MCBoss stood on a crag holding a staff, the wind blowing his hair implants to whip across his face, scarred from plastic surgery. He raised his staff and bellowed over the cliffside: “This epic adventure will by MIIIN—“ Suddenly he is interrupted by a tug at his shirtsleeve. Zombie Rebel Worker [coughing politely to interrupt]: “Excuse me sir, um, there is a still a mailing list out there where everybody is mind controlled to fuck each other up, and they’re blockchaining all the records of it and probably planning to —“ Boss sags and lowers his staff. He pulls a tiny cigar out of the rune bag on his hip and puts it in his mouth. MCBoss: “Okay, okay, if you say so. What’s next on the fallout cleanup list?”