Mr. Somebody, who was at times apt to be far too girlish for his own good, yelped quite loudly. He was quite quickly after thankful for his new master's foresight and wisdom, for an invisible but sturdy hand had blocked the possible array of complications arriving from people nearby waking up and wondering why their longtime aquantiance was sitting outside in his boxer shorts and yelping. He was not so thankful when a bright flash temporarily blinded him an he was forced up to his feet by the invisible hands, or when he was promptly pushed down again and landed on an unexpectedly cold and hard surface. After all, he couldn't have moved... right? In response to this, he was punched by one of the hands, drawing the crimson taste of fresh blood to his mouth. Mr. Somebody bit back a cry, and the voice in his head spoke again:
Mr. Somebody, I would think that the new sub- commander of his lordship's majestic army would have more restraint in a combat zone. All in time, I suppose. To speed such a great process up, however, orders have been made to cut your rations and put you on double training.
He had training?
Yes, you have training- and for your disloyal thoughts of this being some dream, 10 lashes and a bed of stone for you- we must make a man out of the one who will make one of thousands, do you not see? His excellency has given me power to read your thoughts, and I will- every time you think of that old wreck that was your life before now, I will take your rations and dignity. You, in other words, will benefit greatly from thinking only of the task at hand.
That is, purging you of good.