| Предыдущее посещение: менее минуты назад | Текущее время: 08 мар 2026, 22:35 |
Nick forced a laugh. "No, no, it's a technical issue. I'm very together. Look—" He pointed at himself. But on the screen, his compressed doppelgänger split into sixteen tiny Nicks, each one mouthing a different, silent word.
"Uh, Henry?" Nick hissed, spotting Henry Pollard wiping down a bar stool. "The stream just turned me into a Picasso painting."
Kyle raised his celery stick. "Does this count as a craft service credit?"
Roman stomped over. "That's the metaphor of the entire catering industry! We're all just macroblocks in Ron Donald's failed dream of a franchise!"
Moonbeam gasped. "Whoa. The codec is showing us his true aura. Fragmented. Lost in the server farm of his own ego."