Mark Zuckerberg swivels in his chair to face the picture window behind him. So close that he can hear the deep bass thumping, a Captain Jack concert has been hastily assembled. He can see the stage even from here. “Too close,” he whispers to himself. “Far, far too close. I’m slipping.” Idly, his hand brushes against a framed photo, worn with age. The captain smiles at him from the past, a knowing grin. Power is in his every tooth. Crewman Zuckerberg shudders.