Whiteshirt Redtie shoots some hoops. Whiteshirt Blacktie orders the steak. Whiteshirts Redandblackties cradled in coffins of aluminum, flooded in magnetic fields, await the hour of emergence. Travel back in time to stop themselves from traveling back in time to stop themselves to stop. It is quiet in the box where eardrums burst and blood dribbles. They share a dream of oceans.