See, morbid and creepifying I got no problem with, long as she does it quiet-like

My mind is being murdered. My creativity is being undermined and systematically destroyed bit by precious bit. Intermittently the PA system comes on and in a booming, commanding but mesmeric siren's voice, words spill into me: "No. Don't struggle; it's better this way. Don't you see? Normal, content- don't you want to be that way? Why do you always do everything to be different? Come on..." it turns rhythmic, lulling, soothing... "with me, what else do you need?"

The words aren't even remotely brilliant, the rhetoric isn't the slightest bit convincing. The vocalization, however, charming inflection, simultaneously pacifying and imperious, achieves a crushingly compelling characteristic. Dissolving the most resolute self assurances, it's one of the worst kinds of defeat.

It's that treacherous form of conquer that so blurs the lines of pleasure and pain that the victim is lulled into a false state of complacency and unconcern, preventing him from wanting to fight against the overtaking, driving him to give in to subjugation. It's the revolting, petrifying type of defeat where you observe your own meticulous disintegration in a state of complete, unwavering impassivity. Hell, you may even have a gleeful smile on your damn face. It's like being awake, happily watching the medical monitors while doctors remove your limbs, your organs, your...