Chapter 35
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He did not give her anything and most of the time Sam had to provide a blue eye or a bloody grave. In the prisoners' gym, he drove Sam through hard endurance and strength training. The firing range of the guards was in the basement of the prison. Here Sam was allowed to improve their accuracy with the practice weapons.
The things worked with laser technology. Brutus was able to view and evaluate Sam's results on one screen. It had cost him a tired grin when Sam pointed the practice weapon at him. The things were unsuitable for attack.
The whole practice room was state of the art. Sam especially loved the projected stress simulations. The shooter stood in front of a semicircular screen flickering with different situations and scenes. There were always open doors and windows that showed grim shapes or women and children emerged from dark hiding places and you had to decide within seconds if you had to push off.
Sam was allowed to rehearse the handling of other weapons only as a dry exercise. Despite fierce protestations that she would not hurt or kill Brutus, he had presented her smiling with a dull wooden knife and a pole of foam. Sam's attempts to explain to him that these toys were unlikely to be realistic enough to see if she could kill attackers with a real knife or an iron bar, Brutus acknowledged with a weary smile.
In Brutu's office, Sam spent many a night sweating over several locks she had to open or sitting in frustration over a laptop and trying to hack into programs. Brutus was hardly ever satisfied with Sam. It always had to go faster and more professional. Sam hated him for that.
Particularly unpleasant Sam found the so-called survival training. Brutus insisted on dipping her head into a vat of water. Sam struggled against the iron grip of his paws. Vain. Brutus was satisfied only when Sam credibly pretended that she had drowned. She had been on the verge of dropping the spoon a few times. Brutus found these exercises important, Sam found them sadistic. She could not see the meaning and decided that Brutus was simply having a perverse pleasure in tormenting her.
As Sam slowly went to sleep, she thought of Jessica and the vow she had made on her death night. "My life for the execution of such scum!"
Grimly smiling, Sam turned to the side. If she ever left these walls alive, she would clean up under the brood of child molesters and murderers. Thanks to Brutus' training she now had a top condition and, thanks to the communicativeness of the seven specialists, a broad range of specialist knowledge. A good basis for bringing this dregs of humankind to a just and torturous punishment.
A shadow fell on Sam's face, which she noticed even through the closed eyelids. Brutus stood silently beside her cot. "Hey, you also have to teach me how to sneak up on it." Sam mumbled softly. She got up and followed Brutus.
He led her to his office. Sam's enthusiasm was limited when she thought of locks and hacker codes. She would rather have targeted the laser pistol on a few faces. Brutus closed the door behind Sam and turned the key around. Sam was amazed that Brutus' desk did not contain the usual utensils like locks, lockpicks, or the laptop. Her eyes fell on a liter bottle of tequila, two glasses, a bowl of lemon wedges, and two tiny salt shakers. She looked at Brutus questioningly.
"You're ready, we need to talk." He carried the bottle and glasses to the small table that stood in front of the huge, old leather couch that Brutus occasionally used as a place to sleep. The couch adjoined the door to Brutus' bathroom. These amenities were part of the privileges for the first man behind Lapuente.
Sam carried the lemon pieces and salt shakers over and sat down on the couch next to Brutus. Silently, he poured tequila into both glasses. They performed the typical drinking ritual together. Moisten the skin between the thumb and forefinger with saliva, sprinkle with salt, lick the salt, tip the tequilla, bite into the lemon.
Sam shook it, she grimaced. Your first alcohol for how long? Hot, the tequila flowed through her body and spread as a pleasant warmth in her stomach.
Brutus looked at Sam amused and refilled the glasses. "The second is better."
They repeated the ritual. Brutus continued to cover himself in silence and slowly turned the glass between his fingers.
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He did not give her anything and most of the time Sam had to provide a blue eye or a bloody grave. In the prisoners' gym, he drove Sam through hard endurance and strength training. The firing range of the guards was in the basement of the prison. Here Sam was allowed to improve their accuracy with the practice weapons.
The things worked with laser technology. Brutus was able to view and evaluate Sam's results on one screen. It had cost him a tired grin when Sam pointed the practice weapon at him. The things were unsuitable for attack.
The whole practice room was state of the art. Sam especially loved the projected stress simulations. The shooter stood in front of a semicircular screen flickering with different situations and scenes. There were always open doors and windows that showed grim shapes or women and children emerged from dark hiding places and you had to decide within seconds if you had to push off.
Sam was allowed to rehearse the handling of other weapons only as a dry exercise. Despite fierce protestations that she would not hurt or kill Brutus, he had presented her smiling with a dull wooden knife and a pole of foam. Sam's attempts to explain to him that these toys were unlikely to be realistic enough to see if she could kill attackers with a real knife or an iron bar, Brutus acknowledged with a weary smile.
In Brutu's office, Sam spent many a night sweating over several locks she had to open or sitting in frustration over a laptop and trying to hack into programs. Brutus was hardly ever satisfied with Sam. It always had to go faster and more professional. Sam hated him for that.
Particularly unpleasant Sam found the so-called survival training. Brutus insisted on dipping her head into a vat of water. Sam struggled against the iron grip of his paws. Vain. Brutus was satisfied only when Sam credibly pretended that she had drowned. She had been on the verge of dropping the spoon a few times. Brutus found these exercises important, Sam found them sadistic. She could not see the meaning and decided that Brutus was simply having a perverse pleasure in tormenting her.
As Sam slowly went to sleep, she thought of Jessica and the vow she had made on her death night. "My life for the execution of such scum!"
