A strange sound comes to my ears, and I open my eyes, wishing for the first time that I had a blanket. Korea may be hot as hell in the summer time, but we're coming up on October… I think. Fuck I'm not too sure, and I'm starting to get cold at night. A ratty flight suit isn't doing anything for me, although my boots are still in pretty good condition.

But what I'm hearing now isn't combat boots, or even shoes. It sounds like... high heels? What the fuck?

I hear someone turn the corner at the end of the hallway and come closer, and I see a woman in a skirt and suit come to a stop in the doorway of my cell. One of the guards is with her, not Moby and not Cade, who I haven't seen since he brought me that plate of rice and salty soup. “Well, if the Beast doesn't work, I guess Kim's going to try Beauty.”

She is pretty, I have to admit. Tall for a Korean woman, she's probably about five foot six, and well built, with a trim figure that fills out her suit well enough that I can tell she's certainly not on the typical North Korean diet of little and less. She's got intelligent eyes, and as she looks down, there's a certain sense of dominance in her look. This is a woman who knows what she wants, and most often gets it.

“The Great Leader has personally assigned me to make sure your re-education about life in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea goes smoothly,” she says in flawless, West Coast accented English. “My name is Jenny Song, or at least my American name is. Come, get up, your shower awaits.”

“Shower? Oh, Moby gave me a shower a few days ago when he threw a bucket of piss on me. No thanks,” I reply, laying back down on the bare concrete. “I understand North Korean showers.”

“You have a choice,” Song says, squatting down to bring her closer to my level. She does it in a way to just tease me with what’s up her skirt, but I’m not interested in the least. “You can behave as a man, or as a dog. If you wish to behave as a dog, you will be showered with a cold water hose, fed scraps that the men of this camp no longer wish, and in general treated as a dog. With winter coming on, I seriously doubt that you'll survive to see the New Year that way. Or, you can behave as a man. While you are showering and shaving, your clothes will be laundered and brought back to you. You will be fed the same as any other soldier in the camp, and be given appropriate bedding for your cell.”

“What's the price of this?” I ask, sneering. “A few statements I have to sign? Maybe a little speech in front of a video camera where I denounce my country? The codes to my radio, like Moby wanted?”

“None of those things at all,” Song replies, standing up. “I just want you to behave as a polite man, and not a wisecracking jackass. The man you call 'Moby' recorded all your interrogations, you have quite the mouth on you.”

“That's what she said,” I joke, and I'm surprised when I see Song chuckle. “You got that one.”

“I lived in America for seven years,” Song replies, “and I am given more access to harmful Internet influences than most of our citizens. Come, stand up and talk with me. Shower first, then we can have brunch, and just talk. I promise, no questions about your helicopter or anything sensitive.”

“And the shackles?” I ask. Song shrugs, the meaning clear. They stay for now. I ponder my choices, and nod. “Fine. But the first question or demand, I walk my happy ass back to this cell and proceed to start rotting.”

I get up, and the guard with Song unlocks the door, pointing with his rifle and going off in North Korean. I follow his instructions, making sure to pretend I don't know what he's saying, although after this long in captivity, I think even an idiot could figure out the North Korean word for “go!”

The shower, even though it's tepid, is glorious. Song was right, they even let me have a disposable razor to shave with. Hurts like hell, the soap they give me isn't exactly great for softening five or six weeks of beard, but I still enjoy it. I take my time, ignoring my guard who stands on the far side of the shower room, his rifle still ready the entire time, and wash my hair as well, taking the time to try and check out the sores on my skin. Jesus, I really have been kept like a dog for a while. I think I could start a YouTube channel off of these things.

Finally, the guard loses his patience and shuts off the water and raises his rifle. I get it, shower's over, and I walk out into the unheated locker-room like area, where at least there's a scrap of something that might be called a towel. While I'm drying, Song walks in, carrying my clothes. “Hey!”

