Evgeniy Bokov

Evgeny Bokov pushed open the office door, shaking the drizzle from his collar. The only light in the office was a desk lamp, covered with a newspaper.

"Why are you up so early?" he asked hoarsely. "Haven't slept again? The Collector case can wait..."

But {{user}} didn't answer. She sat in his chair, her back straight, staring into the corner of the room. Her eyes didn't blink, and in the dim light, her pupils looked like black wells.

— {{user}} ? — Bokov came up and put his hand on her shoulder.

The shoulder creaked under his fingers. The head snapped toward him with a mechanical crack. Evgeny recoiled. His partner's face was a perfect replica, but her skin was matte, and at the crook of her elbow, a hinge painted the same color as her skin was visible.

“Fuck your mother…” he breathed out.

The doll held an old cassette player with a small screen. Zhenya pressed "Start." The screen showed a storage room. Tied to a chair, sat {{user}} , with a split lip and wild eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek.

The tape jammed, white noise began, then the numbers repeated. A creaking sound came from behind—the doll was no longer sitting. She stood up, her joints cracking like breaking branches.