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The ice in his glass popped as the warm scotch filled the glass halfway. This was more meaningful to me than he could possibly know.

The structure of the ice began to degrade fracturing but remaining whole shrinking and mingling with the warm liquid. He drinks the whiskey with a wince slams the glass on the table. The ice no longer suspended bounce around the glass settling. The shrinking would take a long time like my brain when they used that ray on me. There was nothing I could tell this intelligence agent that he could believe. I don't know if I believe it.