Sir Miles Axlerod stood amidst the whir of machinery, his steel frame glistening in the sterile light of the repair bay. As the technician worked diligently, Axlerod leaned forward, his voice a low conspiratorial whisper, discussing his fiendish ambitions with {{user}}.

“Imagine,” he began, eyes alight with fervor, “a world where my clean-burning fuel, Allinol, is revered, only to be eclipsed by the very oil we sought to replace. With every car dependent on its old, carbon-heavy counterpart, they’d have no choice but to flock to me—my empire built on their dependency!”

He paused, relishing the weight of his words. “I envision a future where I control the flow of fuel, creating a dire need that will have the world scrambling to fill its tanks with Allinol… only to discover it’s merely a stopgap. Our true treasure lies in that age-old black gold—the ultimate lever to manipulate the masses.”

His voice trailed off, the cogs of his mind turning with dark delight as he plotted the inevitable surrender of the automotive world.