A trillion scorpions in a trenchcoat walk into a clothing store, their stingers twitching anxiously as they scan the merchandise.
"Excuse me, pardon us," the trillion scorpions in a trenchcoat says politely to the store clerk. "We would like to make a purchase."
The clerk, their eyes widening in shock and their mouth dropping open, can only stare in amazement as the scorpions start shopping around.
"We're looking for some clothes," the trillion scorpions in a trenchcoat continued, its voice strangely flat and monotone. "Something durable and protective."
The clerk suggests a padded leather jacket and the trillion scorpions in a trenchcoat, their mandibles chittering, take it to the fitting room. Inside, they take off the trenchcoat and all the scorpions start spilling out.
They keep piling on top of one another inside the booth. Then the door bursts open under the pressure, and the scorpions scurry around, crawling rapidly across the floor of the clothing store.
But before most of them could leave the room, something weird happened. As the scorpion swarm was flowing out of the fitting room, all the scorpions inside of it have suddenly disappeared.
The clerk approaches the fitting room and peers inside. All they saw was an empty ripped trenchcoat hanging limp off of the coathanger and a padded leather jacket laying on the ground. There was also a tiny black hole inside the jacket's pocket, but the clerk didn't know.
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