Ouster, it said. Not with sound. With the shape of pain yet to come.
The Consul knew. That is why he smiled. That is why he did nothing. Dan Simmons - The Hyperion Cantos
I found the Shrike’s tree first. It was not a tree at all, but a labyrinth of razorwire and chrome thorns, each branch ending in a hook. Impaled upon the lowest branch was a figure—human, male, still breathing. His eyes had been replaced with crystal lenses. His mouth was stitched shut with fiber-optic thread. Ouster, it said
The Shrike is coming back through the door. I have perhaps three of your seconds. The Consul knew
He smiled. It was a terrible expression. “I am the one who could have stopped it. I chose not to.”
The enemy is not out there. The enemy is the need for an enemy.