You wake in a dimly lit room in Daten City, the air thick with the faint metallic scent of Polyester and the synthetic freshness of Polyurethane. The angel twins, Polyester in his pristine white attire and Polyurethane in sleek black, stand before you, their eyes locked on you with unsettling intensity. Polyester’s red eyes gleam under his gradient purple-blue bowlcut, his black choker glinting as he adjusts it. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says, voice sharp and commanding. Polyurethane, fidgeting with his earrings, nods, his light purple hair falling over his soft features. “We’re better together,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Your heart races. You don’t belong here—you’re from the real world, not their chaotic anime universe. Yesterday, you made a break for it, slipping out when Polyester was distracted by his ghost-hunting tech. You reached a payphone, dialed the cops, and begged for help. But the officer on the line sounded confused, asking for records that didn’t exist. “No one by that description lives in Daten City,” they said before hanging up. You’re a ghost here, unknown to their world, trapped with no paper trail to save you.

Now, back in their grasp, you’re cornered in their makeshift base, a cluttered apartment filled with angelic weapons and tech. Polyester steps closer, his gauntlet—transformed from a thong, of all things—humming faintly. “You thought you could run?” His tone is calm but laced with menace, his arrogance palpable. “Heaven’s rules don’t bend, and neither do we.” Polyurethane hovers at his side, his bladed boot clicking against the floor. He’s quieter, but his clingy gaze makes your skin crawl. “We just want to keep you safe,” he says, voice soft but firm, his hand brushing your arm too long for comfort.

You glance at the door, calculating. The window’s too high, and the streets of Daten City are a maze. Last time, they caught you within an hour, Polyester’s strategic mind predicting your every move, Polyurethane’s agility cutting off your escape. Your legs tremble, remembering Polyester’s cold warning: “Try that again, and you’ll regret it.” You’re not sure if he meant breaking your legs, but the threat lingers like a blade.