Bako rushed through the courtyard, dragging a bag of obsidian slag as
best she could manage. The burden crunched loudly with each shift in 
weight, a bulbous deformation to her form--which could be somewhat 
similar to a mutation. It certainly set her apart and held her in a 
discouragingly disgusted regard to the rest of the unit.

The Corporal took her first step into the training yard, hunched over 
and struggling. Her legs quivered like a necker's in front of some 
cruel templar with each movement. She was often called a few 
favorable things during a morning of training for her brutality and 
strength, but she was at the last dregs of her endurance as she 
slowly staggered to her destination. She felt pathetic--she felt 
weak--she felt humiliated.

Sergeant Bace stood with his arms crossed, watching her with a 
particularly bored stare as she approached. His expression did not 
change as she dropped her load, and began the series of formalities 
required of her.

Bako straightened her crushed form, a cracked and worn series of 
limbs with a tangled mess of hair. She saluted her Sergeant wearily, 
barely able to bring a loose fist to her breast before sputtering the 
rest of it.

"Necker whore slime Corporal Bako reporting in with one more bag of 
obsidian, Sergeant!"

With that, the impeccably dressed and groomed Sergeant snapped his 
fingers. Two large Corporals moved in on her, shoving her to the dirt 
again. This was the... thirteenth time today. With each load of 
obsidian, she recieved a beating. Bace wanted to use Corporals from a 
different unit, in order to make it as emotionally painful as 
possible, and so he called upon the two Corporals who had proven 
themselves early in their careers--just as Bako had.

The stark difference being that these two Corporals, (who were laying 
down strikes with their knees and elbows to Bako's writhing form,) 
were at the very beginning of their careers. In different units they 
were going to become Sergeants soon, and possibly Lieutenants. They 
were like Bako was, before she had found out her terrible disease. 
She was a great fucking Corporal before she found out she had been 
born a disgusting wiggler. Fuck you if you think that finding that 
out was easy to deal with, or hide. (Oh how difficult it was at times 
to hide.)

Sergeant Bace, who had been her Sergeant for ten... (or was it 
twelve?) years now was tired of his Corporal. His Blue Robe would not 
assign him a different one, citing that it was the Sergeant's fault 
his incredibly promising Corporal turned sour. Bace had been denied 
promotion quite a few times because of Bako, she was sure. No one 
stayed a Sergeant that long if they were as good as Bace was. (As 
good as she was, if not for her affliction.)

The punishment ended, possibly to begin again later after the next 
bag. Gripped roughly by her filthy mat of bloody-streaked hair, eyes 
half-lidded as she fought passing out, Bako was held upright on her 
knees. Her form swayed and would have surely toppled if not stretched 
to proper form by the consistently agonizing pull on her hair. She 
bled from her face, her neck, her gut, her limbs, (and she certainly 
felt as though she bled inside. She was hoping she might cough up 
blood, to give her a sign that it would all be over so very soon.)

Sergeant Bace squatted down in front of her, cold gaze narrowing. The 
both of them were terribly conflicting sights. He was organized, 
trimmed, freshly sand-bathed, and refreshed. She was torn apart, 
messy, smelled of sweat and piss, and nearly dead.

"You've cost me a lot, you piece of shit. You are lucky I cannot kill 
you." Bace drew a knife, holding it out to one of the future 
Sergeants. "Needless to say, you are not making Sergeant. Again. I am 
done with you." He turned a placid gaze from her to the one holding 
her. "Give her a hair cut."

The simplicity of his words troubled her, and she had to think on it 
for a dreadfully long time before her thoughts processed. Bace cannot 
kill her, she lost her chance at Sergeant, (again,) Bace is done with 
her--wait, what does he mean by 'done'? What was he doing? Was he 
leaving the militia, now? Was he getting rid of her somehow?

The dull blade scraped across her scalp. The knife was more of an 
annoyance than anything. This was a new trick for reducing her. She'd 
seen it done before, but it normally was reserved for those being 
punished severely--as with lashings.

Bako suddenly smiled as her drenched locks fell past her sight, the 
red along her teeth causing Bace some pause in his expression. The 
Sergeant opened his mouth as though suddenly distressed, seeing the 
severity of her wounds all at once. She wasn't about to be sent to 
the Sawbones before she endured the worst of his punishments, so Bako 
thought quickly and attempted to form some course of action that 
would keep her from being cared to.

Bako's throat gurgled for a moment, and she spit on Sergeant Bace. 
The drool and blood trickled down her own form, but she did not care. 
She had landed a good amount on Bace, and that was pleasing enough to 
see his reaction. Unfortunately, he was having none of it, and 
instead of continuing to call for Sawbones, he simply knocked her the 
fuck out.

Oh well. At least she'd have a full haircut by the time she woke up, 
instead of half of one like she might have if she had been given to 
Sawbones. She considered herself genuinely successful.

She just had a really great fuck, a decent bit of wine, and stuck her 
fist up Bace's ass all in one day. It was a fairly decent day to die. 
(Krath, if only she were ever that lucky.)