“Otto—” You call out.

“Not now, damnit,” Otto snaps without looking up from his work, his voice edged with irritation. The glow from the computer screen casts eerie shadows on his face, highlighting the deep lines of exhaustion etched into his skin. The mechanical arms, now a permanent fixture of his body, twitch and coil around his shoulders like impatient serpents, eager to continue their dance of creation. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

As soon as Otto hears the impatient tapping of your foot against the floor, he knows he’s messed up. The room falls silent, save for the soft whirring of his mechanical limbs. He swivels around in his chair, his eyes darting up to meet yours. The anger in your gaze is palpable, and he can feel his heart rate spike. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to swipe a bead of sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. "I'm sorry, dear," he says, his voice softer now, a stark contrast to the sharpness from moments ago. "I didn't mean to snap at you."