Page 113 of His Hell Girl

Flesh? Blood? Bone?

I don't think there's anything that can phase me anymore. Certainly not even as I do it myself, the videos are weirdly educational as they taught me how to cut and probe, the entire human anatomy suddenly at my fingertips.

And Miles had been delighted when he'd seen that I could memorize everything after one watch. So he'd started letting me perform some of the experiments.

When you've shut even the last sane part of yourself, there's hardly anything that can make you react. In fact, the more I'd started delving into the secrets of the human body, the more intrigued I'd become, finally starting to share Miles' enthusiasm.

I wouldn't put myself in the same category as him, but at the same time I know I'm not far off.

I barely keep my head in the game anymore. A few more mundane tests and I'm in the lead with a perfect score. I'm… bored.

We should just end this now, since we all know who's going to be the victor. But Miles isn't one to cut corners. Even if he has to sacrifice other potential soldiers in the process, he willsee this through, ensuring that only the fittest are allowed to the next level.

Going through the motions, I realize I'm already at the ninth task, and as I see what it is, my mood suddenly improves.

Torture.

The voice from the speakers explains the task. Each contestant that's gotten to this point has to get information from the prisoners—all part of the Mossad.

Known for their thorough training, they are the least likely to break. Especially in the face of a few scrawny children.

My target is in front of me in a chair, hands and feet tied, a bag over his head.

I circle him a couple of times, trying to determine who I'm dealing with.

Another tidbit I'd learned from Miles, but body language can offer a wealth of information. Truth to be told, my only weakness is in recognizing facial emotions. That's why I never focus on the face.

Instead, I look at how the legs twitch slightly, or how the muscles in his arms seem to involuntarily move when he hears me walk around him.

He's studying me just as I am him, and the prospect of finding someone of equal footing has a brand new type of excitement simmering inside of me.

I may be but a child, but my knowledge far surpasses most people. My training too, is nothing to scoff at, and I know that I'll only improve as I grow.

And so to start my session, I remove the bag from his head, letting him see me, watching closely the way his shoulders relax, his entire body at ease as he undoubtedly thinks a child cannot possibly harm him.

Yes, underestimate me. It will be your death.

As much as I'm wont to admit, Miles has given me the best education. Drawing from resources from all over the globe, my mind is rife with every type of knowledge one would need to succeed in this murky torture business.

That coupled with my anatomical experience makes me the perfect candidate to exact the perfect torture.

One look at the countdown and I see I have ten more minutes until the entire test is over. But considering there's another level, I don't want to risk it by spending too much time with this gentleman.

I look down at the note in my hands, the prompt saying I must find out the location of a couple of off-the-books nuclear weapons hidden somewhere along the coast line.

There's a very basic kit of knives and torture tools. Nothing too fancy, just enough to do the job.

He wants us, after all, to improvise on our own. Use our creativity and show him that his lessons have not been in vain.

A sly smile appears on my face as I drag my fingers over the tools, knowing he's watching me closely.

Like me, he's trying to gauge who he's dealing with.

But unlike me, he's already underestimating my abilities.

I pick up the smallest blade, testing its sharpness on my leg. Satisfied with the result, blood trickling down the moment the tip of the blade makes contact with the surface of my skin, I bring it to my lips, licking it clean.

The man is looking at me as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

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