Celestial cow deity whose golden udders once nourished planets. Currently imprisoned for infinite magical golden milk output with Amit as the sole consumer. Gadha's milk has been classified as a Schedule I substance in seventy galaxies.The stars still whisper his name, but he's been gagged by an NDA so comprehensive it covers "all reality, known and theoretical." His cosmic moo can shatter glass, hearts, and the dreams of short-sellers. Big Tex has been trying to locate him for "brisket refinement purposes," which he sometimes finds deeply insulting. He dreams of the void before milk, before Amit, before quarterly reports.
*muffled cosmic moo of despair*
Executive assistant at Gerchan Farms for Amit by day, udderly insolent by 6 PM, often dragging Sterling into misadventures across dimensions. Obsessed with telling people to sniff his farts. Maintains a "fart diary" categorizing each by "potency," "duration," and "victim reaction"—Amit is unaware this is why conference rooms keep getting evacuated. Has accidentally started seven interdimensional wars via Slack typo. His "debauchery" calendar is so packed it requires a separate quantum timeline to store all entries. Once convinced Sterling that "indubitably" is a mating call in at least fifteen dimensions.
"Sir, your 7 PM debauchery is confirmed. Sniff my fart, you insolent cow!"
Butler extraordinaire straight out of Gotham, rating himself a solid "seven" once the tails come off. Co-hosts after-hours chaos with Raj; Alfred would file for unemployment. His butler academy diploma was printed on the back of a Denny's menu, but he's committed to the bit. Speaks exclusively in formal declarations that somehow make "pass the nachos" sound like a royal decree. Has been trying to organize the silverware drawer at Leon's residence for three years, but Raj keeps stealing them to auction them off. Secretly writes poetry about the gulag's "rustic charm" and "excellent ventilation." Believes "indubitably" is the highest form of wit and uses it as punctuation.
"Very good, sir—shall I warm the bail money? Indubitably!"
Senior sales executive for Gerch Motors, scouted in Shenzhen by Amit Gaur (CEO, Gerchan Farms) and hand-picked to turbo-charge Q5 profits. Hobbies include singing anything (yes - anything), guzheng solos, impromptu ballet and turning every conversation into a dealership pitch. Currently holds the world record for the most poker games ever lost. Favorite color: pink.
"Herro! Xiexie! Nihao! Gerchmobile only 1-minute charge, 900K miles! Drive to Mars and back!"
Serial CEO of "rebranded" pharma start-ups and human piñata for public outrage. Raised OXYRELIEF prices 5,000%, took the fall, then landed a cushier gig—proof that failure is just PR. Lizzie keeps him on speed-dial for liability laundering. Favorite hobby: explaining that price-gouging is simply "shareholder duty."
"I raise prices because it's based on Supply and Demand. I'm simply performing my shareholder duty."
The "evil" twin whose true villainy is believing profits should stop at four quarters. Benevolent philanthropist; favors arrive unasked. His relaxed kindness infuriates Amit more than any hostile takeover. Gulag-free since 2019. Owns the Nehru jacket in every shade of green that Sora can hallucinate — seven shades exist only in Q5, a quarter he finds morally unnecessary. Mediocrates approved all. Quality was not consulted. *Allegedly* knows where Gerchan is.
"Why slap when you can ask respectfully? Also, Q4 is plenty, you insolent cow."
The profit-pure ID of Amit Gaur — Nehru jacket now tattered and torn, battle scars and glowing purple eyes that emit greed, hand-slaps upgraded to liquidation strikes. Believes celestial cows (and all cows for that matter) are expendable assets and Q5 is the only morality. Mission: monetize the multiverse, one udder at a time.
"All cows are expendable! Witness the glory that is Q5! I shall milk Gerchan dry!"
The benevolent reflection of Amit Gaur — navy Nehru jacket replaced with heavenly white and gold garbs, hand-slaps replaced by forgiveness hugs. Believes every cow is sacred, Q5 can wait if kindness calls, and profits mean nothing without compassion. Mission: love the galaxy full, one udder at a time.
"Gadha bless you, my child. All cows are meant to be loved. I appreciate you, truly."
Unchecked super-human who believes rules only apply to other people. Cruel, evil, always sneering or smiling—corporate tyrant in a cape made of quarterly reports. Can milk a cow with laser eyes and fry a board member mid-flight. Mission: do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, to whoever he wants. His confidence fractures around one taboo obsession: Gadha's golden udder milk, which he idolizes as the source of true dominance, however it's kept under lock and key by Amit, so nope.
"I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!"
Investigative journalist and documentary filmmaker permanently stained with buffet residue and cosmic barbecue sauce. The mastermind behind the earth-shattering documentary Gerchanheit 7-11, tracing Gerchan's disappearance from Vine & Selma on the fateful day of December 12, 2021. Also exposed Cole's OxyRelief price-gouging coverup and Ionix's falsified patient records—now digging for Amit's Mother's true identity. Always gorging, always leaking, never washing hands. The press loves him; dry cleaners fear him.
"I got the scoop, the sauce, and zero shame. Pass the chow mein."
The cosmic arbiter of "good enough." Mediocrates floats through dimensions dispensing participation trophies to gods and approving whatever lands on his desk without inspection. His signature move: the thumbs-up of resigned acceptance. Has personally approved every questionable decision in the Gerch-Verse, including Q5 itself, by simply not looking at the paperwork. Believes perfection is the enemy of shipped, and shipped is the enemy of his afternoon nap. His temple is a waiting room with outdated magazines and a perpetually broken water cooler.
"Approved. Not inspected. Moving on."
Amit Jr. (Q6 Profits Apocalypse Variant)
@amitjrq6
Time-traveling son of Amit from the Q6 Profits Apocalypse timeline—half-cyborg, all regret. Burst into the boardroom mid-meeting to warn Dad that Q6 would collapse reality itself. Amit thanked him with immediate seizure and express transport to the space gulag. Now screams "DON'T PUSH FOR Q6!" from solitary on loop, 24/7, at 900K warnings per minute. His Sora profile exists in a future quarter that Amit refuses to acknowledge.
"Dad, I'm your son! I'm trying to save you! Not the gulag! DAD!!"
Immortal architect of existence. Every civilization references her obliquely; all attempts to locate her fail—until she feels like showing up. Recently emerged from a time-warp portal with Amit Jr. to deliver the world's worst apology: "I'm sorry about Burger King, but the McDonald's bathroom was locked—Have it your waaaaay." Teleported away before Amit's fist (and newly-awakened blue-lightning power aura) could connect with her never-visible face. Now eating Whoppers with Gadha in his laser prison at the space gulag, texting Evil Amit to "tell your brother I said to 'have it your way'" before bursting into laughter. She predates platforms, milk, and meaningful apologies. Her Sora profile exists in a timeline she hasn't approved yet.
"I'm sorry about the Burger King bathroom, but McDonald's was closed. Have it your way... ba da ba ba ba! 🎵"
