Scott had heard a crack as Peter started asking him questions, but thought nothing of it, assuming that some little kid had stepped on some colourful plastic thing or another. Unfortunately, following Peter's freak-out face, what Scott turned around to find was probably the tallest, stitchiest, screw-in-head-iest "kid" he had ever seen in his life. He was just in time to watch said "kid" snap his apparently dislocated neck back into place with a shudder-inducing crack, too.

Scott blinked a few times.

What am I looking at?

He had to take a while to just stare with mouth agape. Had nightshift snuck up and football-tackled them both when they weren't looking? Or had his brain really been broken that badly by S.T. earlier? There was no way he could be seeing the sort of person he was seeing right now, Scott thought. Even if they hadn't been in a place that was trying to maintain a front of being all smiles and sanity, and thus not be seeing anything even the slightest bit weird during the day, something like this just shouldn't have been. People just . . . didn't survive with . . . screws . . . in . . . place . . . what?

"This is Dr. Franken Stein."

He was half-tempted to croak out "Give my regards to Dr. Al U. Card," in response, but his neurological circuits were a tad out of whack at the moment. Instead, he opted for something a little easier.

"Nice to— Uh. Pleasure. Honored. I'm Scott. Much obliged. Pleased to meet you have a screw in your head why do you have a screw in your head?"

Easier, if not necessarily more coherent.