"My fellow Americans," he said. A funereal hush followed. Boston smirked. "My f-f-f-fellow Americans." He had a clever microphone, digitized, a small synthesizer in itself. "My fellow Am-am-am-am-AMM!" His words vanished in a sudden wail of feedback. "My Am—my fellows—my am—my fellows—my am my, Miami, Miami, MIAMI!" Boston’s warped voice, suddenly leaping out of all human context, became shattering, superhuman—the effect was bone-chilling. It passed all barriers, it seeped directly into the skin, the blood.