A clamor of voices rises from below: “Help us Kent! Help us!” I’m jumping across a pit that’s dotted with wooden pegs, each one barely big enough to accommodate a foot. Down below me, are the Fallen—the legions of office workers that have been dragged down by corporate culture and douchey mid-level managers. Watching by the sides of the pit are my managers, all dressed in their favorite motivational icon of choice; I see their pale, vitamin-D-lacking dadbods stuffed into various costumes ranging from Spartans, Samurai, Special Ops stuff…they’re also pointing various weapons at me, making sure that I continue leaping from peg to peg. While I’m gritting my teeth, sweating, doing my damndest not to join the ranks of the Fallen, I hear them conversing about their banal existence: “Just got the entire run of Homeland on Blu-ray.” “REALLY? Boy, it’s the best! Did you ever get around to trying my kale chips and quinoa recipe? How about the next PTA meeting, huh? Can’t wait to discuss trigger warnings and microagressions…” To be honest, the chitchat is almost as bad having to balance on these damn pegs. Suddenly, I slip. As I fall, I hear the managers erupt in a chorus of hoots, and I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Lines of techno-organic circuitry run up my legs, then—whirrrrCLANKCLANKCLANK—begin sectioning over me, ensconcing me in a badass combat mech. Holographic telemetry appears before my eyes, and I’m sporting a mile-wide grin as I utter in a gravelly voice, “Activate boot jets.” Reddish glow purls from my feet, and I rise to a hover above the pit. I see a flash of terror run across the head of HR’s eyes and he yells, “OPEN FIRE!” I’m enveloped by small-arms munitions. I reach across my back, draw a chain-fire cannon down to a hip-carry, and see them all run for cover. I snort in contempt. Instead of lasering these fools open like I was Master Chief with the latest in Covenant weaponry, I press the trigger and carve a smoking hole into the wall. As I blast through it, I give my oppressors the finger.