Ms McVaughn quickly climbed the rungs of the prison hate-ladder, easily scaling the average guard and surpassing the warden herself, placing second only to the arch-sadist chief Sheinberg. As far as McVaughn was concerned, the first days of the training program had nothing to do with getting any of the volunteers into shape, but rather to sieve out the weak from the strong. Elimination was her favourite method. If any one so much as slipped up, she’d descend on them and blast their face full of her whistle; if she didn’t have the whistle to hand, all she had was her cigarette ––the women were glad when she had the whistle.
Many fell out the very first day. McVaughn exempted all the volunteers from their usual schedules and brought them down to the yard, where they were ordered to hold up ladders in several long rows. It seemed easy at first, deceptively so. Many hands distributing the weight made it light at first, but less so after ten minutes, after twenty, an hour –– by the third hour, it felt heavier than a boulder. As the first women started to buckle, McVaughn whistled them off, leaving each remaining prisoner with a higher portion of the total weight.
Chione’s row was especially punishing ––they lost four people within the first few hours. There was no leniency over it. When the girl two places behind Chione collapsed to her knees, McVaughn threw her out, even though she was clearly tougher than some of the girls in the next line over, who had lost fewer people.
“I can’t handle it,” one of the girls was saying to another in Chione’s cell, “I mean, I’m trying to hang on. But with the trainer breathing down my neck, waiting for every mistake? Nope, I’m out.”
“But the reward? You don’t wanna at least try?”
“Man, fuck that, none of us are ever going free. And every day we’re training we’re not mining. Can’t afford this.”
As she eavesdropped, a kneeling Chione finished getting changed and stowed her things away in the knapsack. She went to check her bed. While there were no loose bolts, her mattress had been slashed again. She didn’t even sigh, and just clambered onto it ready to sleep.
“Is she still in?” the sound of the other girls’ voices kept coming.
“Think so.”
“Seriously, how? You saw how she got her ass beat by Rigoletta.”
“You’d get your ass beat by Rigoletta.”
“Still,” the first voice said, as Chione listened to every word, “she’s gotta be out soon, right? I mean, you saw how she was… broken.”
“Rich girl, innit. Surprised she’s lasted this long.”
Chione may not have been an athlete, but she had taken exercise seriously. Learning to ride had been demanding on her younger body, while learning to do it side-saddle had been tedious. Even with the atrophy of a poor Asphodel diet, her core and leg muscles had a good baseline, and it took her nearly an hour of running to get exhausted. But she knew her limits. McVaughn’s training wasn’t enough, so she decided to dedicate all the time she had to working her fitness. Strengthening her arms was most important, though she often had to wait for the weights to be free.
The first few reps on her first day tired her out within minutes. But then she remembered Sheinberg, and she pushed for another set. Then Rigoletta, and she got another two reps even as her biceps screamed. Cheshire — her arms fell and she stared in silence. She would try again tomorrow.
After the physical trials, McVaughn subjected the remaining fifty candidates to psychological tactics. She had them lined up, and hurled a barrage of abuse at them one after another. This was standard drilling for a Kratian military formation, but after Vio-integration, endless counts and the regimentation of their every waking and sleeping moments, the prisoners were already disciplined. The reverse of this was that McVaughn would show no quarter. Any sign of cracking, and they were out.
“You,” she jabbed her finger into the chest of a tall recruit, “state your name!”
“I’m Patch, sir!”
“Patch? I’ve never heard anyone called Patch before, you grow up among cabbages, did you?”
“No sir,” said Patch.
“Then state your real name.”
“Uh… Patricia, sir.”
“Now isn’t that delicious.”
The trainer smirked, pulling her drag from her teeth and holding it between her fingers.
“I’ve seen tomboys before, but you look like a pretty boy. I’ve half a mind to pull down your pants and check if you’ve got a cock. What do you think of that, Patricia?”
“Uh, nothing sir! I know how I look but I am a girl.”
“So would you do it? Pull down your pants, show to the world that you’re pussy Patricia?”
Patch just stared forward, and since she stood a few inches higher than McVaughn that meant staring above her head.
“I…” she said, “I would follow any order you give, sir.”
“Damn right! Let me guess, they like to call you a dyke? That sound about right?”
“Yes sir. Back at home, a lot sir.”
“They should have spit on you for good measure,” added McVaughn with a laugh. “Did they spit on you, dyke?”
“Yes sir!” reported Patch, “all the time sir.”
“And if I told all these other girls here to call you a dyke and spit at you, would you complain?”
“No sir!”
The trainer laughed again, and began to sidle over to the next in line.
“Hah! I like you, Patricia. Now who do we have…?”
Her eyes fell down until they finally landed on Zak, who was staring up with wide, burning eyes, and an absolutely stiff body.
“Name?” demanded McVaughn.
“Zaklin Changriy.”
“And do you have something to say to me? Come on, speak your mind?”
For the briefest of moments, Zak’s eyes darted over to Patch to her side. But they fixed on the trainer again. Her hand clasped and unclasped, but the trainer’s watchful gaze was dead set on her face.
“I have nothing to say,” Zak said, with a heavy exhale, “sir.”
