We Break Things, Professionally

Two hours after sundown, Max stood on the cracked pavement outside what used to be City Hall. Well, it was technically still City Hall, just… a lot less city and a lot more hell. The building’s stone façade was fractured, spider-webbing like a windshield had made friends with a tree. Frost curled stubbornly around shattered streetlamps, and the sidewalks were slick with flooding water that had frozen in jagged sheets — like the city couldn’t decide whether it was drowning or freezing to death.

Above, on the building’s second floor, a swirling red and blue portal spun open like a bad bruise on the face of reality. It cast flickering, eerie light across the scene. Fire and smoke danced in impossible colors—violet twisting into icy blue, sparks popping like miniature thunderclaps. It pulsed with a low hum that tickled Max’s teeth and set his skin buzzing, a sound and feeling that said this is not normal and also, maybe don’t get too close.

That’s when the ice tiger jumped through.