A voice murmurs into her right ear. It drones on for what seems like hours before she gains a sense of what it’s saying. The things it tells her to do are wrong, outrageous, even immoral. No, she won’t do it. She won’t! she won’t! She won’t do what the voice wants. But the words the voice speaks are a tangible force—she can feel it—pressing her down, weighing down against mind and body, squeezing, crushing her down into the chair. It’s like the weight of a planet, trying to mash her flat. She fights it, puts everything she has into an effort to hurl herself up, get out, get away, but she only manages to gulp a deep breath. Her heart thuds. Her resistance crumbles. She hasn’t the strength to fight. She’s too tired, too weak, barely able to cling to consciousness.