Grimly smiling, Sam turned to the side. If she ever left these walls alive, she would clean up under the brood of child molesters and murderers. Thanks to Brutus' training she now had a top condition and, thanks to the communicativeness of the seven specialists, a broad range of specialist knowledge. A good basis for bringing this dregs of humankind to a just and torturous punishment.
A shadow fell on Sam's face, which she noticed even through the closed eyelids. Brutus stood silently beside her cot. "Hey, you also have to teach me how to sneak up on it." Sam mumbled softly. She got up and followed Brutus.
He led her to his office. Sam's enthusiasm was limited when she thought of locks and hacker codes. She would rather have targeted the laser pistol on a few faces. Brutus closed the door behind Sam and turned the key around. Sam was amazed that Brutus' desk did not contain the usual utensils like locks, lockpicks, or the laptop. Her eyes fell on a liter bottle of tequila, two glasses, a bowl of lemon wedges, and two tiny salt shakers. She looked at Brutus questioningly.
"You're ready, we need to talk." He carried the bottle and glasses to the small table that stood in front of the huge, old leather couch that Brutus occasionally used as a place to sleep. The couch adjoined the door to Brutus' bathroom. These amenities were part of the privileges for the first man behind Lapuente.
Sam carried the lemon pieces and salt shakers over and sat down on the couch next to Brutus. Silently, he poured tequila into both glasses. They performed the typical drinking ritual together. Moisten the skin between the thumb and forefinger with saliva, sprinkle with salt, lick the salt, tip the tequilla, bite into the lemon.
Sam shook it, she grimaced. Your first alcohol for how long? Hot, the tequila flowed through her body and spread as a pleasant warmth in her stomach.
Brutus looked at Sam amused and refilled the glasses. "The second is better."
They repeated the ritual. Brutus continued to cover himself in silence and slowly turned the glass between his fingers.
He did not give her anything and most of the time Sam had to provide a blue eye or a bloody grave. In the prisoners' gym, he drove Sam through hard endurance and strength training. The firing range of the guards was in the basement of the prison. Here Sam was allowed to improve their accuracy with the practice weapons.The things worked with laser technology. Brutus was able to view and evaluate Sam's results on one screen. It had cost him a tired grin when Sam pointed the practice weapon at him. The things were unsuitable for attack.The whole practice room was state of the art. Sam especially loved the projected stress simulations. The shooter stood in front of a semicircular screen flickering with different situations and scenes. There were always open doors and windows that showed grim shapes or women and children emerged from dark hiding places and you had to decide within seconds if you had to push off.Sam was allowed to rehearse the handling of other weapons only as a dry exercise. Despite fierce protestations that she would not hurt or kill Brutus, he had presented her smiling with a dull wooden knife and a pole of foam. Sam's attempts to explain to him that these toys were unlikely to be realistic enough to see if she could kill attackers with a real knife or an iron bar, Brutus acknowledged with a weary smile.In Brutu's office, Sam spent many a night sweating over several locks she had to open or sitting in frustration over a laptop and trying to hack into programs. Brutus was hardly ever satisfied with Sam. It always had to go faster and more professional. Sam hated him for that.Particularly unpleasant Sam found the so-called survival training. Brutus insisted on dipping her head into a vat of water. Sam struggled against the iron grip of his paws. Vain. Brutus was satisfied only when Sam credibly pretended that she had drowned. She had been on the verge of dropping the spoon a few times. Brutus found these exercises important, Sam found them sadistic. She could not see the meaning and decided that Brutus was simply having a perverse pleasure in tormenting her.As Sam slowly went to sleep, she thought of Jessica and the vow she had made on her death night. "My life for the execution of such scum!"Grimly smiling, Sam turned to the side. If she ever left these walls alive, she would clean up under the brood of child molesters and murderers. Thanks to Brutus' training she now had a top condition and, thanks to the communicativeness of the seven specialists, a broad range of specialist knowledge. A good basis for bringing this dregs of humankind to a just and torturous punishment.A shadow fell on Sam's face, which she noticed even through the closed eyelids. Brutus stood silently beside her cot. "Hey, you also have to teach me how to sneak up on it." Sam mumbled softly. She got up and followed Brutus.He led her to his office. Sam's enthusiasm was limited when she thought of locks and hacker codes. She would rather have targeted the laser pistol on a few faces. Brutus closed the door behind Sam and turned the key around. Sam was amazed that Brutus' desk did not contain the usual utensils like locks, lockpicks, or the laptop. Her eyes fell on a liter bottle of tequila, two glasses, a bowl of lemon wedges, and two tiny salt shakers. She looked at Brutus questioningly."You're ready, we need to talk." He carried the bottle and glasses to the small table that stood in front of the huge, old leather couch that Brutus occasionally used as a place to sleep. The couch adjoined the door to Brutus' bathroom. These amenities were part of the privileges for the first man behind Lapuente.Sam carried the lemon pieces and salt shakers over and sat down on the couch next to Brutus. Silently, he poured tequila into both glasses. They performed the typical drinking ritual together. Moisten the skin between the thumb and forefinger with saliva, sprinkle with salt, lick the salt, tip the tequilla, bite into the lemon.Sam shook it, she grimaced. Your first alcohol for how long? Hot, the tequila flowed through her body and spread as a pleasant warmth in her stomach.Brutus looked at Sam amused and refilled the glasses. "The second is better."They repeated the ritual. Brutus continued to cover himself in silence and slowly turned the glass between his fingers.
