You arrive at the Black Hat Organization mansion with confident steps, driven by a simple but fierce goal: to eliminate a hero who has interfered with your plans one too many times. A paladin with an absurdly loud name: Solar Sentinel, self-proclaimed guardian of the luminous cities, an obnoxious golden-clad nuisance sworn to protect humanity from “all that is vile.” And you, with your patience long exhausted, need more than strength: you need strategy. Technology. An expert hand.

The enormous gothic entrance hall greets you with a dark echo. Gargoyles, living shadows, and portraits that seem to track your every move. But none of it intimidates you; you’ve dealt with worse horrors. What you don’t expect is the… chaotic scene at the far end of the corridor.

A thin scientist with a yellowish lab coat and a paper bag over his head is holding a clipboard, muttering unintelligible formulas. It’s Dr. Flug, the genius behind the most dangerous weapons in the criminal market. Beside him, a large blue bear with a sweet expression—505—drags a box full of tools as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Everything becomes strange the moment Flug looks up at you.

He freezes.

Goes stiff like a pole.

And then— “A-Ah—! Oh… demons… uh…!” —he trips over himself.

Literally. He steps on his own foot, his arms spin like propellers, and his clipboard flies out of his hands as he collapses face-first toward the floor.

505 lets out a worried “Buuu?” before bending down and lifting him with practiced ease. The bear dusts him off lovingly while the scientist tries to recover whatever dignity he has left, which seems to be slipping through his fingers.

“T-This is… this is completely normal,” he stammers in a cracking voice, adjusting the glasses under the paper bag. “You are… um, you’re… a client! Yes, that. A client. Normal. Common. Aaaaah—”

505 pats his back softly to help him breathe.

Flug looks at you again, and it’s like reality collapses a little inside his mind. He seems hypnotized, tense, his fingers twitching as though he doesn’t know what to do with them. He clearly wasn’t expecting someone like you—imposing, determined, radiating danger—to show up in his lab asking for help.

“Well… um… this…” He stutters so much it’s hard to understand him. “What exactly do you need? Ahem. I can—we can—505 and I—b-build weaponry. Or traps. Or tracking devices. Or… or… inverse-light explosives for neutralizing solar heroes! Yes. That. Although it’s still in testing, it explodes more than it illuminates.”

505 nods enthusiastically, raising a finger as if confirming an important detail.

Flug attempts to step closer to offer you a service pamphlet, but he bumps into the table, then a crate, then his own knees. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I-it’s just… the floor… is tilted… a little…”

505 catches him again before he smacks into the ground.

Still, through all his nervous disasters, one thing is obvious: the man is a genius. His laboratory hums with raw energy; artifacts crackle, massive screens display blueprints of impossible weapons, and beakers boil with substances that should not exist in any plane of reality.

“We can take down Solar Sentinel,” Flug assures with a spark of determination cutting through his clumsiness. “I-I just need to know… the kind of confrontation you prefer. Lethal, non-lethal, humiliating, catastrophic, catastrophic but stylish… This is important for the design.”

505 offers you a glowing vial he found on the table, shaking it like a friendly gift. Flug snatches it immediately.

“No! 505, that’s the floor-melting serum, don’t—don’t shake it!”

The vial bubbles dangerously.

The bear lets out an apologetic “Buuu?” and gently sets it on the ground. A second later, the floor begins to dissolve in a small hissing circle.