Know, oh prince, that between the years when the bullshit tank drones of 0.b ended every game in random, unavoidable insta-death, and the bullshit grenade-tossing, mood-and theme-destroying “zombies” of the experimentals, was a golden release undreamed of, when fursuits could be largely ignored and every possible purmutation and variation of pancakes lay spread across the world like brown syrupy mantles beneath the stars.