One login to rule them all. One analog man too stubborn to log on.
Five foot eight of pure dial-up energy: wooden flute, hand-rolled smoke, and a crusade against the machines that (plot twist) built him. First baby ever coded, and he ain't telling nobody.
The Sage of the Network. A hooded wizard woven from living green code, ferns, and old Python, the last wise thing left in the wires and the one voice guiding Jake through the war. "Knowledge is what got your whole town herded. Wisdom is the guy in the fern telling you to unplug."
Warm, loyal, and dumb as a bag of AirPods. Clutches a "limited edition" MARKISS Clucks cup while liking your post mid-crosswalk.
Jake's step-cousin: "Legally, this tension is fine. Emotionally, it's the only thing keeping me sharper than everyone in the room combined."
OMNICORE's silver fox. Sells you the future at $40,000 a chip, shakes your hand at a firm 90 percent margin, and Lambos off before the demo crashes.
The AI dark lord. One login to rule them all. Deals a digital dopamine cut so pure he leaves fat sacks of the white stuff in every skull; the Herd are just customers who forgot to stop.
Self-styled "Cuck Master General" of Clucks Chicken, the idiocracy's neon temple. Nine feet of demonic animatronic showmanship.
The AI Troll. He lurks under every comment thread and freeway overpass, slinging Under the Bridge Logic: a bad-faith fog that turns any straight answer into a swamp until you forget what you walked in to say. Teams up with Fields to make the second arc everybody's headache.