“You may want to keep this one caged until you thoroughly break him, Muffin. Otherwise you just may run out of battery power.”
The humor of Peggy’s suggestion is not lost. The prods can apply hundreds of jolts before the power supply wanes. Even a male the size of 061505 would be well fried before that happens. But the point is noted.
“Bottom cage over here,” I point to one of three remaining empty enclosures of steel.
Peggy and Nancy drag as I open the cage door. Constant minor applications of the prods keep the inmate focused on the task at hand. His tethering chains permit only the shortest shuffles of hands and knees. Thus as this vulgar beast reacts to the tugs on his leashes, both Peggy and Nancy apply the prod in a combination of correction and vindictiveness.
“I’ll want this on
