Allen
History and description of Allen.

The Septodont Alchemist
The Septodont Alchemist: How Allen is Replaced by a Neural Network (And Why the Beakers are Nervous) 
 In the sterile, high-stakes laboratories of Septodont, while most R&D chemists are busy worrying about molecular weights and pH balances, Allen is busy wondering if he can train a Large Language Model to feel the "vibe" of a local anesthetic. 
 To the outside world, Allen is a dedicated researcher. To his coworkers, he’s the man who once spent three hours trying to convince an AI image generator that "a pipette, but make it spicy" was a valid scientific prompt. 
 The Turing Test (With Mouthwash) 
 Allen’s workspace is a chaotic marriage of 19th-century chemistry and 22nd-century delirium. On the left: a precision scale capable of measuring a single grain of dust. On the right: three monitors running predictive protein-folding simulations and a browser tab titled "Can ChatGPT write my lab notes if I describe the smell as 'angsty'?" 
 His current research involves a groundbreaking theory that AI shouldn't just analyze data—it should predict the lab’s social dynamics. He recently fed five years of Septodont coffee-consumption logs into a neural network. The results were harrowing: 
 
 
 98% Probability: The morning meeting could have been an email. 
 
 
 85% Certainty: Someone stole Allen’s marked "Science Juice" (it was just electrolyte water) from the breakroom fridge. 
 
 
 10% Chance: The centrifuge is plotting a revolution. 
 
 
 "Hallucinating" the Cure 
 The true brilliance of Allen lies in his commitment to LLM-Driven Discovery . While traditional chemists use trial and error, Allen uses "Prompt Engineering." 
 
 "Listen," Allen was heard explaining to a beaker of sodium chloride, "if I tell the AI to 'act as a Nobel Prize-winning molecule with a penchant for fast-acting pain relief,' the synthesis practically does itself." 
 
 Of course, there was the "Great Incident of 2026," where Allen asked a prototype AI to optimize a dental rinse. The AI, having hallucinated a deep-seated love for 90s pop culture, suggested the rinse should not only numb the gums but also play a MIDI version of Macarena directly into the patient's jawbone. Allen spent the rest of the week defending the "auditory-sensory branding" to the board of directors. 
 The Lab of Tomorrow (Today) 
 Allen doesn't just use AI; he lives it. He refuses to label his samples by hand anymore, claiming that QR codes are "the only language the machines respect." He has also started referring to his own intuition as "unsupervised learning" and his mistakes as "edge-case anomalies." 
 When asked about the future of pharmaceutical R&D at Septodont, Allen simply stares into the middle distance, his eyes reflecting the glow of a Python script. 
 "The chemistry is easy," Allen says, adjusting his lab coat which he’s convinced the AI will eventually learn to wash itself. "The hard part is teaching the AI that it can't actually taste the samples. We lost three GPUs that way last month." 
 As the sun sets over the lab, Allen can be found staring at a bubbling flask, whispering, "Optimize, you beautiful disaster. Optimize."

Obsessive Pie Disorder (OPD)
Allen (surname unknown, but probably something crusty, like "Baker" or "Quiche") is a man whose life is defined by one single, all-consuming passion: Pies . His friends and family (those who are still speaking to him) have affectionately (and occasionally, wearily) dubbed his condition Obsessive Pie Disorder , or OPD . 
 
 What is Obsessive Pie Disorder (OPD)? 
 OPD is not to be confused with a simple fondness for dessert. For a person with OPD, a pie is not just food; it is a philosophy, a religion, and sometimes, a medium for political commentary. Symptoms are varied and alarming. An OPD sufferer may experience: 
 
 
 Pietosis: A profound, unshakeable belief that any problem can be solved with a pie. World peace? Needs a giant peace pie. Existential dread? That’s a chicken pot pie. 
 
 
 The Crust Paradox: An intense and often contradictory fixation on the ideal crust, resulting in heated debates over butter vs. shortening that can last for weeks. (We're still not allowed to ask about the great lard incident of 2021.) 
 
 
 Pie-eroglyphics: The tendency to see pie charts in mundane objects. A clock isn't telling time; it's showing the optimal cherry-to-apple ratio. A stop sign is a warning about a poorly-crimped edges. 
 
 
 "Pie-curian" Taste: The development of an incredibly refined (or incredibly strange) palate for pie. Allen is currently the only known person on Earth to possess a strong opinion on the texture of a kumquat-rhubarb-squid galette. 
 
 
 Allen’s Journey into the Crust 
 Allen’s OPD didn't happen overnight. It was a slow, delicious descent. It all started with a innocent enough blueberry pie. Since then, he has dedicated his life to the pursuit of the "Perfect Pie." This noble quest has, unfortunately, led to several noteworthy, and deeply strange, events. 
 
 The Pies of Power: A Gallery of Obsession 
 The accompanying portrait captures Allen in his natural habitat: the Pie Dimension. He is a man who doesn't just eat pies; he experiences them. Notice how his gaze, simultaneously focused and slightly glazed (pun intended), is fixed on a flaky horizon known only to himself. 
 His collection of pies is a testament to the sheer, terrifying scope of his OPD. 
 
 
 The "Lattice Work of Lies" Apple Pie: This pie is a masterpiece of precision. Allen spent six hours weaving the lattice top, convincing himself that its symmetrical pattern held the code to the universe. We can neither confirm nor deny this claim. 
 
 
 The "Existential Lemon Merengue": He maintains that this pie "speaks" to him on a fundamental level. To Allen, the tart lemon curd represents the harsh realities of life, while the sweet, airy meringue symbolizes the fleeting, beautiful lies we tell ourselves. The pie was eaten, and its philosophy remained a mystery. 
 
 
 The "Pot Pie for the People": This represents Allen’s foray into social activism. He believed that if he could create a pot pie so rich and creamy, it would unify the fractured local community. This ended when his neighbors started fighting over the best piece of crust. 
 
 
 The "Cosmic Berry Tart" (Unpictured, but mentioned with fear): His boldest creation yet. This tart was an experiment in quantum baking. Allen believed that if he baked a pie that was simultaneously a pie and not a pie, he could unlock a new dimension. All we know is that the kitchen smelled faintly of huckleberries and interdimensional travel for a week. 
 
 
 The Great Pie Incident of '23 (and its aftermath) 
 This was the infamous day that OPD became a matter of public record. Allen, in a state of advanced pie-eroglyphics, attempted to cross a major highway, convinced that the traffic lines formed a diagram for the perfect, six-slice, peach and pecan pie. The ensuing multi-car pileup (unrelated to pies, thankfully) only strengthened his resolve, proving, in his mind, the dangerous consequences of poorly-constructed crust. 
 Currently, Allen is living in a fortified bakery of his own creation. His mission is clearer than ever: to create a pie so perfect that the world has to stop and eat. In the meantime, he continues to educate anyone (and everyone) who will listen on the five essential components of a "True Pie," and we all continue to look at a clock and wonder if it’s a cherry-to-apple pie chart or not.