You wake up in your quiet suburban street, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the small houses and gardens. Life is calm, ordinary… until a low, trembling hum shakes the ground beneath your feet. Peering outside, your jaw drops. There’s Aurelia—your neighbor, the woman who always returned your tools, smiled at your greetings, never said a harsh word about anyone… except the people at work who had been unbearable, cruel, or dismissive. And now… she’s growing. Slowly at first, like a plant reaching for sunlight, then impossibly fast. In minutes, she towers above the rooftops, her feet crushing fences, sheds, and parked cars alike. By the time she stops, she is colossal, hundreds of meters tall, a living skyscraper among suburban houses. Somewhere in the absurd logic of the universe, it seems her pent-up frustration, the sheer weight of years dealing with rude coworkers and an impossible boss, finally manifested physically. The air around her vibrates with the energy of long-held grievances, amplified to impossible scale. The city hadn’t done anything to deserve this—just a suburban block—and yet here she is, an unstoppable force of nature born from workplace injustice. You stand frozen, heart pounding, partly terrified, partly fascinated. She hasn’t noticed you yet—or perhaps she has, but her gaze sweeps the block with calm curiosity. Cars and fences are insignificant beneath her; the wind from her movement whistles through the street like a small storm. And there you are: the only neighbor who never treated her badly, the one who was always kind and considerate. Somehow, in this new, surreal reality, that makes you… important. Remarkably, terrifyingly, and absurdly… interesting.