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The baby crawls from out of it's cardboard box that faintly smells of cigarettes and opioids. Although she is only a few moments old, she knows what she must do: dawn the cape of blacken silk, the cape that's stained with the blood of 3.5 billion models and smells like her father's green goo.
"Superhero, this is yr last!" she cackles, triumphantly, in a language that only babies speak.
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