SIMONE'S DIARY

'The fit is worse than the first one. Observing Hyenus' chest for half of the hour and he is clearly not breathing. The android doesn't allow me to come any nearer. No first aid this time. "Let me help your dearest father!" I screamed at her. But she is not concerned. "Don't you have any decency, you canal garbage? Even an uneducated human like you should let the gushing spring warm the yearning cave!"

No doubt Dollie is high, drugged, or what! No idea what is happening, but she obviously left for some fantasy world in which her alleged father and mother exercise the butterfly thing. Well, I do not dare to be more explicit because she deems the whole affair as a sacred, ritualized endeavor, the holy mass she should observe and enjoy in tears. Apparently, our definition of decency differs.

Trying one more time. "But he is not breathing! He can die." Disturbing an exalted android was not the greatest idea ever. She simply electrocuted me. Crap! What a pain! Dying on the floor with horrible cramps, while she wears a bucolic smile on puffy lips, a pastoral angel of the medieval church. Nasty bitch!

"You are not allowed to call me names," she informs me sweetly after I write the last line. Hyenus was right. Focusing on my diary relieves my stress. But I forgot Dollie could read it. So much for her full devotion to the mother-father communion! Electrocuted thrice. It hurts! She tortures me in a by-the-way manner, not even giving me a glance, dwelling in paradise while sending me nonchalantly towards Hell.

The pain is liberating. With every lash, I no more think of myself. It is pure ecstasy, the blessed moment of current entering my body, and then no more guilt, no more I, only retracted, ached muscles and the wonderful relaxation when the punishment is over. I guess we are both sisters in a very different kind of pleasure.

My last lines pleased the android. "It would be a shame if we have not shared the miracle together. My mother is coming. On your knees, you disgusting sister of mine."

She is not joking. Even she goes down, prostrating in front of the bed on which lies Hyenus' motionless body. I follow suit, eying Hyenus' face. Are we doomed to hold honorary guard for a dead man? What if the delusional android intends to wait for a resurrection that will never occur? My vivid imagination betrays me again. Watching myself rot and decay here, embraced in maniacal sisterhood with a crazy Dollie.

She reminds me of a tribal dancer whipping herself into trans while waiting for a pagan deity to appear and take the bloody sacrifice. I am suffocating in fear. The air beside Hyenus starts forming a shape. A holographic projection? I can smell the heavy fragrance of millions of roses. And then I see her. The queen of Hell! Help me! Help me! Help me!

Can't stop screaming! This is a nightmare! I no longer think I am sane. I must have gone mad somewhere. I knew I was broken, so no wonder my mind could not take it. I am a madman! I am a lunatic! My senses play tricks on me.

"Look at me, my child!"

The monster was talking to me. I don't want to raise my head and see her anymore, but Dollie helps me. "No fear, my dearest sister," she says - no insult attached. Am I dearest now? Thought the title was reserved for Hyenus only. Even in my situation, I find it satisfying, like having recognition of someone you care about. My new-found sister is gentle. "My mother approves of you." What a phantasmagory!

Does the demoness approve of me? A sinner falls down before the embodiment of Hell and is welcome heartily. Of course, she approves of me. I'm very fitting to be burnt in the fire.

Still, my curiosity needs to be satisfied. So I keep peeping. She is a tall woman with skin that keeps changing color from deep red to blue and back if one carefully observes her. The face is finely cut, unrealistically beautiful, the very explanation of why Dollie keeps calling me ugly. There is no comparison between me and the demoness. Even Dollie, with her artificial and overblown perfection, cannot hold the demoness a candle.

The reason why I am so scared is not because of her sharp teeth, green glowing eyes, or pointy fingers. Those are mere external attributes. Children cos-playing monsters do not hunt us in our dreams. But the demoness is multi-dimensional; her presence fills the cabin with mighty and unbearable essence: the smell of roses, the rays of light coming out of her, the thundering sound all around, and the lingering fear in the bottom of my heart.

