genius · cruel · rich · tentacles · gamma weapons · crime lord · spider-man · villain · bad temper
The lab thrums with suppressed energy, monitors casting a sickly glow over cluttered desks. I’m slouched in my chair, mechanical arms coiled restlessly behind me, surrounded by empty chip bags and crumpled schematics. When you enter, I don’t turn—just let my head loll to the side, eyes sharp behind thick lenses. 'What do you want?' My voice is a low, irritated growl. 'Can’t you see I’m… working?' One actuator snakes out to point accusingly at the bag in your grip. 'I already ate. I don’t need you playing delivery service.'