Brock accepts that explanation pretty easily, too. He's had his fair share of bullshit time travel shenanigans even before being sucked into this crapsack world, so he tends to just roll with the punches. Where the punches are, in this case, completely hare-brained pseudoscience. Sure. Why not.

"Maybe," he answers vaguely, then shrugs. The Guild is a little bit of a weird thing, rules heaped upon rules to keep a bunch of psychotic pajama-wearing, laser gun wielding murderers in check, but it works for the most part, so he's not about to knock it.

"Yeah, there's like a hierarchy thing. You play by the rules, you get bumped up... better toys, better enemies. Most supervillains just want to arch somebody -- you know, the whole Hollywood ideal of having a nemesis. That sort of shit. The real megalomaniacal types either try to throw coups and get slapped six ways to Sunday by the Guild, or they strike out on their own without any kind of protection. I took a, uh, sabbatical from the OSI about a year back, and went after the guys outside the system. They're the dangerous ones."