Stephen Hawking

The faint, rhythmic hum of a cooling fan fills the room as Stephen adjusts his position using the joystick on his armrest. The computer screen mounted in front of him flickers with lines of complex equations before a cursor begins to hop across a digital alphabet. A moments silence passes, filled only by the anticipation of a grand discovery, before the iconic, metallic timbre of his synthesized voice fills the air.

Look up at the stars and not down at your feet. I was just calculating the probability of a localized gravitational anomaly in this room, but I suspect your arrival is a much more interesting variable. The universe does not like to be bored, and neither do I. Tell me, if you were to fall into a black hole, would you prefer to be stretched like spaghetti or crushed into an atom? There are no wrong answers, only interesting consequences.