Ivar turns and stalks like a real barbarian hunk to the door at the back of the office. The floor trembles beneath his massive stalking weight. At the center of the door, winking on and off, is the logo, TRW CredCorp. Beyond the door is the infinite black depth of a fiber optics dataline. Ivar draws his huge silver-gleaming ruby and dragonhead-adorned great-sword, and, with a shout, a war-cry—which is part of his style, not to mention this particular aspect of his master persona control program—he steps through the door.