A shudder, uncontained despite his preparations for such a disregard of personal space, unravels from shoulder to spine. He has tensed. His wrists are grinding themselves into the metal in slow, silent agitation. Fring has an appreciation for the steady escalating build of mental distress, that of the intensely and subtly excruciating.

Of course he would.

The Lucian Alliance had not been capable of such psychological ingenuity. The others - had not considered the inherently damaging nature of such a tactic. Neither encounter had been personalized.

There's a finely-edged tenacity to the man that cannot be ignored. A nature not unlike Rush's own, astute and bladed and unwaveringly focused. He is not Colonel Young; he is not easily distracted by numerous tangents of varying relevance.

Rush's chin tilts in a jerky maneuver reminiscent of a back arched under extreme physical duress.

He could lock into uncooperative silence. He doubts the strategy would be workable for very long.

"Ask your superfluous security recordings, given that you're so interested," he says with a significant decrease in relative poise and control over the tremor to his tone. "I'm told your monitoring is very reliable."