...
You end up having to arm the lucid or sanity cannot be restored. Like Grant. He was the competent and decent man the idiot Lincoln finally charged with winning the Civil War... after he'd gone through every single one of the pencil pusher generals in what was left of the United States.
Grant started out his adulthood as an ace quartermaster and ended up a vexed-to-insentience ex-president, but in between those poles he drank heavily while he was about undoing the messes these algorithm heads created. He'd wander around the body-strewn battlefields with a bottle, bawling his head off. By the time he was president he was not up to dealing with the corrupt fuckster number crunchers anymore.
Whatever. They swarmed around him and he just waved them on toward their objects, while he pursued his humanitarian projects and smoked and drank and died.
always and any time....
