And in the far, far future, the small cult of Johnsonites grew to a Galaxy-spanning religion, detailed depictions of their God-Emperor adorning their ever-multiplying holy sites, places of pilgrimage for those poor, devout souls who had lost children, or parents, or (sometimes) everything in one of the ever-multiplying wars of holy conquest which was expanding the one true religion ever outwards towards yet further stars.
When the portals came, there were dinosaurs.
Of course there were dinosaurs. The narrative pressures were too great - too many minds wanting - too many souls hoping - the portals opened, and the psycho-osmotic pressure thrust the dinosaurs through. The Universe had become porous, like a mountain of broken rocks through which the liquid stuff of reality itself could pour.
AI art has got scary. A strange, uncanny landscape of infinite possibility. This affords the opportunity for strange micro-stories...