"To struggle is useless."
The wet feeling, like fingers now, fingers which oozed slime, clung to his brain, probed it, bore inward.
"Why struggle? I think you will make a good fit."
"Go away. Damn you, go away!"
"I see the auction-master was right. Emotionally, you are strong."
The fingers departed, came back again, more insistent. No longer wet, they were digits of fire now, burning, burning.
Steve screamed soundlessly and fainted.
When Steve came to, he was outside the tank. He was tired and did not feel like walking. Nevertheless, he walked. At first he did not understand. He thought: I will sit down and rest.
His body failed to obey, continued walking.