Through it all, the list of people had been whittled down to about twenty. At the end of the day’s session, McVaughn gathered them around to explain the next stage –– VA1 handling –– and she consequently expected them in Danton Pygamile’s hangar the next day at 7:30. With that, she left, leaving the remaining groups of girls in the yard. Patch and Zak were shortly joined by Leonore and Tomei, who had come to gush over their success in making it so far. A few yards away, Rigoletta, Roxie and Vil were all still in the game, and Tatiana and Sophy came to celebrate them as well.
“Wow, you guys are like, so strong,” Sophy babbled, batting her heavy lashes and brushing her blonde hair off her shoulder.
“You know it, babe,” Rigoletta said, leering down at the blonde, and sliding her hand down the small of her back, “this is a pack of she-wolves. They’ve got nothing on us! Those places are basically ours.”
“Well, three of them are,” Roxie said, trickling her hands up Rigoletta’s back in a sensual fashion.
“Who knows who the other two will be. Ah, maybe it’ll be the lovebirds over there?”
Rigoletta followed Roxie’s gesture with her eyes, landing on Patch, Zak and the other girls. She gave a chuckle, which came out like a booming bark.
“You’re pretty tough, ain’t ya, Patch.”
Glancing over, Patch smiled, although it was a wary one. She stepped a couple paces in to block the line of sight between Rigoletta and Tomei.
“You could say that,” she said. “But you should see Zak too. She may be small but she packs a punch.”
“Heh,” Rigoletta looked at the green haired girl. “Usually I’d say a girl that small should stick to the bedroom. But I’ve seen you sweat it out in a V92. What do you say? Us five to the very end?”
Zak pulled her cheek, and she stepped in to help Patch block the family from view.
“The places will go to whoever’s the best woman. And yeah, that’ll be me and Patch. But I don’t doubt you’ll make it far.”
“Aren’t we forgetting someone, dears?”
Everyone turned, many taking on faces of consternation as they saw who had spoken. Cheshire, flanked by a swaggering Rover and a shrinking Melissa stepped forward, equal distance from Patch’s group to her left and Rigoletta’s to her right.
“You’re in the final twenty?” asked Roxie, raising a brow.
“Of course,” Cheshire said, folding her hand against her chest, “and at a severe daily cost, it is a real investment. We mean to get to the end of course.”
Zak placed her hands on her hips and pointed out that, “you don’t even go to the mines. How are you cut out for it?”
“I’m a mature lady, remember,” the woman purred, “I had my work experience back in the day. Before I saved enough to create my little ventures.”
“All three of you?” Rigoletta said, “even the pipsqueak?”
Seizing up under the one-eyed glare of Rigoletta, Melissa managed to come forward and stammer:
“I-I would do anything for mommy! Even if it hurts, and keurgh––”
She began to cough again and unable to complete her declaration she just retreated back behind the others.
“You must have pulled some magic to get her through so far,” Roxie said, giggling, “but I hear that McVaughn’s going to have us fight each other in those mechs. I think the poor thing will have a heart attack! Almost as frail as that….”
Her eyes began to wander off, searching where some of the other successful candidates had been. Most had slowly peeled away, back to their daily scheduled life at Asphodel. All except Chione. Granted, she hadn’t just stayed still and watched all this from the sidelines. The outdoor gym equipment was nearby, and even though they had just gone through another gruelling day of McVaughn’s training, Chione wasn’t done straining with weights from the bench.
“Hey princess,” Roxie called out, “didn’t you get the memo about not leaving trash lying around?”
Chione stopped mid-lift, still staring down at the ground, yet she could feel twelve pairs of eyes fix on her. She slowly let the dumbbell fall, never minding the ache in her arm. Roxie grinned.
“What, did someone forget to take you out.”
“Ah my sweet dear,” said Cheshire, “you’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”
“Fridge, eh. You got a lot of nerve showing your face again after the last ass-kicking you got,” Rigoletta added.
Slowly breathing, Chione came to stand up and faced them all, though looking nowhere in particular. Their faces all became blurs to her eyes.
Zak frowned, saying, “you’re still in too? Are you sure you can do this, you’ve never used a V92.”
“You could come by for a shift,” Patch suggested, “we could show you the ropes.”
“Patch…?”
Patch shrugged, “just thinking aloud. She shouldn’t go in blind, you know.”
Roxie bent forward with a provocative smile.
“Aw, you’re going to ruin our fun. I wanna bet on how quickly she’ll crash and burn.”
“You think I’m so weak.”
Chione had spoken in a voice as cool as a winter wind.
“All of you. As if you understand anything..”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zak bit back, “Patch was giving you an offer, more than you deserve!”
“Yeah, and momma took you in when no one would,” added Rover.
Rigoletta folded her arms, shifting her jacket back and flexing her thick muscles.
“Maybe I’m gonna take on that bet. I think you’ll last just long enough for me to get my claws on you. You wanna run your mouth some more, Fridge?”
Chione closed her eyes, and the smallest of smiles touched her lips.
“You’ve all been here too long. With your fake lives and your fake…families. You’re just trying to play the same game you always do. But I won’t become like you.”
Rigoletta’s face contorted, Zak scowled, and even Cheshire’s smile began to fade. The only one who didn’t bristle was Roxie, who still wore that delighted grin. Chione just turned around, and began to walk away.
“That’s why I will win.”