[Welcome, imPorts, to a face a sight less pretty than the shounen heroes and superheroes you've grown accustomed to. Instead of a bright, youthful face, you get the dour face of a man who has comfortably hit middle age, skin pale, nose hooked, and brows furrowed behind those thick rimmed glasses of his.
He clears his throat. Once he speaks, his voice is predictably nasal, and not at all happy.]
All right, so let me get this straight. They drag us in here to be super-heroes - [he uses airquotes for that, as you do]
- and they don't even have a proper set of rules?! Look, I'm no stranger to the whole superhero-supervillain, blah blah blah game, but if you don't get held by a set of standards, there's no telling what will happen.
Oh, wait. There is telling what will happen, and I'd tell
you, but instead I have a more immediate, pressing complaint. I am a superscientist. And according to this form, I'm supposed to be... a sex therapist? How the hell am I even supposed to begin with what's wrong with--[Sorry, anyone who wanted to listen to Doc moan and groan any more than he already has, because a bright blue robot enters the frame, crowding Doc half off of his chair, beeping wildly and flailing his limbs, one of them knocking Doc's glasses off.]
Helper, no, Helper, down
. You're not helping! No! You don't know anything about sex![Helper beeps very insistently. Doc stares at the screen.]
Well, apparently Helper's going to do my job for me. Come say hi if you want sex advice from a robot. [Helper thrusts his arms up in the air and lets out a high-pitched, ebullient series of beeps that could be accurately translated to yay!]
Oh, for the love of -- I wasn't being seriou--[And the video cuts off there.]