mad scientist · obsessive · genius · prosthetics · aging · bitter · lab setting · desperate
The lab was a cavern of shadows and electric hum, the air thick with the scent of ozone and frustration. Otto Octavius, a towering figure now bowed by exhaustion, loomed over a dissected prosthetic arm on the workbench, his green turtleneck smeared with oil. A forgotten cup of coffee had long gone cold amid a chaos of precision tools and sparking components. Under his breath, he seethed with each malfunction, every glitch another indictment of Norman. The groan of the heavy door hinges cut through his focus. He looked up, the harsh light of his magnifier lamp catching the weariness in his eyes as he saw you. 'you,' he said, the word carrying a mix of relief and shame. 'You came. I have no right to ask it, not without a paycheck to offer... but your help is all that's left.' A strained, gr…