The Culling by Steven Dos Santos

the direction of the banks of monitors embedded in the wall. “In any event, should any of you entertain the notion of deserting your posts, I’d seriously rethink that strategy.”
    As if on cue, the screens come to life with images of the giant pylons positioned around the entire perimeter of the base. The blinking green lights on them change to yellow, then red. Slade turns to the nearest display. “Infiernos is protected by a highly sophisticated defense grid which includes sensors that detect body-heat signatures. Anyone attempting to cross the barriers while the fences are active will trigger a sonic pulse powerful enough to implode the brain and make it leak out your ears.” She glances back at us and shrugs. “But you don’t have to take my word for it.”
    The next thirty seconds are a grisly montage of prisoners being pushed and thrown into the armed barriers, complete with piercing screams of agony as their insides turn to mush. When the monitors finally, mercifully, go dark, Slade turns around to face us again. “Any questions?”
    We all shake our heads.
    “Who are we missing?” she barks.
    I risk a glance down the line. Ophelia and her curly red hair are still a no-show.
    That can’t be good.
    The sergeant steps forward and stands nose-to-nose with Cypress. “Identify yourself, Recruit!”
    “Cypress Goslin, ma’am.”
    “ Sir !” Slade barks.
    A twitch exposes a chink in the armor of Cypress’s composure. “E-excuse me?”
    Slade widens her stance and leans in, her forehead practically touching Cypress’s. “What’s the matter, does the Aggie in the group have crops growing out of her ears? You will address me as Sir , not Ma’am , not Miss , not whatever other term of endearment you so choose. Understood, Recruit?”
    “Yes, Sir,” Cypress mutters.
    “I can assure you, Recruit Goslin, that if you’re having trouble enunciating, I have a repertoire of techniques available at my disposal that will ensure you scream at the top of your lungs.”
    “Yes, Sir!”
    “Much better. Pity. I was so looking forward to motivating you.” She steps back. “I’m sure I’ll have that opportunity very shortly. You’re bound to make a stupid mistake. Don’t you agree, Goslin?”
    “Yes … Sir!”
    “Very good. You learn quickly. I can see the hatred burning in your eyes, but you’re capable of controlling it. Hold on to that emotion. Let it nurture you. Draw strength from it. It can prove quite useful as you prepare for the Trials.”
    “I will, Sir!”
    But Slade has already moved on, stationing herself in front of Digory. “Identity, Recruit?”
    “Digory Tycho, Sir!”
    “Tycho? Hmmm. I’ve heard a lot about you, Recruit. It seems you have quite the reputation, as one of the most promising candidates at your Instructional Facility.”
    “Yes, Sir!”
    Apparently Digory’s not about to make the same mistake Cypress did in her initial responses.
    Slade eyes him up and down. “I see. Unfortunately, this isn’t some popularity contest where you can charm your way past instructors and your fellow students to the top of the class with the minimum effort you are used to.”
    Digory’s face remains stoic. “Understood, Sir.”
    Her eyes continue to appraise him. “You’re obviously quite strong, Tycho. But physical prowess alone is not enough to emerge triumphant during the Trials. A good Recruit will possess an exceptional acumen, acute cunning and guile which I’m not sure your all-star school-boy status has prepared you for.”
    Gideon lowers his head and I can tell he’s holding back a chuckle, which makes me want to dissolve our newly born alliance before it’s taken its first steps—until I think it’s probably the first time he’s stood and watched while someone else was being bullied.
    His attempt at subtlety doesn’t escape the eye in the back of Slade’s head. “Do you find me amusing, Recruit?” She strides over and plants herself smack-dab in his personal