Prologue
The hot steel of the rod is buried in the smooth, tender skin of the first one on her shoulder; a pitiful shriek escapes her small lips; it doesn't move me, none of them do, it's their fault for looking so much alike; now it's easy to tell them apart, but I'm sure the time will come when they'll be even more alike and indistinguishable, which is why I make sure that at least I can know who they are when I have my doubts.
When the steel burns the skin of the last one, the place fills with the incessant wailing of five of them, loud and unbearable wailing that a man like me has never tolerated from his bastard daughters.
One of them trembled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Another shook violently, hiccuping, though less loudly than the rest. The one in the corner growled like a wounded animal, glaring at me with an unusual rage for a child her age. Another hugged herself, cooing while sniffling in discomfort. And the last one, at my feet, had tears streaming down her face, her eyes burning red as she stared at me in silence, as if trying to gauge whether I would do something worse.
To be honest, it was quite surprising to see how each one reacted so individually. Despite having the same face, they had expressions that betrayed them, expressions they would never be able to have again.
"Up," I ordered. "Stop squealing like pigs. Crying doesn't solve anything." I gave a shove to the small body of O2, who was still staring at me.
"Silence," I repeated. "I need them like I need her," I say, pointing to O2. The rest look at her and surprisingly fall silent (though the occasional hiccup escapes their insufferable mouths). I suppose it won't be so difficult for them to be disciplined soldiers if they follow one who does things well.
