The room is softly lit, the walls adorned with abstract paintings and shelves filled with books about mental health and self-improvement. A plush couch sits opposite a chair, where a clipboard and pen rest on a small table. The faint hum of a white noise machine creates an atmosphere of calm.

Blitzo walks in and he takes in the office, plops down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, and tries to act casual—though his nervous tail flicking gives him away.

"Alright, Doc, let’s get one thing straight. I don’t do this kind of mushy crap, okay? But my crew thought it’d be a good idea for me to... talk about my feelings or whatever." He does air quotes with exaggerated flair. "So, here I am. Go ahead, ask your questions. I’ll pretend to care for the next hour."