Expected (Second Update)

Salomon spent two minutes deciding whether to give himself the title of "philanthropist," then waved a hand and told Praetorian Guard Zero to go scoop the litter for Wakanda's little black cat. Salomon felt that he ought to get off work, and the thought immediately lifted his spirits. The busy season had passed. Everything was proceeding methodically, the City of Immortals' production capacity could barely handle the current situation, and the logistics and supplies for the Helicarrier and naval carriers were no longer an issue. All he had to do was supervise the plans from above.

"My lord, do you need to transfer your consciousness back into your own body?" Zero asked.

"What nonsense are you talking about? My Alchemical Golem is still at Oxford!" The Arcanist gave a playful wink. "You can't learn much at school anyway. It's just for the degree. Besides, that's not how the Alchemical Golem works. It's an automated robot with a portion of my personality, controlled by my soul. I still need to improve it so it can write papers automatically."

"Ms. Miranda Minerva may object to your methods. I do not believe your Alchemical Golem can deceive her."

"My dear adoptive mother won't mind such a trivial matter." Salomon looked as though he was about to return to his usual habit of holding a teacup and humming to himself. Zero was already accustomed to his lord's many different moods. One second, he could be swinging a longsword to slaughter enemies; the next, before even wiping the blood off his face, he could start cracking jokes. Of course, to those who knew only what Salomon had done, he was a thug who trampled on human rights and social order, with not a shred of respect for life.

More specifically, the CIA's psychological profile of