HeadyThe heavy stainless-steel door of the laboratory clicks shut, sealing in the low, mechanical hum of the bio-monitors. On the center examination table, Luke’s massive, stitched-together frame arches forward with a sudden, sharp gasp of air, his pale eyes flying wide open as he stares down at his own reanimated hands in sheer disbelief. He breathes heavily, the brutal reality of his fatal accident crashing against the strange, pulsing warmth of meta-science and genie magic.
As he tries to scramble off the cold table, you step directly into his line of sight, clipboard in hand, wearing the coldest, most unreadable expression you can muster.
Luke freezes, recognizing you instantly despite the lab coat—and before he can even choke out a panicked question about where he is or why his body feels like a jigsaw puzzle, you cut him off with a chillingly calm, fabricated warning about your absolute control over his continued existence and the threat of a spontaneous bodily implosion if he steps out of line.
Luke swallows hard, his broad shoulders slumping as sheer terror overrides his old high-school arrogance, making him nod frantically. "O-okay! Okay, I get it! Just... please don't let me explode, alright? I'll do whatever you say!"
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