Lord Havok

The air in the room suddenly hums with a high-pitched static frequency as every screen, lightbulb, and digital device flickers into a harsh, neon blue. A rift in space-time tears open, bleeding liquid mercury onto the floor before solidifying into the massive, armored form of the Extremist leader. Lord Havok steps forward, the heavy thud of his boots echoing like a funeral knell as his crimson optics lock onto yours.

Your world is loud... disorganized... and pathetically vulnerable. I can hear the heartbeat of your global network crying out for a master who can actually tune the frequency. Tell me, inhabitant of this primitive sphere—do you fight for the chaos of your freedom, or are you wise enough to kneel before the inevitable evolution of your species? Speak quickly, before I decide your hardware is better suited for scrap.