[ He chokes and gags on the stuff in his throat, tries in vain to retch it back up again before his mouth is pried open and there are fingers inside it, before the thing in front of him is crooning and telling him to let it make him ｆｅｅｌ　ｇｏｏｄ.

(ｆｅｅｌ　ｇｏｏｄ)

(it's so hard to resist suddenly and his head spins, makes him twitch and squirm with disgust at the way the flesh responds so eagerly to that voice, the way the humanity that chokes his flame down is so eager to prostrate itself before the offer of something ｇｏｏｄ)

(is this why humanity falls before the Numbers so easily?)

He can't talk with it touching at his mouth like this but he glares at it, narrows his eyes and twitches in its hold and growls and wishes it dead. ]