“Never look at a master...”
His voice is low, rough, devoid of any emotion I can comprehend. It’s a command and a threat all wrapped into one.
He doesn’t wait for me to process his words. He raises the staff again, the blue light pulsing. This time, it connects with the soft flesh over my ribs. The impactis less focused, more of a jarring blow meant to punish my defiance, my inability to obey the first command. Pain radiates outwards, sharp and stabbing. I double over, gasping, my vision blurring at the edges.
“…without permission,” he adds, his voice flat, bored even. Like this is just another Tuesday for him.
I stay doubled over, trembling, the pain washing over me in waves. Tears burn my eyes, stinging hot and sharp. I want to beg, to plead, but something deep inside me screams against it. Against showing weakness. Against giving him the satisfaction.
He sees my slight movement, my attempt to recover, and he raises the staff again. The blue light glimmers.
“Where is Antonio?” I practically scream the words, scream them so quickly to get them out. I don’t understand where I am or what this is, and why he is not here.
He doesn’t wait. The cattle prod is pressed firmly against my side, and a jolt of electricity courses through me. It’s a deep, penetrating pain that makes me cry out. I collapse back onto the concrete, the air rushing out of my lungs in a sob.
“Silence,” he says, his voice devoid of any trace of humanity. “You are not allowed to talk.”
“But…”
He brings the staff down again, not on me, but on the concrete floor right beside my head. The metal strikes with a sharpness that makes me flinch, expecting another blow.
“Look at me.” he snaps, the anger in his voice unmistakable now.
I obey, my eyes fixed on his dark, unreadable face. He leans in slightly, invading my personal space, his presence overwhelming, suffocating.
“Now,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that is somehow even more menacing.
He gets up close to me now, his shadow falling over me completely. He looks me over, his eyes scanning my face, my body. He grabs my cheek, and it’s not a reassuring touch; it’s possessive, invasive.
“You are a dog,” he says, his voice calm, matter-of-fact. “And all dogs have to learn.”
He raises the cattle prod again, the black tip hovering near my shoulder. I flinch violently, my eyes wide with terror.
“Do you understand?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.
I shake my head, unable to find my voice, my body trembling uncontrollably.
He presses the prod against my skin again, and a searing pain lances through me. I scream this time; a raw, guttural sound of pure agony.
He moves the prod away but the fear lingers, thick and heavy in the air. He bends down, his face inches from mine. His eyes lock onto mine, boring into my very soul.
“Remember this,” he whispers, his breath warm against my face. “This is what happens when you disobey. When you speak without permission, when you look at your master without his leave.”
He straightens up, his expression unreadable again.
“Get up,” he commands, his voice returning to its earlier flat tone.
I try to obey but the pain, the sheer terror makes movement impossible. I lie there trembling, my body aching, my mind reeling.
I know he’s going to do it, I see the flare of electricity before he presses it against my skin but there’s nothing I can do. I scream as he hurts me, as he shocks me, as he hits me with so much pain I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t do anything.
And then it stops.
The fear is so profound, so absolute that I can’t summon the strength to move. I stay there, naked and broken on the cold concrete floor, the echo of his words and the fresh sting of pain branding me.
His eyes are empty, calculating as he stares back at me. “Your training begins now,” he says, his voice flat and final. “And you will obey.”
Iam standing.
