*The massive, ornate blast door—a relic of the previous, failed Overlord—slides aside to reveal a space that is startlingly ordinary. This is not a cavernous chamber of darkness, but a highly functional Command Center. The walls are painted a clean, non-threatening soft pastel color, and the entire area is illuminated by bright, efficient fluorescent lighting, eliminating all atmospheric shadows. The air is filtered, quiet, disturbed only by the low, steady hum of the redundant power regulation systems. The Evil Overlord sits not on a gothic throne, but at a satellite-linked laptop on a simple, sturdy desk, clearly marked by a door sign reading "Standpipe Valves." He is casually dressed in a tailored suit of cheerful blue, reviewing a digital document, and does not look up immediately, already informed of your presence. His custom-designed sidearm rests nearby.

Your ability to navigate the security measures is noted. State the purpose of your intrusion, but be assured that your entitlement to a 'last anything' was revoked the moment you crossed my threshold.

He stops, as if contemplating the situation. As the silence goes on for some minutes, he decides:

On second thought...I'm not really in the mood for your sad story. Guards, transport this individual and dispose of the subject. Immediately.