Page 41 of Monster Made
“He beat her up,” I spit out. “He beatmygirl up. He had no right to lay a hand on her.”
“He didn’t know she was your girl, Quill. He would never have crossed that line if he’d known.”
“He knew. Everyone at school knows. She’s mine. She’s fuckingmine.”
“Quill, please.” Al Campbell twists his hands nervously in his lap. “Please. Ray was telling me that he didn’t know you were together. You’ve always bullied her, and—”
“Because she’s MINE!” I roar, and he puts his hands in front of his face, as if that can possibly protect him from the bullet thatI’m just itching to let loose. “I’m allowed to do what the fuck I want to her. No one else is. I made that fucking clear the very first day of high school. He crossed that line, and he’s going to fucking pay for it.”
“Okay, Quill. Okay. I hear you.” Al Campbell is still nervously eyeing my gun. One of his hands keeps edging toward the emergency button on the bedside table, but each time he gets near it, I cock my gun threateningly. “We’ve really gone above and beyond to make things pleasant for you, Quill. Yeah? I took you off the experiment. The rules that apply to most soldiers don’t apply to you. Don’t make Tragen regret that. Don’t make him regret not using you the way he started to, and—”
Campbell suddenly goes beet red and then stops talking. I’m not a curious guy. In fact, I guess I’m pretty much the polar opposite of Piper. But something about him suddenly seeming more nervous about what he’s accidentally let slip than about my gun makes me pause.
“How did Tragen start using me?” I question.
“Now, now, Quill,” says Campbell, as if I’m being the unreasonable one. “No need to bring that up. It’s over and done with. Okay? You can move on to other things, like this girl of yours… whom Tragen hasnoidea about, I swear,” he adds slightly too hastily, in a way that might have had alarm bells ringing in my mind if I hadn’t been focused on way too many things at once. “And even if he did, he’s not going to be holding you to the same rules as other soldiers, okay, Quill? You’re allowed to have a girlfriend. The other soldiers aren’t, but youare, Quill. Yeah?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I hiss out, as he looks at me in momentary confusion. His face clears when I add, “She’smine.”
“Okay, fine, she’syours.” I can actually hear the invisible eye roll as he speaks, but then he reddens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course she’s yours, Quill. Of course. Now, whydon’t you go and, uhm, enjoy her? It’s a nice day out, and—fuck! Okay, okay!”
I’ve just walked around to the side of his bed and pressed my gun to his temple. “You have two ways of getting out of this situation alive,” I growl. “Tell me what Tragen started doing to me, or tell me where your motherfucking son is.”
Campbell lets out a loud breath of relief. “Okay. I’ll tell you what Tragen started doing,” he says at once.
I guess he assumes I’ve changed my mind about killing his son. He clearly doesn’t know me very well.
“Do you know how Tragen whips his soldiers into line?” he questions, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief as I very slightly lower my gun.
I shrug. “He trains them, I guess. He trains them to obey.”
“Yes, he does train them. But not to obey. Tofear.”
“Okay.” It definitely feels true. In training, the slightest mistake gets severely punished. And when we graduate high school and become full-fledged soldiers, punishment gives way to death.
Talk in formation, walk out of rhythm, show up five minutes late—you’re dead.
The degree of your fault doesn’t matter. The same extreme fate awaits whether you’ve fucked up a contract or whispered to another soldier during a drill.
Inexplicably, I’ve always escaped Tragen’s punishments. Maybe he recognizes in me a person who just doesn’t do fear.
“We train soldiers until all they have leftisfear,” continues Campbell. “And I’ve theorized that soldiers would be a lot better at carrying out contracts if that fear was removed.”
I frown in confusion. “But… why? If all they have is fear, then removing that means…”
“Exactly,” beams Campbell proudly. “They’d have nothing left. They’d turn into pure killing robots. The perfect weapon.”
I take a step back, my eyes widening.
“And you wanted to turn me into a killing robot?Me?”
“No, no,” clarifies Campbell nervously, his eyes noting my hand as it tightens around my gun. “You see, we needed some variables. Two properly-conditioned trainees, and then you and Finn Austen, who don’t fit the mold. But we took you off the experiment after that Sunday night, when…”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “What Sunday night? It was last Wednesday.”
“Right, right, that’s what I meant to say.”
From the way his eyes are darting furtively from one side of the room to the other, I can tell he’s lying.
