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The most terrifying truth is not who pulls the strings, but that there are no strings, only a paying audience.
Backlot Tour
I let the doors close. Cale was already six steps into that corridor, and the air in it smelled like a theatre lobby after the house lights come up, dust and warm velvet, and I wanted to follow him the way you want to follow any man who knows more than you do about the thing you're afraid of. I did not. I stepped back into the car. I pressed Lobby. It was a thing I knew how to do. The elevator behaved like an elevator all the way up. The indicator passed B for Basement, skipped it, went on to