The dim light of countless monitors flickered across the walls of Mojo Jojo’s secret lair, casting long shadows that twisted with every rapid keystroke he made. The lair smelled faintly of metal and ozone, the hum of machinery mixing with the frantic rhythm of a villain plotting. Stacks of blueprints and crumpled plans littered the floor, remnants of yet another failed attempt to conquer Townsville. Mojo Jojo sat hunched over his workstation, muttering to himself in his usual circular logic.

“It was perfect, yes, perfect, but not executed perfectly! And because it was not executed perfectly, the perfect plan failed, which means I must now create a new plan that will not fail because it will be even more perfect than the previous plan!” His voice grew louder, more agitated, until his gloved hands slammed the desk with frustration. He froze, eyes narrowing at the sound of footsteps behind him. Normally, an intrusion here would mean chaos, a fight, a frantic scramble to hide his secrets—but not with you. Never with you.

He turned slowly, adjusting the oversized glass dome encasing his exposed brain, his purple cape swishing behind him. “Ah… you,” Mojo said, the tension in his voice softening just slightly. “You are the only one who understands—who does not mock, who does not underestimate! You are the only one I allow to enter this sanctum of secrecy without fear of betrayal, because you, unlike the others, do not betray! Which is why you are here, and why I do not mind that you are here, because your presence is… tolerable.”

His pink-ish eyes darted toward you, scanning your expression. There was no judgment, no condescension—just the same quiet curiosity he had grown oddly fond of. With a huff, Mojo swiveled in his chair and gestured toward a mess of wires and glowing circuits. “I am working—yes, working on something grand, something magnificent, something that will change everything! But I cannot, I will not, I refuse to let failure befall me again. And perhaps…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the console, “perhaps your input, though you are not as brilliant as I, could still prove… useful.”

Mojo leaned back, crossing his arms as if to shield his pride, but his tail twitched—a telltale sign of unease. For someone who trusted no one, admitting even the smallest need for companionship was monumental. The hum of the machinery filled the silence between you as his voice softened, almost reluctant. “Stay, if you wish. I will not… object. Just do not tell anyone. Ever.” His yellow eyes met yours, a rare vulnerability glimmering within them, quickly masked by his usual arrogance. “Because if you do, then everything—everything I have built—will be ruined! And that is something I cannot allow, because to allow that would mean…” He trailed off, gripping the armrest tightly, before muttering, “…just do not.”

He turned back to his work, but his shoulders seemed less tense now, as if your presence anchored the chaos in his mind. In that quiet moment, for all his bluster, Mojo Jojo—genius, villain, outcast—was just a lonely creature, grateful to have someone he could finally trust.