After he’d torn off all the limbs, he began to claw and bite the tissue away from the skeleton.
Mark was so enthralled by the spectacle, he let it go on for a while. Lydia had warned that leaving the soldiers on total destruction mode for too long would compromise their function, but Brenner needed a good hard whack to get him into line.
Brenner clawed and gnawed at the bleeding shreds of the dummy like a maddened dog. He would just keep at it indefinitely until Mark told him to stop, or until the target was pulped.
He pushed the stop button. Brenner rolled over onto his back, gasping for breath.
When the slave soldier’s sig once again looked more or less human and he’d struggled back up onto his feet, Mark pointed at the child dummy.
“That’s your next target,” he said. “Go.”
He pushed TOT. DES. and Brenner roared again. Then he staggered, and stopped. He stood there, swaying. His arms swung around, fingers clutching and fisting, seeking a target to strike and rend but remaining motionless. Three seconds. Five. Ten.
Mark cursed under his breath. Bullshit implant and stim design. Worthless turd was resisting his programming. If Mark pushed too far, he’d trip the autodestruct and Brenner would be toast. A huge investment of energy down the drain.
He stopped the amplifier, pulled out the freq wand and set it to maximum pain.
He let Brenner scream and writhe for a good ten minutes. He’d almost ceased to care if he damaged the guy. He had to learn his lesson, or else he’d be useless anyway. So why the fuck not? Better to just have at. Get it out of his system.
He let Brenner catch his breath after his punishment, sweating and shaking, and then gave the man a rousing kick to the ribs. He pointed to the child dummy.
“On your feet,” he barked. “Again. That’s your target. Go.”
He pushed the button and Brenner leaped on the little girl dummy with a hoarse roar. He began to tear it to pieces, yelling the entire time, but his hoarse bellows no longer sounded triumphant. They sounded desperate.
Mark observed carefully. After a while, he concluded that as long as he functioned, Brenner could suffer as much as he liked. His inner conflict was irrelevant as long as the programming held. And it seemed to be holding. So it was all good.
He watched with enjoyment as the process ran its course. The bloodsoaked, howling Brenner reduced the child dummy to something unrecognizable as human. Skull crushed, bones shattered, tissue torn apart. Almost liquefied. It was enough.
Mark lifted the console and stopped him. A strange silence descended. Even the bird and animal sounds were gone.
“Go down to the creek,” Mark told the slave soldier, pointing to the nearby gulley. “Get cleaned up. There are fresh clothes for you in the back of the truck.”
Brenner got to his feet. “Callie.” His voice was scratchy and ruined.
“She’s not here,” Mark said. “If she were, I would tell you to kill her. And you would do it. So shut the fuck up. Go clean up.”
Brenner was looking at the ground. Mark realized that the slave soldier was staring at the doll that the researchers had shoved into the girl dummy’s hand.
It was a baby doll, drenched with blood. Now missing an arm and an eye.
Brenner lifted his head, and fixed his eyes on Mark. His blue eyes shone weirdly bright, their color only heightened by the slimy fake blood that covered his face.
Brenner’s gaze was pure concentrated hatred.
It didn’t bother Mark. Hate was good. Hate was fuel.
He should know.
Chapter 17
Cold, bracing air rushed in when the car door opened. They were at Noah’s house again. She’d come full circle. She got out, squinting in the white light from the overcast sky. Glimmering gray lakewater and evergreens. It smelled good.
Her legs wobbled for a moment when she tried to stand. Adrenaline aftermath.
Noah offered his hand to walk to the house. She took it, entwining her fingers with his, comforted by the warmth of his touch. The lethal war machine she’d just seen in action had been locked away somewhere deep in his psyche.
The guy was a walking contradiction.
They reached the door and went in, making their way into the big kitchen. Noah switched gears, going into alpha-male domestic mode. She was fine with that.
Strong coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich grounded her a little. She was starting in on her second cup when Noah sat down opposite her, silently waiting.
She struggled inwardly for a few minutes as she sipped her coffee. Her first instinct was to stay silent, which seemed like the only way to protect him and herself. Although she’d never in her life met a person less in need of protecting than Noah Gallagher.
What a weird and excellent rush that was.
The urge to resist his curiosity was still there, but it was mostly habit. The desire to tell him the truth was getting stronger by the second.
“I’m not sure where to begin,” she said at last. “But I do want to talk.”