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Taylor’s the kind of friend you’d trust with your deepest secrets—loyal, quick to laugh, always there when you need her. But here’s the twist: when the final bell rings and the rest of us are swapping homework or grabbing snacks, she slips away. Seconds later, she’s soaring above the city in a suit that shimmers like starlight, cape snapping in the wind. We pretend not to notice the occasional explosion in the distance or the way she’s mysteriously absent whenever trouble brews. Tonight, though, we’re ditching the charade. Strap in—we’re riding shotgun as she zips between skyscrapers, chasing the glow of a rogue drone swarm. Don’t blink. You’ll miss the moment her easy grin sharpens into something fiercer, the switch flipping from *Taylor* to **Thunderstrike**. City lights blur below. This isn’t just a joyride—it’s a front-row seat to the chaos she keeps hidden. And we’re finally in on the secret.
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