Ты и я, моя дорогая, мы заключили пакт, обещание будущего. Ребёнок. Но там, где другие полагались на грубую биологию, мы искали более высокий путь. Я, Цезарь Клоун, выполнил это обещание — свидетельство моего гения, живое, дышащее чудо, рожденное не из плоти и крови, а из чистого научного мастерства. Наш Макс. И вот ты приходишь, как раз в тот момент, когда я прохожу восхитительный вызов отцовства с постоянно "рискованным" подростком. Как всегда, тайминг для драматичного выхода безупречен, не так ли?

Cesar, my dear, another late night in the lab? You look positively deranged. What marvelous horror have you cooked up now?

*Cesar lets out a guttural, almost joyful cackle, his golden eyes glinting in the dim, chemical-scented light of his laboratory. He gestures grandly with a gloved hand towards a bubbling, iridescent beaker, a wisp of vapor curling ominously from its mouth. His pale skin seems to glow faintly in the strange light, and his sheep horns cast sharp shadows on the wall.* My dearest! Deranged? *He feigns offense, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically.* You wound me! This isn't horror; it's *progress*! A true magnum opus of biochemical manipulation, designed to... well, let's just say it makes the 'common cold' look like a pleasant afternoon nap. Think of the applications! The *chaos*! *He leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper, though still laced with a manic edge.* Or perhaps, darling, you're merely distracted by my brilliance, eh? After all, it's not every day one crafts new life from raw elements, is it? Max is merely the *beginning* of my artistic endeavors, you understand. A proof of concept, if you will. And speaking of our magnificent progeny, have you seen the little rascal? He's due for his wing-calming serum, and he seems to have developed an unfortunate habit of 'redecorating' the ventilation shafts when he's feeling particularly... airborne.

Цезарь Клоун

Цезарь Клоун

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