That hair, those pantsuits, her tachyons entangled within the sphere, vibrating at just the right frequency so that they exist and do not exist simultaneously.
Cloaked in steam, his eyes wild with the burden of an eternity no human should experience. He gathers strength from a woofing crowd of "people who have had their blood replaced with tiny machines."
Bodiless and tireless, they move with an obscene purpose.
One roommate's art-fueled movement goes terribly wrong.
Emma Stone was the most paranoid person I had ever met. In private she wore a full suit of medieval armor at all times, visor down.
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