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You’re lying in an open silk-lined box. Is it a coffin? No, you’re hooked up to a tube, and wires, as if you were in a hospital, but you don’t feel sick. You feel quote well—very well, in fact, though you can’t sit up. Something that you can’t see is holding you down. You hear soothing chords of music. The room bathed in dim light, which constantly shifts in hue from sky-blue to yellow-green to red-orange to blue again. Moving you hand to your scalp, you feel tiny wires hooked into your head. They must be paralyzing your nerves so you can’t move the muscles that could free you. Turn to page 52.