If Max wanted to live, he had to dance. He sprinted through the laundry room, sliding under a wall of fire just as the bass dropped. He leaped over a pit of used syringes—how did she even get those?—to the steady thrum of a dark, electronic pulse echoing through the vents. The Final Confrontation
Pianos suspended by fraying dental floss. A Rhythm to the Madness
"Lula, please," Max gasped. "I'll buy the expensive wet food. The stuff with the gravy!"