"You're bluffing!" Morty screamed. But I could tell that he was only praying I was.

"I'm going to give you one chance," I warned him. "Just start talking, and we can avoid this."

Morty didn't say a word, but just kept staring back at me with eyes that revealed mostly confidence, but also a touch of fear. I had to hope there was enough fear in him.

"Tuck, hold his head back," I ordered.

"Jack, we don't have to do this," Tuck protested.

"We don't have time to do it any other way!" I shouted. "Hold his head back, now!"

Tuck approached us and grabbed Morty's head tightly. Then he pulled his head back until Morty was looking straight up, his throat and esophagus leading straight down to his stomach.

"Open his mouth!" I barked.

While keeping one hand on Morty's forehead, Tuck put his other hand on Morty's chin, pushing down until his mouth popped open. I took a breath, then stuffed the first bit of the towel in his mouth.

The ammonia made Morty gasp for air, but all he got was more towel. The pungent smell was overwhelming, and his mouth and throat burned like they were being scalded off his body. Morty tried to scream, but it was muffled by the towel. The poison-laced towel that I was shoving, bit by bit, to the bottom of his stomach.

"Morty," I shouted, "this is only going to get much, much worse! And that's just the part where we put the towel in! Taking it out is where it gets really bad! How do you think it feels to have your insides ripped out? Start talking to me, and I'll stop!"

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