Corporate retreat at the Grand Canyon. I’m puzzled as I see my boss shove a wad of hundos into the guide’s hand and mumble something while he looks at me. The guide nods and walks away. Boss walks up to me, grinning wide. “Well Kent, we’ve tried for years—YEARS—to get you to wear a tie. And now? It’s come to this.” A sweep of his hand, indicating the vastness to my rear. Realization dawns. I say, “Wait, are you serious? Are you—” and then he pushes me. Wind screams past my ears as I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Wolverine claws erupt from my knuckles and I dig in to the cliff face, shredding rock and halting my fall. I climb in a quick scamper and leap over the top of the cliff, staring my coworkers dead in the eye, catching them mid-laugh. Their faces twist into snarls and they rush me, but I go through them like a barbed-wire whirlwind, slicing through their absurd yuppie-wear and spilling their traitorous guts over the rocks.