Court-Martial

"Shall we begin?"

Win felt the devices closing in around her hands and feet, shifting her arms and legs apart, forcing her body into the shape of an X, the metal mechanisms around her making sure everything was held taut in place.

A brief breeze reminded her of her nakedness, cooling the droplet of sweat that had trickled down her chest and onto her bare breast. It rested on her left nipple. Both stood erect, as if pointing to the crowd of witnesses before her, in some sort of an act of accusation.

That's how Win would've liked to think of it, at least. Really, it was just fear.

"This is your last chance, soldier," The man's voice said, sarcastically. "You know," it added, whispering now and getting closer, "I have a daughter about your age," dripping the words into Win's ear, too close, breath hot and wet, "Only a little bit older than you. It pains me to have to see you like this. If you repent, I may be able to get them to go easy on you. I could even make certain . . . arrangements, to make your stay in the camps more . . . comfortable . . . if you know what I mean. For the both of us."

Win didn't blink.

"Then let us begin," the old voice croaked, doing its best to hide its disappointment.

The red ray slithered out of the metal hilt and pooled on the ground in a bath of its own electric light.

"Lash her until she begins to cry," the voice ordered, "Then two more hours after that," and stomped away.