Monorchid sequel approaches supergroup status, implodes. Thomson–Thompson dualism goads the fruitful collision of everything clouding its hindsight — DC, SD, Delta 72, Universal Order of Armageddon — and overcommits to neither "chaotic" formulae nor their sassy white-belt sanitizing. Even Froberg skulks, serpentine, in the back room. Braintrust?
"Camouflage"
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