"Well," Sarah said, wiping a drop of coffee from her cheek. "I guess that’s the thing about chaos."
"Shut it down!" Sarah yelled, but the toggle switch wouldn't budge. The room began to hum, a deep vibration that shook their marrow.
The lab fell silent. Elias sat on the floor, breathing hard, surrounded by scattered marbles and bread crusts.
Suddenly, the coffee in Sarah’s mug began to rotate counter-clockwise, forming a miniature whirlpool that defied gravity. The pens on the desk stood on their tips, dancing in a synchronized ballet. The "Woolly" part of the world—the messy, unpredictable, tangled bits of existence—was suddenly aligning into a singular, terrifying order.
He grabbed a bag of marbles from a shelf—a relic from a previous experiment—and flung them into the copper coils. Sarah followed suit, throwing her keys, a stapler, and even her half-eaten sandwich into the machine’s heart.