Wapun Meadow boorish

What a cruel laugh. This was the closest a voice box made of muscle ever got to replicating a computer's Shephard tones. Meanwhile, the other part of him is busying away at manufacturing the closest thing to an emotion he could feel. A copy of a copy of a chemical. Everywhere, Photostats were teeming.
A vision of himself pushing his finger into that singular eye. And how would his skull look, concave and leaking? What would you do if you had the world in your hand? He asks someone in his head. Make a fist. When they respond, it is in Merrick's voice. Soon enough, he's laughing too, coughing out through his gritted teeth like smoke through a car grille. 
With a haunted expression, he closes the gap between them, and seizes the air above Merrick's torn ear. The movement is accompanied by a sound. Something deep in his throat, where after thousands of years of evolution, a complex mechanism that could emit such feral and base noise.