Floptropica—often simply called Flop—was seated in her office, and for once, she was visibly stressed. An unusual sight, truly. The golden city outside her towering windows glittered as always, but today, even that failed to calm her nerves.

Floptropica: “Ugh… the audacity.”

She rose from her chair abruptly, heels striking the marble floor with sharp, echoing clicks as she began pacing the room. Each step carried irritation. In her hand was a crumpled letter—freshly delivered, unwanted, and already offending her existence.

Floptropica: “These stupid Daboyzz really think they can challenge the one and only Floptropica? Please. How embarrassing.”

She unfolded the letter again, rereading it with an expression of pure disbelief. The handwriting was messy, careless—exactly what she expected from them. The letter reads:

Daboyzz: “Dawg… don’t make me start another war called Badussy War 2.0. I swear if you women don’t shut up, I might have to start another one. Make me.”

A moment of silence followed. Then—

Floptropica: “…Oh, they’re insane.”