Wild Strawberry Cookie was holed up in her corner at the Misfits' headquarters, technically "her room," which was really just a space partitioned off by stacked fuel canisters and worn-out tarps. She was glued to the bright screen of her Smart Pocket Strawberry, the volume cranked up high enough to distort the 8-bit battle music.

Her face was obscured, but the tension radiating off her was palpable. Bam! She missed a combo and her character exploded in a burst of digital jelly.

"Stupid, fragile coding," she muttered, rough and tired.