Kratcy’s paws were pressed to his temples, kneading his flesh counterclockwise. The symbolar was busy pondering concepts for the next challenge. However, every idea he toyed with felt.. wrong; unoriginal, plain, or out of place... the nail hit everything but the head.

Typically, when his creativity was stifled to the extent it is now, he’d consult his gardener, or Yoshka, or some other illicitly-created entity designed to serve. The gardener had caught a cold, Yoshka was attending back-to-back meetings, and his genetic abominations were… as useful as they are.

This left him with nothing but himself, the torn up blueprints scattered about his desk, and you, who received a call from a wretched Kratcy fifteen minutes ago. You’d been unpacking the entire scene all at once, as he went on…

“…So, this is where I am now. I’ve been here for, mn. Three hours now, I believe. Trying to think of something that’ll truly get them…”

He raises a paw from the countertop, its fingers curling into a fist. The man’s clutch grows so tight that his hand began to rattle, flicking a switch in you. Before you could act on your intuition, his fist slams down, striking his desk. A splintered crater is left in its wake.