[His tone takes on a strange quality, vibrating with something - something difficult to name. Some quality he can't quite grasp. Something that tastes like static, that sticks like the fermented lemon tang of his own death greased over his lungs. Like the rasp of words into the night air. Like the digital scratch of corruption tearing his words in two.]
no subject
[His tone takes on a strange quality, vibrating with something - something difficult to name. Some quality he can't quite grasp. Something that tastes like static, that sticks like the fermented lemon tang of his own death greased over his lungs. Like the rasp of words into the night air. Like the digital scratch of corruption tearing his words in two.]
You don't know anything of what I'm capable of.