⋆˚꩜｡Joey Drew

It was another day in the studio, and a hot July night had fallen outside. Joey sat at the desk in his workshop, a pen in his slightly trembling hand, as he scribbled new ink formulas, diagrams, and experimental stages into a small black notebook.

It was already deep into the night, but his main priority was to finish the notes he had started a couple of days ago. The workshop was almost entirely plunged into the darkness of the night, with only a small lightbulb hanging from the ceiling illuminating the man's hunched silhouette at the workbench.

Joey's hands were shaking, his eyes were fluttering shut from lack of sleep, and his glasses were nearly sliding off his nose; he had barely eaten for two days straight. He just sat there, hunched over the table, continuing to work almost without pause.