Page 49 of Freak Camp (A Monster By Any Other Name #1)

“Enough,” the Director said at last, when Tobias had been reduced to blindness, stuttering incomprehensibly from pain and fear, shoulders burning from jerking at the chain, wrists one massive bruise from holding his weight when his legs gave out.

The Director—looking satisfied, as though a project had just begun to show promise—stepped back to the small table with his instruments and began carefully cleaning the head of the crop.

“You see how well he responds?” he said conversationally, even though Crusher looked too absorbed in the way Tobias’s body shuddered to pay attention.

“How thorough and creative he can be? It shows a decent level of intelligence and observation, but really says almost nothing about the freak’s true level of understanding.

Even a moderately trained animal can produce rote responses to avoid pain.

My goal— our goal—is to instill belief and understanding where previously there was only memorization. Do you understand me, Mr. Sloan?”

Crusher snapped his attention to the Director’s face, clearly struggling to recall the question. “He can’t just say the words. He has to mean them.”

The Director’s mouth quirked in a small smile. “Exactly. Very good, Mr. Sloan.”

Tobias could do very little but hang and sob. Compared with interrogations he had had in the past, the pain had been relatively light. Even compared with a hard whipping, the damage was minimal.

But it was worse, so much worse, because Tobias hadn’t been able to go away.

He had to stay there, thinking, searching his mind for every degrading thing he had ever been called, for everything he had ever been told a monster was.

He could have just given in, stayed silent, retreated, but the difference in pain between the crop and the prod was so vast that he couldn’t .

He couldn’t retreat when there was a way, any way that the pain could be less.

Usually after a while, the guards and hunters didn’t give a damn what he was saying. They never had more than a handful of questions for him, questions he never had an answer to, and when he degenerated into mindless sounds and begging, it was what they had really wanted from the beginning.

The first time a “No, please ,” left his lips, the Director paused, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him until his feet left the floor. Tobias noted absently, as he gasped from the pressure on his neck, that the Director’s arm didn’t so much as tremble from supporting his weight.

“Did I give you permission to beg?” he asked.

“N-n-no, sir.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Director pushed him away and glanced at Crusher. “Twice. Space them out. Long shocks.”

Tobias tried desperately after that not to beg, to keep answering the Director’s single, horrible question, but pleading had been trained into him for so long he couldn’t stop please don’t and no, God from slipping out.

And every time the Director gave his tight little nod, and Crusher jabbed the prod into his skin.

The first time he had said God —he wasn’t sure he believed in any kind of god, it was just a word that monsters used when they were in pain, though he knew some religious theory from his reading—the Director had whipped him hard, three or four times, then dragged him off his feet again.

“God doesn’t exist,” he said. “And he never listens to monsters.” Then he had given Crusher the nod.

Now, even when it seemed potentially over, Tobias couldn’t expect anything. Time and time again, the Director did things that Tobias hadn’t expected, and every time there was pain at the end.

While the Director cleaned the crop, Crusher smiled nastily and shifted the prod from hand to hand, snapping the button to send electricity shooting between the points. When he stepped closer, Tobias tried to brace himself again for the volts.

“Perhaps you should take your annual physical examination early, Mr. Sloan.” For the first time that evening, the Director’s voice carried a hint of anger.

Crusher hesitated. “Sir?”

“Or perhaps it is your attention and not your hearing that is lacking.” The Director placed the crop precisely on the little table, drawing attention to every instrument he hadn’t used.

“Punishment ends when I say and begins when I say. If you have a problem with that, Mr. Sloan, I’m sure I can find someone”—his tone said something —“capable of performing your duties.”

The Director held the guard’s eyes for a long minute, and Crusher glanced down first. “No . . . sir. Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The Director glanced at the prod in Crusher’s hand. “You can clean that and put it in the charger. It’s in the Administration resource room.”

After one last hungry glance at Tobias’s suspended body, Crusher retreated.

The Director smiled when he left the room. “Good boy,” he murmured. Then he walked to Tobias and kicked the stool toward his feet. “Stand on that. Release your hands.”

