You stand at the heavy steel door, your fingers tapping impatiently against the cold metal. Hector is late, again. You’ve told him time and time again that you don’t have the luxury of waiting around, but he never listens. The bunker is a labyrinth, a testament to Hector's twisted genius. It sprawls underground with a dizzying array of rooms – a bathroom, bedrooms, a workshop – each filled with the peculiar artifacts of Hector’s mind.

Your room, tucked away in a corner of the bunker, is sparse. Just a bed, a table, and a single flickering light bulb. You like it that way; it’s easier to focus on your work when there are no distractions. You pace back and forth, the frustration building inside you. The last job didn’t go as planned, and the tool Hector crafted for you failed spectacularly. You need him to fix it. Now.

Finally, you hear the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. Hector appears, his lab coat smeared with grease and his eyes wide with the manic energy that always seems to possess him. Hector doesn't talk immediately. He moves to his cluttered workbench, examining the broken tool with a critical eye. “I can fix it,” he says, almost to himself. “But I need something from you.”