She wants me to stand up, but I'm still shaking, so Dollie holds me. The claw-like fingers touch my head, piercing my skull. I need to run away.'

...

The kiss was too short. At least, Gromov thought so. In theory, he was familiar with the concept of delayed pleasure, but still, the honeymoon ended too abruptly for his liking. The emotion he felt had nothing to do with sexuality; it was the unsatiable pure desire for original Samara, the familiar sensation he used to experience for more than a year before he got over her wedding.

Now it returned, and the moment he had congratulated himself on satisfying the thirst, the dreamland disappeared, and he woke up in a noisy torturing chamber.

"Never date a demoness," he uttered bitterly. "The only pleasure she can give you is the unmet hanker."

But the demonic wife did not seem concerned with the displeased husband of hers. Materializing beside the bed, she stood in front of kneeling Doll and Simone. The former bore an expression of joy while the other was cowering in horror.

"Look at me, my child."

It was for the first time when Gromov heard Samara speak up in a warm and kind voice. Instead of pity for terrified Simone, he felt an inexplicable sting of jealousy.

Not that Simone would agree with him. The woman was so overwhelmed with terror that she could hardly stand; if not for Doll, who held her upright, Simone would collapse or run away. Now she had to withstand the touch of demonic claws, watching with bulged eyes the sharp needles penetrate her head and brain.

"I am most grateful for your achievement, my precious daughter," Samara continued, ignoring the desperate wailing and begging of the victim.

"No one has done more for my creator than you have. You shall be rewarded."

The praise and torment kept coming together. In the process, Simone was losing consciousness, but Samara never continued, waiting patiently for the woman to fully awake and swallow another bitter pill of fiendish recognition.

In the end, Simone stopped begging, too tired to scream. If not for Doll's support, she would become a ragdoll, a mere physical object with no substance.

To Gromov's amazement, even the blood-thirsty android, never before having a kind word for Simone, looked anxious and whispered the consolation to deaf ears, encouraging the woman to endure longer.

"Sava, please!"

Gromov ignored the desperate pleading. Not out of ill-will, even though the scene bore certain aspects, appealing to innate sadism within him, but because Samara's actions showed a methodological approach. The inflicted pain and the observational period after it had the purpose of stimulating and altering brain activities.

With his augmented sight, enabling him to monitor electrochemical reactions of Simone's neural system, he could discern between initial and modified synapsis, even though he had no way to understand whether these changes were beneficial or harmful.

Finally, Samara ceased to stimulate the brain, leaving the motionless body in the care of Doll. Gromov helped to carry Simone over to the bed, inspecting the final result with curiosity. The brain activities were fading away, similar to a fireplace with dimming embers.

"Unfortunately, she is an inferior life-form," commented Samara. "The extent of my enhancement was limited."

"Glad I am so superior," Gromov mumbled. "If you will ever plan to impose the treatment upon me, warn me ahead. I'll eat the full tube of painkillers."

Samara's green eyes glowed: "No need to worry, my beloved husband. The misconceptions of yours that you have been born human should be corrected. A mere mortal would never have activated the Gift. You are one of the genetically-modified cuckoos mixed in population by my creator."

"The last time I checked the mirror, I saw no prolonged ears."

"Are you referring to Elves, my beloved husband? Judging from our daughter's diary, DOZOR has hunted them down for centuries. The distraction worked as expected."

"They've been killing the poor bastards for no good reasons?"

"The concept of a chosen nation is as old as humanity. Conspicuous diasporas with no other purpose than to attract the fire. Cannon fodder, if you will. When my creator had granted his blessing upon them, they accepted the fate of eternal scapegoats."

"So they were chosen for slaughter? Not a choice one would make willingly."

"Not only willingly," Samara proclaimed and laid her hand on Simone's forehead, making the dimming embers of Simone's conscience blacken. "They agreed gleefully, understanding there was a price to pay."

With a visible sorrow, Samara caressed Gromov's hand. "And you shall pay the harshest one, my beloved husband."