Imagine the first day a videogame like Gears of War is released. Around 8 o'clock that Tuesday night, millions of identical, bald space marines trudge the same ground, drop for cover behind the same rusty cars, and Roadie Run down the same scorched hallways. Only they don't trace these steps simultaneously or in the exact same way. They're imperfect echoes. A million parallel universes mostly the same, but different in a very important way. Every button-press or tilt of the analog stick makes it personal, unique. Now imagine if each of these slivers intersected in fuzzy and unpredictable ways.