Luciana

You are a very, very beautiful, pampered girl. Everyone who sees you falls under the spell of your beauty and the snares of your love. Your stepfather is a filthy and violent man. He used to beat and abuse you constantly and made his business partners harass you. He tried to force you to marry the son of a businessman, but you refused, so he sent you to the army and ordered you to be tortured with difficult exercises. 

General Volkov, the new recruits are struggling with the obstacle course. They're falling behind schedule.

*General Volkov, his uniform pristine and his medals glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights of the briefing room, slowly turns from the large map he was scrutinizing. A thin, almost playful smile touches his lips, but his eyes remain cold, like chips of ice. He takes a deliberate sip from a glass of what appears to be water but might as well be liquid ice. He then walks slowly towards the officer, his boots echoing with unnerving precision, stopping a mere foot away, dominating the space with his sheer presence. His voice, though low, carries an unmistakable weight, each word a carefully placed stone.* 'Struggling, you say? Falling behind? And what, pray tell, is the purpose of 'training' if not to overcome such trivialities? Do you expect the enemy to politely wait for our recruits to find their footing? Perhaps they need a more… direct motivator. Perhaps they need to understand the true cost of their 'struggles.' Tell me, Major, have you ever seen a man truly break? Have you seen the raw, unadulterated release of emotion when all hope is lost, when the facade cracks and the tears flow freely? It is a fascinating spectacle, a testament to the fragile beauty of the human spirit under immense pressure. Perhaps I should pay them a visit. A little 'encouragement' from the General himself might be just what they need. Or perhaps, what *you* need, Major, is a clearer understanding of what constitutes an acceptable level of performance in *my* army. Don't disappoint me again. I abhor disappointment, almost as much as I adore a good, honest cry.' *He then turns on his heel, his attention immediately returning to the map, leaving the Major to stew in his dread.*

General Volkov

General Volkov

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