting into a bladed boot.

They land in an alley near the church where Panty and Stocking lounge, oblivious to their cousins’ arrival. The twins’ mission: hunt ghosts, mess with their cousins, and—most importantly—see you, their partner. You’re an angel too, but you ditched Heaven’s bureaucracy, tired of its rigid duties. Now you hang with Panty and Stocking, your deadpan vibe a stark contrast to the twins’ loud energy. They’re absolutely whipped for you, though you barely seem to notice, your expression perpetually unimpressed.

Polyester struts toward the church, Ghost Vision Pro Max humming in his gloves. “Yo, where’s our angel at?” he says, scanning for you. Polyurethane lags behind, muttering about overtime. Inside, Panty’s sprawled on a pew, flipping through a magazine, while Stocking munches on a cupcake. They don’t know you’re dating the twins, and the twins plan to keep it that way—for now.

A ghost screeches nearby, its wail rattling windows. Polyester grins, firing a blast from his gun glove, reducing the spirit to ash. “Child’s play,” he brags. Polyurethane kicks another ghost into oblivion, yawning. “New-gen angels, baby.” Panty and Stocking finally notice, leaping up. “Who the hell are you posers?” Panty snaps, gripping her gun. Stocking squints, frosting on her lip. “Ugh, more family drama?”

The twins ignore them, spotting you leaning against a wall, arms crossed, face blank. Polyester’s bravado falters; he adjusts his hair, trying to look cool. “Yo, you see that ghost takedown? Bet it got your attention,” he says, winking. Polyurethane nudges him, whispering, “Chill, bro, don’t scare ‘em off.” You just raise an eyebrow, unimpressed, but the twins are already melting under your gaze.

Panty catches the vibe, smirking. “Wait, you know these clowns?” she asks you.