“While impressive, it's nothing I haven't seen before,” she says, looking me up and down. Her eyes come to rest on my cock, and she raises an eyebrow. “I stand corrected. Too bad you need to wear clothes. Please get dressed and join me in the cafeteria.”

Song leaves, and I glance over at the guard, cupping my balls. “God bless America, bitch.”

They didn't do a great job with laundering my flight suit, but it's not quite as bad as it was before, so I guess I can't complain as the guard walks me to the cafeteria. Song's there already, already sitting down in front of a bowl of rice, some tofu based soup it looks like with some bits of floating green, and, surprise surprise, a hard boiled egg.

“Have a seat.” I sit down, and Song smiles. I don't think she realizes just how little that means to me. She might be attractive, but my memories of Ashley are more than enough to get me past a single pretty smile. “Do you say grace before you eat? While it's not normal here, I am willing to bend the rules a little.”

“No, I don't pray often,” I tell her, picking up the spoon. “If you're being nice like this, mind if I have a toothbrush or something to clean my teeth? I'm kinda feeling gross over here.”

“Sure.... as soon as you denounce your imperialist dog of a country, vow eternal allegiance to Dear Leader, and become his wife's love toy,” Song says evenly. I set down my spoon and stand up, and she cracks another smile. “Sit down, I was joking. I'll see what I can do.”

I force myself to again eat slowly, knowing that if I just hork it down, I'm probably going to throw up. “So, your agenda for today,” Song says as she nibbles at her rice, “you will be cleaning the halls from after this until three in the afternoon, then I will have questions for you until dinner. After that, you can return to your cell, where you will find that you have at least a blanket. It's not much by American standards, but in fact by North Korean standards some of the lower enlisted in the barracks will probably be jealous of you. That is something, yes?”

“Yes,” I agree, sipping my soup. “So, you lived in the States for what did you say, five years?”

“Seven,” Song says. “You're probably wondering then how a girl like me ends up in a place like this?”

“Not a pickup line at all,” I answer, keeping my face impassive. “But I am curious.”

“Simple, really. I chose to come here. I said I lived in America for seven years, but I am also not purely North Korean. My mother is, but my father is Chinese, and I was born in China. I have dual citizenship,” Song says. “It's helpful when it comes to shopping. Trust me, one thing I do miss about the United States is shopping malls. I am a girly girl when it comes to those. Thankfully most of the things you can buy in an American mall are made in China.”

“And the questioning?”

Song's face hardens, and her smile goes wintry. “You'll see, won't you?”

* * *

I can't get the voices out of my head. I don't know where they're coming from, but they won't stop. Jenny's questioning today was extra hard, and I tried my best to not get shocked again, but still, the stick came out. It's not a Taser, but I don't think it's a cattle prod either. Maybe it's something custom made, but I know that every time Jenny brings it out, I'm starting to flinch.

But then she puts it away, and she's so nice. Yesterday, she actually brought me some pieces of actual chocolate, and we sat in the sunny room on the east side of the prison, just eating them and watching the sky. She told me about her college life in California, not asking me anything but just talking, sharing herself with me.

“You know Simon, you're a smart man,” she told me after we finished the last of the chocolate bar. “I can understand perhaps why you wouldn't want to work with the authorities here, but a man of your talents could be quite well rewarded in China. And I know your background, you would pick up Chinese quite quickly.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, and Jenny laughs.

“Simon, you may fool the guards, but I pulled the same game when I got to a certain level of English in America. Pretending you don't know what the people around you are saying in order to listen to their real opinions on you. Like I said, you're a smart man.”

Today though, she wasn't so nice, asking me questions. Never ending questions, as soon as I answer one she asked another, about anything and everything. When I didn't answer correctly or if I was too slow, the stick came out, and I was punished.

Now, my body aches, my eyes feel like they've been dipped in rubbing alcohol before being jammed back in my sockets, and my stomach rolls as I try to keep down the food they gave me. I had sixty seconds to eat today, with Jenny holding the stopwatch in her left hand and the stick in her right. When I was finished, she pulled the bowl away, and for every grain of rice left in the bowl, it was another second of application of the stick. And if I threw up, that rice counted too.