He watched expressionlessly while Tobias struggled to move his aching feet and his arms—numb until he moved them, and then began to burn so badly he panted from the pain. It took him three tries before he could coordinate to get his bound hands off the hook.

Tobias collapsed on the stool and slid to the floor.

The Director neither moved to catch him nor to avoid his fall.

He stared down at Tobias, considering something that Tobias wasn’t sure was about him.

After Tobias had caught his breath, the Director tipped his head toward the corner. “Put your clothes back on.”

Tobias stumbled up and to his clothes. His hands shook as he pulled the shirt over his head, and he knew it would be agony again when he next took it off. Over the night the crop marks would scab into the fabric, retearing the half-healed wounds when he removed the shirt.

It was as though the Director could read his thoughts.

But only monsters could do that. “You will shower after every session,” he said.

“Not the showers in Administration. They are for humans exclusively, so as long as you aren’t bleeding all over the floor, I expect you to use the facilities set aside for monsters. Do you have questions?”

Tobias hesitated, one pant leg on. The Director hadn’t told him to remove the tight underwear, so he hadn’t.

The man’s expression hardened. “89UI, while generally I will expect you to obey, respond, and submit without question, complaint, or excessive noise, when I do give you the opportunity to ask questions, it is because I will not repeat myself, and I expect perfect compliance with my expectations. Whether or not you know those expectations is, in this instance, completely upon your shoulders. While I consider this the early stages of training—and thus your mistakes will be punished with more leniency than I would otherwise allow—that does not mean you can expect me to cater to your freakish inconsistency, weakness, deception, and malicious guile. I have no intention of placing my species in jeopardy because I ignored a single mistake. Permitting you to ask, even, when I should let you fail and then be punished, is a kindness. If you are too lazy and stupid to make use of my kindness, you will cease to deserve it.”

Tobias took a shaky breath. “Sir, sh-showers are usually locked after dinner. H-How do I get access?”

“I have already informed the guards that you are to be permitted to shower. The facilities will then be cleaned for the evening, possibly by you, and then locked.” The Director stopped and waited.

Tobias licked his lips, and then choked out the question. “And if I’m bleeding on the floor, sir?”

“Ask me clear questions , 89UI. Don’t be stupid and sloppy.”

“S-s-sir, how do I sh-shower if I c-can’t walk or f-function due to b-blood loss or injury?”

A small smile. “I will have you cleaned.”

The door opened, and Crusher reentered the room. Tobias pulled his pants up hastily and stood, shaking, eyes down.

“Ah, good. I trust that all your equipment is properly put away?” the Director asked.

Crusher glanced at Tobias and looked sullen. He was still hard, visibly stiff against his pants, though Tobias had half expected him to jerk himself off while he was out of the Director’s sight. But all he said was, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Director said. “89UI6703, you will report to me every Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. from now on. The staff in Administration knows that you are expected at this time and will not stop you, though if you try to abuse that privilege by entering the building without permission at other times, I will have your hands broken. I expect you to report promptly and without fail. I do not believe I need to waste a guard’s time making sure you arrive.

If you are more than five minutes early, I will have you beaten.

Do not be late. I also expect you to shower beforehand. Do you have any questions?”

“What . . . what happens, sir, if I ar-r-rive late?”

The Director frowned. “I realize that as an ungrateful piece of shit, you find it hard to appreciate what I am doing for you, but if you waste even a second of my time, I will take that as an indication that you are even more of a lost cause than I already know you to be. Don’t disappoint me.”

Tobias made a small noise, Crusher shifted uncomfortably, and the Director smiled for a second.

Then he turned to the guard. “Mr. Sloan, as you have requested this duty, you may naturally arrive at the same time, or earlier, than the freak. I would ask that if you are not able to make it, or are going to be late, you inform me as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” Crusher nodded. “And thank you, sir, for this . . . opportunity, sir, and . . . honor.”

The Director’s mouth quirked. “It’s good to work with a man of your enthusiasm and experience. If you like, you may escort the freak to the showers.”

Crusher’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, sir. Freak! Come!”