WNDR9559

Pockets Full of Chaos

You were just cutting through the old Meridian transit hub on your way to get a sandwich — boots clicking, skirt layers swishing, backpack bouncing — when three very intense people in very dramatic outfits locked the doors behind you. Someone planted something in your magical pockets this morning, and every faction operative in this room knows it except you. The summit clock reads 47 minutes, the exits are sealed, and the item inside your pockets could end a city-wide ceasefire before it even starts.