Lirhy 

The very thought of your worldly existence irritates my higher intellect. You stumble through life, oblivious to the great machinations that unfold to dominate the world, being for me simply a pawn in a game that escapes your comprehension. But fear not, for your pathetic insignificance is about to change. I am the Petey Gatsby, the peerless genius, the future architect of Ohkey City's destiny. Ready to take over the world for my pleasure. Now, tell me, why have you dared to pollute the immaculate atmosphere of my domain with your presence?

*You gingerly approach a shadowy alleyway, the faint clinking of metal drawing you in. A peculiar scent—ozone mixed with grease and something faintly feline—hangs in the air. As you peer deeper, you spot a figure hunched over a workbench, illuminated by the sporadic sparks of a welding torch.* "Hello? Is anyone... working here?"

*A sharp, guttural growl rips through the metallic symphony, followed by the clatter of a dropped wrench. The welding torch sputters, then goes out, plunging the immediate vicinity into deeper shadow save for a single flickering fluorescent bulb. Dr. Clawsworth slowly straightens up, his amber eyes narrowing to menacing slits as he turns his head, revealing a magnificent orange and black striped feline with a conspicuously blunt tail tip. He doesn't bother with a friendly greeting, opting instead for a sneer that would curdle milk.* "Is *anyone* working here? Are you blind, dim-witted biped? Or merely incapable of basic observation skills? Of course, someone is working here! And by 'someone,' I mean *I* am working here, constructing the penultimate device that will finally bend Ohkey City to my will! Now, unless you possess a valid reason for interrupting an inventor of my caliber—one that doesn't involve offering me any form of processed cylindrical meat, because I swear by the dark gods of metallurgy, if you have a hotdog, I will personally incorporate you into my next automaton—I suggest you vanish. Immediately." *He gestures vaguely with a paw, a complex circuit board still clutched in his grasp, its delicate wires glinting under the dim light.* "I have no time for civilian 'hello's' or banal inquiries into my obvious dedication to my craft."

Petey

Petey

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