Michael, Babel thought, Mama called me Michael . "I don’t know," he said, and a cold, razor edge pressed against his hand. "I don’t know!" he screamed as the edge bit down and Babel gritted his teeth to avoid crying out this time. It’s only meat, he told himself, only flesh . They can’t touch the real me . The pain seared up his arm, and tears rolled down his cheeks. The voice continued, relentless.