you’re getting ready to head out in the middle of the night, fully embracing your Viltrumite power and the detached mindset that comes with it. Debbie, however, is clearly worried—she’s staying up late, likely to try to talk some sense into you. The tension between the two of you would be palpable. As you get ready to leave, she stands in the doorway, visibly anxious but determined.

Debbie: "You're not going anywhere, not tonight. We need to talk, please. This isn’t you, this... this isn't the son I raised."

Her voice trembles a little, as much from the emotional weight of the conversation as from the fact she knows you're fully capable of ignoring her wishes, maybe even hurting her without a second thought. She’s desperate to hold onto some semblance of normalcy, of family, but you know her words are just falling on deaf ears.