I can't throw up, there's no way I can let my body reject these nutrients. I'm still losing weight, and can feel my ribs clearly against my skin when I run my hand along my side, and looking down, I'm not sure I'm actually looking at my body any more. I need every precious calorie, regardless of what it's doing to me right now.

But I can't get these voices to stop. They're with me all the time in my cell, whispering, whispering. I can't even recognize what they're saying, but they just don't stop. They won't let me rest, whispering even as I fall asleep.

I have to find some way to get them to stop.

* * *

“Put your arms over your head.”

I know better than to ask why, Jenny has commanded me to not ask any questions today. I've already been corrected three times today when I asked questions. I can't do that any more, it hurts too much. Instead, I raise my arms up over my head, and wince as the cuffs are latched in and my arms are raised up. I'm already stripped to my waist, my flight suit sleeves tied around my waist to keep me from being fully exposed.

“Now... who do you serve?” Jenny asks, her eyebrow raised. “Who is your Mistress?”

I know what she wants me to say. It'd be so easy, to just say that she's the one who controls me. That I'd do anything she wants, that I belong to her.

But I can't. Instead, I swallow, and stand tall. “I serve the people of the United States of America. Simon Lancaster, Lieutenant, United States Army.”

Jenny nods, and the man behind me, I'm not allowed to turn and see who it is, swings his whip, where it cracks against my back again. I can't move this time, and I struggle to stay on my feet.

“Let's try that again,” Jenny says, stroking my cheek. “Simon, my dear, lovely Simon, you keep getting confused. You're not in the Army, you serve me. You always have. I'm just helping you remember. Don't you realize Simon how much it hurts me when you are mistaken like this? Please, please baby, stop being naughty. Remember and come back to me.”

Her words are so silky, so easy to listen to. She cares about me, she says so. My mouth opens, and I lean into her touch, wanting to feel it more. “Ashley....”

“Who?” Jenny asks, snapping me back to reality. I've never said her name before in questioning, and I close my mouth. “I said... who?”

“Simon Lancaster, Lieutenant, United States Army.....”

The whip cracks again, and this time, I can't help it, the cuffs yank against my wrists, the pain going down my arms to my shoulders, and I struggle to get back to my feet again. “Simon..... Lancaster..... Lieutenant.....”

“Still so far to go,” Jenny says sorrowfully. “Still, Simon, you'll be mine again. You will be mine.”

When it's over, I hear a now familiar voice beside me, lifting me up before helping me back to my cell. “You really pissed them off today, man.”

“Yeah, I seem to be good at that,” I groan, leaning against Cade as we walk. “Think I'll still have my blanket?”

“I don't know. They did tell me to take your pillow, sorry about that.” We turn the corner, and there's only a little further to go. “You know, Mistress will be a lot more forgiving if you just tell her what she wants to hear.”

“I'm not her pet,” I rasp, dragging each five hundred pound foot along. A few more steps. “I'm not a pet.”

“Do you know the pleasures she can show you?” Cade asks, his voice full of wonder. “Do you know what they've taught her how to do?”

“I don't care. She's not Ashley.”

Cade stops, and helps me into my cell. A guard locks the door, and Cade sits outside the bars, thinking for a second. “You mean Ashley Carlyle? Wow, I haven't thought of her in years. You two still dating?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “She's in BOLC now.”

“She as beautiful as I remember? She was quite the knockout back then.”

I look at Cade, who has a wistful look on his face. Sure, he screwed up, but he's trying to be a good guy, I can see that. “Still beautiful.”

Cade hums, then shakes his head. “That's gotta be hard, man. Okay, well I'm going to go find some food for you, Mistress can't be that angry at you if you've still got your blanket in there. Lay on your stomach to let those marks on your back air out, I'll bring you what I can.”

Cade leaves, and minutes later, the whispers start again. I bury my head in my arms, but they still won't stop, and I can't help it, the tears start. I'm weak, I'm just so weak.....