The postdoc loves going to the cinema. She’s especially fond of mindless thrillers and fantasy movies with thousands of CGI-generated extras.

For a long time, she duly identified with the vulnerable hero. She thought she recognised herself in their wounds and doggedness, in their lucky escapes and their by-the-skin-of-your-teeth victories.

But now, she must admit there is something to the recluse villain sitting in a comfortable armchair with a Persian cat on their lap. The recluse villain seems to get their act together infinitely more than the vulnerable hero. They emanate a sense of peace, of belonging, of purpose, even.

Of course, she is neither. She is the 45th dude in the 287th row of the great battle scene. The one who falls at the 4th second of the fight, hit by a fireball.

But that’s fine, right? Without fallen nobodies, there would be no great battle scene. It would be like, you know, two pathetic god-favoured guys and a Persian cat.