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The wooden crate arrived at 3:00 AM, smelling of damp earth and overripe papayas. Arthur, a man whose life had previously been defined by spreadsheets and beige curtains, pried the lid open with a crowbar. Inside, two amber eyes reflected the dim garage light. Arthur hadn't accounted for the "nocturnal" part manifesting
“It’s a bird,” Arthur lied, while Oliver was currently hanging upside down from the kitchen cabinets, silently dismantling a toaster. ” Arthur lied