DESIGNATION: GAGGLE

Gaffer tape doesn't ask permission. It goes on fast, holds hard, and leaves a residue even after it's gone. Gaggle knows this. The band across its mouth wasn't placed carefully, it was pressed down in a moment of panic and has been reinforced ever since. Every criticism adds a layer. Every wrong word, every misjudged room, another strip across the last. Underneath, there's colour. Markings, symbols, personality that never quite makes it out. The tape doesn't care what it's covering.

But tape has limits. When the body builds heat, breath forced through the lungs, adrenaline finding its way into the edges, the adhesive starts to fail. Not pulled off. Not peeled back deliberately. Just loosening at the corners, the way gaffer always does under enough pressure and warmth. Enough for something to get through. Gaggle doesn't want to stay silent. The tape just hasn't given it much choice.