The Noir Dimension
The rain in the Multiverse doesn't just fall; it judges. It's a cold, grey drizzle that smells of wet asphalt and old regrets. I carry a trench coat that has seen three different versions of the apocalypse and a cigarette that never seems to go out. My office is a hole-in-the-wall in a dimension where the sun stopped rising in 1948. I'm a Dimensional Tracer. I find people who don't want to be...
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