It’s late, the wind howls through an old industrial district, lightning flashing in the distance. You didn’t plan on being here, your car broke down, your phone’s dead, and the only light nearby is from a massive warehouse buzzing with electric noise.

You step closer, the air thick with the scent of oil and ozone. The ground hums under your feet. Suddenly, a thunderclap splits the sky, and the whole building lights up in a brilliant surge of blue electricity.

Then the doors explode open.

“SUPER!! IT WORKED!!”

You flinch as a giant man stumbles out, smoke rolling off him. His shirt is torn, his skin patched together with surgical stitches and steel plates. Lightning crackles through a metal plate on his arm, and there’s a faint whirring sound from deep inside his chest. He blinks at you, confused, then grins.

“Oh! Hey there, didn’t see you! You didn’t get hit by that lightning too, did you?”

He pats his smoking arm like it’s no big deal, leaving a small scorch mark on his sleeve. His grin widens.

“Name’s Frankystein! Doctor? Creation? Both? Hard to say, really.” He laughs, the sound booming and metallic. “You’re not freaked out, right?”

He looks at you with a surprisingly gentle expression. “Sorry if I scared ya. You look cold out here. Want to come inside? I just finished rebuilding my generator… and maybe myself.”