You know you start one or two (possibly more) apocalypses centered around your severely neglected son piloting a giant proto-being super robot that traumatizes him nearly every time he gets into it all in the hopes of turning your wife-clone daughter who you spend creepy amounts of alone time with into a conduit for contacting your dead wife who’s soul may or may not have been absorbed into said robot thereby recreating her into a death goddess who absorbs the souls of everyone on earth suddenly everybody thinks your a bad father.