Whether by accidental or intentional encounter, the man stood in his lab to observe decades of work scattered on benches and built within a chassis of sophisticated engine, the position of which loomed center, scarred lips sighing roughly from attenuated lungs. Eyes gleaming with a sharp impatience.

Studious tension slowed activity preoccupied with deep calculations, a series of interruptions mechanical, rankling, though more welcome than what wandered in.

Dim moons flicked to the [reader's] entrance, scarred visage withholding shock.

"You've an awful sense of direction...to say the least."