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>He went up to the door and tried to identify anyone's voice if >possible..."Hey...anyone hear me?" He said in not too loud a voice. >It was a man's face, hard and lean, with eyes that were filled with a rage >that had >turned him cold. "Yeah, I hear you little Fleeter." A knife appeared >in the window, >gleaming a dull, cold silver. "My friend here hears you too. >You wanna get >acquainted?" The hatred in his voice could cut titanium. "Not really...thank you all the same." >"It's not time for that one!" came a voice from down the corridor, somewhere >out of David's visual range. >The hard man's face turned away for a moment. "I just wanted to have some >fun with him, Sarge." >"Save it. The colonel wants him in the best shape possible for his time in >the Box. They last longer that way." The invisible voice had a tone of >authority. >The hard man's face turned back to Boulay with a look that spoke of how much >he would have enjoyed cutting off little pieces of Boulay's flesh. "All >right, Sarge," he called, then narrowed his eyes at Boulay and turned the >knife slowly. "But if you live after they get done with you, you're mine." >A chilling smile crept across his face and he turned and left. "I'll make sure I put it in my appointment book." He smiled sweetly and walked away from the door. (response) "Then again..." he yelled, "If I'm not in good shape your BOX will get nothing out of me!!!" He slammed himself into a wall hard enough to cut the skin on his arm and yelled out-exxaggerating the pain-when anyone comes to the door, he'll clasp his head in his hands and drop to the floor.
