"It's hard to scream when someone is rearranging your lungs." Hannibal shrugs. "He'll be dead soon, but that's alright. I got what I came for, and so did you."

He wraps the ribs in butcher paper with a casual air, as though they weren't torn from a writhing human being seconds before. Then he reaches back into the gaping hole and starts pulling on the lungs again.