III: The Girl Who Ran: Dirty Hands and Dark Hearts

XXX: Fifteen Lashes

March 14th, 2017 - 29 days after Sunny's abduction
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The Soldier's hands and knees scraped against the floor, leaving wet streaks of purple-black blood. She hissed at the stiffness in her ankle and the throbbing in her arm and back. She stared up through her lashes at the woman, cowering.

"And here I thought you were better than this." The woman clucked her tongue mockingly, but the Soldier recognized the barely controlled rage locked in her narrowed eyes. She took in the Soldier's body, her gaze was obviously unsatisfied. She gestured, "Take off it's shirt. Lucky for you, this compound has many more toys for me. After all, what's a lesson without a proper illustration, Soldat?" The woman grinned when the Soldier flinched at the name.

The woman approached. The Soldier sat up and drew back. Her hand reached out and tucked a bloodied strand of the Soldier's hair behind her ear, then rested it on her cheek.

She felt the cords of her corset loosen, and another soldier came to take it off, scuttling out of the way of the woman. The Soldier heard heavy breathing behind her, but her attention was on the hot hand cradling her cheek.

The woman sighed, her voice calm, "You're worthless." She withdrew her hand and slapped the Soldier hard enough to make her head wrench to the side.

The Soldier did not move for a moment. Her cheek burned and her head swam in a thousand different directions. Her vision did not clear, even after an eternity. What would happen if she just dropped off right here? Expired? Kicked the bucket? Terminated? Nobody would care, most likely. Her body would be stuffed into a broom closet until the sky rained blood and pigs flew.

The woman backed up and let the same soldier who had taken off her corset cut away her shirt. Or what was left of it, anyway. Sweat coursed down her back, making it sting. Why was it so hot?

The Soldier tried to focus on the woman as she took in her emaciated upper body, clothed only in a flimsy brassiere. The Solider's eyes were covered in salt. Every time she blinked, it ground into her eyes. The woman shook her head, "Guess we'll have to have people making sure you're eating now, Soldat. Chain it up."

She didn't have the energy to move when the metal collar clicked around her neck. Or when the bands fastened around her biceps, right above where she'd shot herself. Or when she felt the cuffs lock tightly around her wrists. She stared at the whip coiled up on the woman's belt.

The woman was stroking it.

The Soldier looked beyond that and found the source of the distressing heat. Something behind the woman. Her mind wouldn't tell her what it was. Her eyes weren't exactly cooperating, either. The woman moved closer, drawing the Soldier's attention back to her. She took the whip and uncoiled it in front of her, letting the end of it trail on the ground.

"Forty lashes is the typical punishment for a traitor, but, seeing how that arm is bleeding, I don't think you'd live through it. I suppose I'll settle for fifteen," she purred.

The Soldier thought about running. She really did. She thought long and hard about it. But what was the point of even getting up when she was going to be shoved down again? Besides, she didn't think she had the strength to stand, much less walk. She watched the woman raise the whip, and screwed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the number, not the pain. One.

"What were you thinking?" The woman's rage flooded her voice.

Crack. Two.

"Did you think they were going to take Zima in? Maybe help him?"