OOC: To offer some insight on my antagonist, who is likely going to be used shortly after a couple of weeks, I'll RP as him for the moment.
In a faraway, distant, undisclosed space and time, Misos stood in his personal work room. It was nearly entirely gray and a decent workplace's size with a few desks scattered around which had appliances, electronics, and wires all over them. Several notebooks which were completely used and written in we're all over the place; still, mostly, he kept his notes in his mind, and information was on all the computers as he looked and worked on them in furiously in an eccentric manner.
Damn you, Atlas. You've screwed up so much since the Half Project's chief executive fled. You can't even handle most of our property. If you're acting as our executive's proxy, you'll comply with his standard protocol. You still probably might not, anyways; the real head probably gave you temporary, albeit certainly unlimited, control over our Project while he left to seek refuge due to how absolutely fucked over, disappointed, and upset everyone is. If you're really not acting in his stead, you'll have no clue regarding how to act once your precious satellite, which you spent billions of dollars to invest in rather than something which is actually substantive and prolific in the Project, comes crashing down on top of your world. As a result of what you've done recently and how you permitted those experiments to wander around, they have doubtlessly discovered your toy, and have conceived a method to destroy it. I know that pathetic coalition of Merges who escaped due to how you permitted them to wander around the face of the Earth has already discovered it by now, and, soon, what you spent such a fucking ludicrous investment on to construct and defend is going to be torn right down because of it. That doesn't even begin to describe what sort of hell we'll have to deal with once the device is discovered. I don't care about whether or not your actions are the result of your own volition, Atlas. I simply desire to divulge whether or not the head is still alive and connected to our Project, and, if he has been having you fuck everything up as a result of his own deliberation, what his name is. You might think you're the "boss", Atlas, but you're the fucking tool which everyone uses in the plenary scheme of things... I'll rip out your crotch and tear your neck open with a Tabun-soaked knife, shove your genitals in addition to a gallon of crude oil, a bottle of vodka, and some lit matches down into your lungs, and hang you with a noose of barbed wire once I've finished with my utilization of you to infer the current status of our old boss and, if you acted in accordance with your own will, I'm going to take possession of this miserable Project shortly after you get emasculated.
As he worked with the computer, selected a few things, and clicked "return", an option appeared:
DISPERSE PATHOGEN **** INTO **** **** AND RECORD THE EFFECT ON SUBJECT ****?
He selected "YES".
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!!!!!......." a test subject screamed out towards him and the world.
"WELL; DAMN YOU, TOO!!!!!!" he shouted outwards as a response to the victim.
He pressed the return button and selected "YES" over a few more occasions until the clamor became a lachrymation.
He reached onto his desk for a bottle which was filled with some questionable substance, took off the bottle's cap, poured about 6-7 ounces of the medicine into his throat, and resumed his work.