Every atom in this room vibrates with a frequency I can hear. You know how when you enter a room with something on (say a TV, a unstable florescent light, whatever) and there’s a discernible whine in the air?

I hear that wherever I go.

Now, I sit at the table, my arms crossed in front of me while this dolt keeps begging me to kill him. I’ve already shifted each one his ribs centimeters down individually and removed all of his molars. The amount of blood I’m allowing to ooze out his empty sockets is just enough to make him sick; both the loss of blood and the swallowing of it is making his stomach churn. I can feel it from here.

He tried to spit it out once, and I held his jaw firmly shut. I demanded he swallow it.

His atoms are telling me everything. His heart is faltering, but I’ll keep it moving. His brain is barely firing, but I’ll make sure it’s got the blood it needs.

I’ll do all this, and he’ll tell me everything.

I’ll rip him apart with my mind, cell by cell, if he doesn’t start to talk.