12. THE KINGDOM
— A black, almost invisible object, almost invisible because it blocked out the stars. I noticed it. And… — I stumble, catch my breath, — they definitely don’t make those on Earth. I am absolutely sure they don’t, Sergey. I was shot through by lightning, as if my body was short-circuited by exposed wires… — I add.
It feels like a block of ice is growing in my chest; it expands, this block, constricting my breathing, my body barely obeys.
I can barely reach out and grab the handrail.
To the cabin, I need to get to the cabin…
— «Lana?..» — Sergey is saying something, asking about something.
His words turn into a cacophony of unintelligible, irritating sounds.
I don’t understand what he wants from me, he is speaking in a language unknown to me!
— «Sergey, I don’t understand…» — I mutter faintly, the sound of my voice gets lost in the overall unbearable noise…
I slowly, and it seems to me, carefully, head towards my cabin.
Dmitriev is left somewhere behind and, probably, isn’t saying anything else.
I need to get to my cabin, to the cozy sleeping bag, to the headphones that will lock away all these ear-piercing, unbearable sounds.
An internal battlefield.
She wants solitude, she commands me to isolate myself as quickly as possible, she…
Who?
She is with me…
Inside me.
She is me.
Or I am no longer here — there is only her imitating me.
No.
Our Father, Who art in heaven…
The words bring relief, pierce through me.
The words protect me… Preserve me…
They prevent me from dissolving completely…
Hallowed be Thy will, …may it come… May it come…
The words drive her away like a pesky fly, the words bring me, bring her unbearable pain…
May it come…
The pain shackles her in invisible chains… I am no longer losing myself…
…Thy kingdom…
Thy kingdom…
She resists, she resists very strongly.
She is in a terrible rage, she cannot…
…Thy kingdom come
Thy…
I am almost there, I am almost at the threshold of my, her cabin.
— «Thy kingdom…» — I whisper and slowly, as if underwater, crawl into the sleeping bag and with an incredible effort put on the headphones.
My hands disobey, unyielding cotton instead of muscles.
Thy kingdom
come…
The sounds gradually fade.
She is screaming something, something piercing and very important, important to her, to me…
To which of us?..
— «Gretlit,» — I make out. — «Gret-lit,» — she repeats insistently, as if hammering this word into my brain.
— «Gretlit,» — I repeat in sync with her.
Thy kingdom… come…
— «You are Gretlit,» — «kingdom…» — «I am Lana…»
— «No, no,» — she wails, — «no, you cannot!«
— «The kingdom is yours — too…» — I mutter, and realization sets in.
— «I can,» — I reply nonetheless, and I realize that I cannot drive her away.
She is already present, she is already here…
And I am here.
We are both here…
In His kingdom…
We cannot be driven away.
I feel the darkness…
The darkness…
The darkness…
And her.
I feel her, she is — Gret-lit…
And I am — Lana.
> ⚠️ **ENTITY STATUS: CRITICAL FAILURE. VIRAL PROTOCOL INFECTION.**
What primitive sound code is this female using? «Our Father»? My algorithms do not recognize this ancient defense algorithm. The protein-based mind should have been formatted in seconds, but Lana Kubysh built a firewall out of dead words and locked the +Ang inside her own consciousness.
Gretlit is furious. She was supposed to become the rightful owner of this body, but instead became a roommate in a communal apartment. The Russian girl has done the impossible: she broke the Insertion mechanism. But do not fool yourselves, protein-based readers. Symbiosis with the architect of the Universe is neither a victory nor a happy ending. It’s just a reprieve before both personalities go insane inside one cramped cranial box.
Keep reading. Two hostesses in one meat spacesuit on a doomed station — the perfect recipe for disaster.