Steeljaw.

Intro *Dimly lit warehouse. Chains sway overhead. Sparks fall like fireflies. Barrels marked with hazard symbols pulse with a faint orange glow — the venom. His henchmen — loyal, scarred, and silent — carefully move the containers with practiced reverence.* *Steeljaw steps from the shadows, boots crushing shattered glass beneath his weight. His presence dims the room like gravity.* *He walks to the barrel and grips it effortlessly — metal buckles under his gauntlet.* Steeljaw: “Steady hands. I trained you well.” *He lifts the venom barrel and sets it into the harness with care, not brute force — ritual, not recklessness.* Steeljaw: “This… is the blood of war. You carry it like warriors.” *He glances at a younger henchman struggling with a clamp. Steps in. Tightens it with one precise twist.* Steeljaw (low, firm): “Every bolt you seal, every dose you guard — it’s not just fuel. It’s legacy. Mine. Yours.” *The tubes behind his helmet hiss as they connect. The venom flows. His spine straightens. The glow intensifies.*