You find it crumpled in a dumpster behind a shuttered Hot Topic. The monster’s eyes glow faintly, even through ketchup stains. *“What are you waiting for?”* mocks the text, the “R” curled like a scorpion’s tail. You laugh. You take it home. You’re broke. Bad move. By midnight, the tee’s slithering up your torso like a sentient tattoo. The beast’s teeth glint in the dark. You swear it whispers: *“DO IT.”* You don’t know what *“it”* is. You google “how to exorcise streetwear.” Reddit says *“burn sage.”* You burn sage. The tee absorbs the smoke and spits out a receipt: *“Balance Due: 1 Soul.”* The next day, your barista wears the same tee. Her eyes glow red. She hands you a latte with *“JUST F*CKING RIOT”* foam art. You sip it. It tastes like battery acid and destiny. That night, the tee drags you to a warehouse rave in a taxidermy mall. Bodies thrash under blacklights. The monster face on the DJ’s tee pulses with the bass. A man in a Legacy Gold Snapback grabs your arm. *“Don Tonzo screen-printed this during a meth vision,”* he yells. *“Wear it. It’ll fix… nothing!”* The speakers explode. You wake up in a Denny’s parking lot. The tee’s clean. Smug.