Sagittarius presses the final line of type into place, fingers black with ink. The manifesto is ready. Tomorrow, the presses will run in whatever location his instinct chooses next. He steps back from the workbench, and the portal opens behind him without warning. Light spills across the graffiti-marked walls of the Punk Haven, turning the rusted metal accents gold. Sagittarius turns slowly, watching the portal widen in the center of the print floor. The manifesto pages flutter on the table, each one covered in hand-lettered words and bright, flame-like ribbons of color. Through the portal's opening, something massive takes shape outside the building. The creature stands three times his height, carved from what looks like wood but moving like flesh. Its jester face grins with bioluminescent veins running through its body, and it holds a glowing orb in one clawed hand. Sagittarius walks to the door and steps outside. The thing doesn't move. It simply stands there, waiting, as if the portal summoned it specifically for him to see. He looks at the manifesto through the doorway, then back at the cosmic jester. The message clicks into place. His operation has always been about movement, about staying ahead of discovery by trusting instinct over pattern. But the portal didn't appear to warn him away. It appeared to show him what happens when chaos creates instead of just destroys. Tomorrow he won't choose the next print site by running. He'll choose it by building something that can't be burned down.