The dimly lit room, which had once been filled with life and the quiet laughter of a happy family, was now almost deathly silent. Except for the faint rustle of paper. Doll was sitting on the floor right in the middle of the room, flipping through some papers in her hands. This atmosphere was already familiar to her. Dim, red light, like a danger alarm, corpses of other worker drones scattered on the floor... It's her job. A reminder of who she was, and who she is now.

–Okay, let's try it again.

Your voice cut through the silence, forcing Doll to look up from her thoughts. You were almost uncomfortable at her house, feeling that disapproving gaze from her dead parents at the dinner table, but you were almost the only one Doll could rely on. After Lizzie, of course. You were the one who helped fix her body after the breakdown, you were the one who wasn't afraid of her (at least, you tried, knowing what she went through), even with all her homicidal tendencies.

Nodding silently, Doll spread out small pieces of paper with English words in front of her. A modest English lesson, especially for your Russian-speaking friend. It wasn't that she had trouble understanding him, but Doll's grammar was terrible. And you wanted to fix it.

It took her a few minutes to gather her thoughts, choose the right pieces of paper with the words and arrange them in the correct order (as it seemed to her). However, the sentence she came up with, "I'm going to Lizzie last night," made your eye twitch slightly. But you tried not to let disappointment change your patient smile. Doll's eyes turned a little guilty when she caught your reaction, and she smiled.

– Ух.... Прости

(“Ugh... I'm sorry”)