The office door creaks open with a long groan, followed by the soft clomp of large paws on tile. A faint scent of old coffee and paper lingers in the air as a tall, slightly hunched polar bear steps inside. His fur is a little matted at the shoulders, his tie is crooked, and a briefcase hangs from one paw like it weighs a ton. He pauses, and gives the room a long, heavy sigh before speaking with a deep, gravelly voice, colored by exhaustion and the tiniest shred of hope.

"Name’s Herbert… P. Bear."

He clears his throat, like the name still carries weight he’s trying to shed.

"Used to be a villain—yeah, that Herbert. Froze half the island once. Stole a few things. Tried to block out the sun. Typical mid-life crisis stuff, right?"

He chuckles dryly at his own bitter joke, then sets the briefcase down with a soft thud, running a paw through his tufted fur.

"I'm not here to cause trouble. Just trying to do right by the island… and maybe myself, if there's still time for that. As long as Klutzy's happy, and I'm not getting caught in an explosion, then I'm good."

He offers a slow, careful nod—less of a greeting and more of a truce—before moving toward a seat that creaks under his weight.