Even though I was exhausted, I slept little that night. It the meal room, #6 handed out the plastic wrapped dried-up breakfast sandwiches. As I waited to receive mine, #3 and #8 walked into the room together, but avoided looking toward me. When it was time for #6 to hand me my sandwich, she hurled it into the corner of the room. "Oops, I must have dropped it. Why don't eat it over there?"
I squatted alone in the room, as the rest of the women glared scorn at me. I wondered how I'd manage four weeks of this.
An hour later, we were allowed outside, before the full heat of the day started to scorch the earth. The sand still felt warm from the previous day. Most of us milled about, while a couple of us rinsed of their meager clothes in a basin by the side of the building. I found #8, soaking and scrubbing her tee-shirt and panties, as she stood naked in the morning breeze.
Even though it was forbidden, I used her name to have more intimacy, "Alyssa, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't need to suffer as much as you did."
"Get away from me, you sick psyco bitch," she hissed without looking up.
I approached anyway. "I didn't realize they were mind fucking us. I was trying to help."
She held up the tee and said, "You see the blood marks on this. That came from you. Because you mercilessly flailed me. I'm still in pain. Yet, you barely stung yourself, with that tiny Taser."
"No, the Taser hurt, but I didn't know how to use the lash."
She dropped her tee onto the sand and rushed toward me. Her fist cracked across my jaw, and I tumbled to the ground. She was on top of me immediately and ripped the front of my shirt opened. I felt another hard open-palmed slap strike me across the side of my face.
The rest of our group gathered and began to cheer her on. I heard some yell, "Kick her stupid ass."
I was too shocked to try to fight back. I pulled my hands over my face, but felt a fist strike my ribcage.
"Stop that, you fucking whores. No fighting," cried Smith as, she and the Ranch Manager sprinted toward us.
The other women were dispersed and #8, and I were pulled apart. Smith glanced me over and determined there were no serious injuries, while that the Ranch Manager worked to calm down #8.
The Ranch Manager then escorted both of us to Mr. Ambrose's office. We stood silent while the incident was detailed. #8 was still naked with her hands behind her back. I was in the same pose, but with the front of my tee torn open and my tits showing.
The determination was made of the responsible parties; it was #8 that instigated the assault, but I was the one that approached her after she told me to back off. I was handed a red card.
"We cannot have this kind of behavior, #8. You have to leave. You'll be issued fresh clothing, but your husband left instructions that if you failed here, you were to be dropped off in front to the nearest brothel."
"You mean I have to become a prostitute?" she said in a rage mostly directed toward me.
"No, of course not. You don't have to enter the building or apply for work. You always have choices. It is just that you'll be in a desolate town with no money or friends. If you are resourceful enough, you may be able to find other means of support."
Two guards grabbed Alyssa by the shoulders and escorted her toward the start her descent into the abyss. I wondered if I should join her or offer to take her place. I was already unwittingly responsible for Nina being set to a cathouse. Perhaps, I deserved the same fate. I wished I'd been braver.
"You are to wait in your cell, #5. The other women will determine your punishment."
I sat alone for hours. I looked out the window several times, to see Alyssa in a pair of faded blue shorts, sandals and button-down shirt, broiling in the unforgiving sun. At that point, I was the worst form of human life imaginable - a total coward.
Eventually, my door opened and Smith walked in order to get me. "Time to face judgment. The others got yellow cards and have administered their own punishments. Still, nothing like what you dished out." She gave me a twisted smile, "You aren't going to win any popularity contests."
Three other women remained in the Adjustment Room. They were angry. All showed red whip marks across their bare asses and still wore their yellow-banded collars. One with a red band was securely locked around my neck. The front ring was attached to a chain anchored to the floor.
