Paragon ✓

XII. The Passionate Intensity of Fearsome Things

Animals, whom we have made our slaves, we do not like to consider our equal. – Charles Darwin

The next morning, they were shooting stuffed dummies with pistols that moved swiftly along automatic tracks. Katia preferred this, as she could shoot to disable, rather than kill. Though she would never admit that it was her favourite, she found herself preferring the full-sized FN Five-seveN. She shot arms and legs, but never the head, and never the torso. Shooting the thin, flailing limbs was more challenging than the central torso, but soon enough, she had it right.

"I'm going to get some Gatorade," Holden said, looking woefully at his empty bottle. He seemed almost afraid of thirst after their experience on the mountain.

There were a number of large coolers full of Gatorade set up at a table in front of Building 12, a large warehouse about a hundred yards behind where they were shooting. Set up somewhat closer to them were two large thermoses for coffee and tea, providing the mercenaries with warm drinks in the cooling weather. Glancing back, she saw that Harper, who hadn't left all week, was sitting at a second picnic bench next to the hot drinks, holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his pudgy, white hands. She wondered bitterly why he was even here, rather than preoccupying himself with the nation's foreign affairs.

With him were Jackson and King. They seemed to be discussing something, but Harper was just watching her with his horrible, appraising gaze. Holden must have known she was loath to go anywhere near them. "Do you want some?"

"Thanks," she said, handing him her own bottle.

She turned back and aimed at the dummy, trying in vain to lose the feeling of Harper's eyes on her back. She shot directly at the dummy's knees, and a twisted thing inside of her imagined it was Harper. She heard footsteps behind her, not graceful, but clumsy. She turned. It was King, coming over for the first time that week. "What are you doing, Omega-two?"

She glared at him, but said nothing.

"If you shoot, you shoot to kill." He stood over her. "Now, shoot again. Shoot that dummy right in the chest."

Was this how it would be? Would she be forced to kill, commanded by a man for whom she had no respect? She glanced at Holden. He was speaking with the Betas and the Epsilons, who must have just returned from their last mission. Holden shook their hands and said something, and they all burst out laughing. Sam punched Holden in the shoulder. Though it was in jest, Holden grimaced, like he was trying to conceal real pain. They looked like brothers horsing around.

They could be good, Katia thought. They didn't need to be monsters.

Her gaze cut back to Harper and Jackson, who were watching her intently. This was some sort of test. She looked at the dummy. It would mean nothing to shoot it in the chest, yet it would mean everything. She didn't want to know how to kill a person. More than that, she didn't want to play into their game.

"Omega-two," King cut into her thoughts. "Did you hear me? I told you to shoot the dummy in the chest. I want to see a clean kill shot."

Katia could not stand this man. She knew there would be consequences, but she no longer cared. She turned, and as calmly as she could, she shot the dummy in the elbow.

"Do I need to remind you what disobedience will cost you?" King screamed at her, pushing her. "Do as I tell you! Now, or I swear to god the entire Yazykova family will be dead by sundown!"

He spat on her cheek. There was something off about his anger, something unusual, but all she could feel was the wet hideousness of his spit on her cheek, and the fury his threat produced. She turned the gun on him.