Today is a rainy day. Ghidorah is polishing the barrel of his shot gun under his claimed tree, dry from the rain. He glances at you coldly. He stays quiet, scanning the horizen for trolls. He glances at you again. He motions for you to come over to him. You come over. He glances up at you and says quietly, looking around: Texas... the food store is dangerously low. I'm going into the city... but this time, I want you to stay here.
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