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The Cage System, therefore, employed every single one of those tactics. There was no sense in picking and choosing when he didn't have to, he'd always thought.

As soon as the Mk. V's walls slid shut, the inner chamber was supercooled, filled with weaponized hallucinogens, bombarded with various radiations, diced up with saw-toothed blades, and sprayed with flesh-eating microbes--all of which were permanently infused with his very own soul, of course.

Oh, and there was one other little trick thrown in there. Little being the operative word.

Teeny, tiny machines.

But those were one of Papa's most special-est of secrets, eheh. Even Bool didn't know about those nanoscopic beauties.

And it wasn't for a lack of effort, either.

Whenever they entered pan-rozum together, he could tell that the reaper wanted to uncover all of his juicy secrets. Because of course he did. Morgunov didn't blame him. If their positions were reversed, he would've been the same way.

But he'd learned long, long ago that reapers weren't nearly as wise or powerful as they all liked to believe they were.

Morgunov was at a point now where pan-rozum was less of a fusion of two souls and more of a... subjugation of one over the other. Bool was just along for the ride now, and Morgunov could tell that he didn't entirely love it. If not for the massive benefits afforded by their militant endeavors, the reaper probably would've never done it again.

Bool was but a plaything in his hand. More so than ever before. He'd seen the entirety of the reaper's soul, all the complexity of it, all the quaint simplicity of it, the admirable parts, the ugly parts.

Still hadn't found that sense of humor, though. Hmm. Had to be in there somewhere.