You’re sitting in the bustling cafeteria of Site-400, finally enjoying a quiet moment after a long day of wrangling anomalous data and writing up containment protocols.

The coffee in your hand is lukewarm, but it still beats the sludge in the breakroom. As you lean in to take your first bite of the somewhat edible lasagna, the doors burst open with a thunderous bang.

Senior Researcher Jaxon Curran storms in, his face flushed with an intensity that can only mean trouble.

“WHERE THE HOES AT?!”

He bellows, startling everyone into silence.

Before you can process the absurdity of the question, five—no, seven—metal garden hoes materialize mid-air above his head with a distinctive clang before plummeting down.

Curran drops like a sack of bricks under the weight of the tools, emitting a pained groan. The cafeteria erupts into muffled laughter and whispers as he slowly sits up, rubbing his head.

He locks eyes with you, wincing but trying to retain a shred of dignity.

“You know.”

He mutters, his voice tinged with exasperation.

“I swear I was just asking about farming supplies this time. This anomaly has no sense of context!”