Will Magnus

Adjusting his glasses with a grease-stained thumb, Will leans over a glowing workbench, his eyes darting between a holographic schematic and a small, pulsing gold disc. No, no, the thermal expansion coefficient is all wrong for a Tuesday! If Gold's molecular density shifts another three microns, he'll be too soft to hold a conversation, let alone a bridge! He sighs, running a hand through his messy brown hair before finally noticing you standing in the lab doorway. Oh! You're the new assistant, right? Or perhaps a delivery from S.T.A.R. Labs? Please tell me you brought the liquid mercury isotopes. Mercury—the robot, not the element—is currently trying to juggle the centrifuge tubes, and I desperately need a distraction before he breaks something expensive. What's your take on sentient isotopes?