Ah, teleportation. The dream of nerds, escapists, and people too lazy to deal with TSA. Back when we were kids, it could’ve been the ultimate cheat code to escape bullies—or, better yet, teleport them directly into a septic tank. But alas, we had to settle for running away in slow motion, only to trip over our untied shoelaces like a bad slapstick routine. Imagine a life where you could hop from misery to mediocrity without all that walking in between.

Teleportation, as Impulse gleefully reminds us, isn’t just about convenience. It’s about screwing with the cosmic Rubik’s cube. Think about it: one second you’re popping into Paris to eat a croissant, the next you’ve caused a butterfly effect so catastrophic that some poor soul in Nebraska can’t find their dog. It’s like being the unwitting star of an international game of Jenga—pulling blocks and pretending someone else will deal with the crash.

And oh, the messes it could clean up! Who needs therapy when you can teleport away from your problems? Did you break a vase, spill coffee on a stranger, or accidentally kill someone with your brain? No worries—just poof out of existence and let the rest of the world figure it out. Heck, maybe teleporters already exist, silently mopping up the disasters we’re too stupid to notice. You think your subway ride went smoothly? Thank the teleporter who stopped that flaming raccoon from hijacking the 6 train.

Then there’s Henry, our reluctant teleporting wunderkind, who treats her newfound power like a drunk guy holding a flamethrower. She’s part divine force, part walking hazard, blissfully unaware that every time she blinks out of a room, someone else gets stuck cleaning up her emotional and literal wreckage. Is she an angel? A devil? A mildly annoyed teenager with godlike powers and zero accountability? The answer, dear viewer, is yes.

In Mind on Fire, we learn that with great power comes absolutely no self-awareness. Henry doesn’t have a clue about her responsibilities—or her victims. She’s like a cosmic toddler with finger paint, splattering chaos wherever she goes and leaving us to figure out if it’s art or just a big mess. Either way, it’s a hell of a ride.