(Sound effect: A whoosh, followed by the crackle of electricity)

Bør (voice distorted, as if coming through a time rift):

"I've stumbled through more realities than I can count, each more chaotic than the last. But this? This takes the freaking quantum cake. Effin' A, How did I end up in this clusterfuck of a timeline, in these exacto lands my antecessors once called home?"

This isn't just chaos—it's the Magnum Opus of Mayhem, the Sistine Chapel of Shit-shows, the Mona Lisa of Madness. It's the most convoluted chapter of my existence, and that's saying something. Was it actually easy to overcome, or is that just another lie I tell myself?