There was blood on the floor. How had it gotten there? A dark droplet tracked through his grey vision like a falling pebble and plocked onto the smooth stone by his knees. The blood loss and the drugs being poured through the veins in his forearm were making him sleepy and weak…it was so hard to think. He felt his body beginning to tip forward, and caught himself sharply, jerking his head up. He had been ordered not to lose consciousness, but it was…
Plock. Another drop spread into a ragged circle on the concrete.
Instructor Churnov gestured, and a small doorway swiveled on its axis, revealing a hollow space behind. A pale bundle was placed before him, and something heavy and hard clattered to the floor. "Look," Churnov commanded. He raised his eyes and felt a rush of dread that threatened his tenuous hold on consciousness. It was a baby, a sleeping baby of no more than eight or nine months. The child had probably been drugged…it had not awakened when it had been set onto the cold stone at his knees. A plain, smooth-headed baton, little more than a steel knob on a metal shaft, had been dropped near his right hand. Churnov's face did not change as he said, "Pick up the weapon, Soldier, and kill the child."
His stomach heaved, and he dropped forward onto his hand, shaking as he fought to keep himself from falling. "I…this…I can't…I can't…"
"Pick up the weapon, Soldier, and kill the child."
When he did not move to obey, the Instructor lashed out with a gauntleted fist, grabbed a handful of his overgrown hair and slammed his face into the concrete floor. He caught the brunt of the impact on the ridge of his right forehead and his cheek, and darkness blossomed behind his eyes. His arm burned as more substances were pushed into his bloodstream.
"Pick up the weapon, Soldier, and kill the child."
The Instructor had not released his grip on his hair, and pulled back his head until he could only see the ceiling blocks. "I can't, I can't, I can't…!" he cried, the rising pitch of his voice filling the chamber.
Two more impacts on his face blurred his vision until he could see only patches of light in a field of black. A voice he did not recognize said gently, "You must. It is for the good of your country."
The kind voice filled his mind, as his veins filled with fire. "America…requires…this?"
"It does. There is no one else who can do this. If you fail, all of America falls."
Plock.
He stretched out a trembling hand and closed his fingers around the grip of the baton.
AN: I may or may not be working on another CA:WS story.