“Now bringing you the intergalactic news today, tonight, trevoluspecker, or whatever cycle your planet happens to be experiencing.”

The newscaster wore the dullest of sport jackets, so dull in fact that its color could not even be likened to grey. His stained burgundy tie stood out like a smear of ketchup. Gelled, dark hair was slicked back in a devil-may-care fashion that was easily decades too young for him. As he spoke, creases formed and disappeared in unison on around his eyes, where his forced smile had created a series of artificial Duchenne wrinkles. There was something oddly distracting about his mouth, the way he twisted it to gush his spiel.

“…crashed today after performing an attempted back handspring, but what can you expect when investors pull a stunt like that? In the aftermath of this catastrophe, Al Rino Markoff has been forced unwillingly out of his position as head chairman of the TGIC and is being replaced by Mac Cormack, a self-declared Scotsman who has quite a history in the stocks.”