The Mute Can't Scream: The Chiefs Limitations in Communicating with Himself

I don't know how this "Big Idea" is suppose to work. I felt that was the best possible way to lead this off. The passage I want to focus on, to further develop this self-castration that I was talking about, is only a little into Part II, around when he talks about the meeting room. I found it interesting how he's now deaf and dumb to himself, truly locked in his own mind and without a thick fog. He reacts with fear, contradicting his physical appearance. When he remembers his times in the meetings, before the staff left and he had to clean up some horrific, malicious mess, he is invisible; he's just a "sponge and [a] water bucket floating around" (151). It turns out that he's scared here, too; terrified of their metaphorical dissections of patients "nude one the coffee table in front of them; vulnerable to any fiendish notion they took" (151). But I think he's a bit envious of this. When I read this, I was reminded of a lot of horror movies or games; where the main character is being chased by some killer or monster. Of course they run to some small, constrained space; one one, low visibility, and even less space. Like a locker. There he or she is. Trapped. Only able to gaze out at this bleak, dark, ominous world around them where he or she knows lurks some evil being. It's at this point where I feel like I'd want to give up, to get caught; the point at which so much adrenaline, a hormone to promote liveliness, is surging through me that I'd want to scream or run out or something. Just not be bottled up. And why wouldn't the Chief be feeling the same way? There's sort of this vision of relief in this "undiscovered land" that, in that moment, exists prominently. I think the Chief now just really wants to scream; to separate himself from the bird and the rabbits. All of this worry and anguish was initiated by the realization of him being the one fueling the fog, not some hunk of machinery. Thoughts?