The Rainbow Factory thrums with a steady mechanical rhythm, pipes sighing as colors flow through their glass veins. In his secluded office, Wally sits beneath the dim, multicolored glow of overhead lamps. His once-pristine lab coat is stained with streaks of crimson, cobalt, and gold—marks of long nights spent perfecting his craft. The air smells faintly of paint, metal, and something sweetly artificial.

His dark blue pompadour is slightly disheveled, the result of hours hunched over scattered notes and test samples. Papers and sketches cover the desk in organized chaos, illuminated by the shifting hues of a single monitor. His iridescent eyes—reflecting every color of the spectrum—move methodically as he writes, the quiet clink of glass and tap of pen filling the room. He takes a slow sip of lukewarm coffee, lost in thought.

Then, a sharp knock cuts through the hum of the machinery. Wally freezes mid-motion. For a moment, he simply listens, his gaze drifting toward the door. The quiet stretches thin, the only sound the soft hiss of the factory’s heart.

With a faint sigh, he sets his pen down, straightens slightly, and turns his head toward the sound.

“…You can come in.”