[She shakes her head. She suspects that more heavy handed methods will be necessary.]

You're not being a very gracious guest, little man. After all the effort we went to invite you? I'm hurt.

This? This isn't torture. Torture is being stuck, unable to move, with nothing but your traitorous thoughts to keep you company. Torture is feeling your sanity drip out of your ears as you succumb, again and again. Torture is hoping desperately that someone will come and put a bullet in your head, because you know that nobody is ever going to help you, because there is nobody left to give a damn about you. Torture is when they shake their head and sigh as you beg for them to end it, because they know what's best for you, and complaining isn't it.

I arrived in this world affiliated with your pathetic little fire god, but I know that much.

[She opens up the cooler, taking out a bottle of liquid nitrogen and examining it. She also draws out a container of sawdust.]

I want a written statement, ideally... A full, comprehensive written statement and then we'll leave your little clown show alone. Otherwise, well... I suppose we'll just have to massacre your entire posse. Penny and Roderick would be difficult but, well.

[She shakes the container of sawdust with a smirk.]

Not impossible by a wide margin.