10
The Princess had vanished from the hospital. Fled. Dorothy had tried to track her down, but the worlds she moved through were filled with insane and dangerous people, and she had to travel with great stealth. Much of the time she couldn’t understand where she was or what was going on around her. Everywhere she went there seemed to be violent and crazy people, gangs roaming and killing for sport, vicious and bizarre monsters, suicide bombers, sexual perverts, and violent religious maniacs. She was chased and threatened, leered at, shot at, and menaced by man and beast. She had to keep moving, never stopping, shuttling from world to world, server farm to server farm, never knowing what lay ahead. It was way too dangerous to sleep, and she had been up for days. She was utterly exhausted and felt like her mind was starting to fall apart.
In her search of the phony Princess, her nemesis, she had crossed deserts and forests and snowy mountain passes, moving from world to world. Now she was descending into a dark wood, headed toward a small village she had seen in the valley, where she had heard tell someone knew the Princess’s location. The wood was quiet. It seemed empty, for a change. Night had fallen. Although she had seen no dangers yet, she wasn’t sure what kind of world this was, so she moved silently, keeping to the deepest shadows. But then, in the thickest part of the wood, she saw a light through the trees. She approached to determine what it was, crouching behind a fallen tree trunk. A fire. She paused, to get a sense of what this was and how she might safely sneak past.
There were six brutal-looking men sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer and smoking cigars. They were talking loudly, swearing and boasting, and when one finished a beer he threw the bottle against a nearby tree, shattering it. Broken glass lay all around. They had been drinking for a long time, it seemed.
This did not look good. She slowly crept back from the trunk, determined to make a wide detour. But as she backed up in the darkness, she bumped into a man who was pissing. He grabbed at her and gave shout. She tried to break away, squirming, and managed to get loose with a torn blouse, but the men were now after her. They chased her through the dark wood, hooting and screeching. Several cut her off and she tried to veer away, but more came out to block her path. They were young men with tattoos, and they were very drunk. They surrounded and advanced on her, making soft cooing and smacking sounds with their wet lips. One still had his cigar and was blowing smoke rings at her. She tried to run, darting between them, but the men were fast. One grabbed her by the hair and with a hoarse laugh dragged her back into their circle. She pleaded with them as they surrounded her, but they only kept cooing and making kissing sounds. One reached out and ripped her already torn blouse, exposing her, and the others cheered; then another grabbed her by the waist and shoved her into the arms of a third, who tore her skirt and pushed her to another, who ripped off more clothes, and in this way they passed her around, tearing off her clothes, and finally throwing her to the ground.
Afterward, they left her lying in a muddy ditch, as a chilly rain began to fall. She lay there and she had thoughts. Terrible thoughts. So this was what the real world was actually like. Not the fake palace of her childhood. That had been a lie. This was real. And as she lay in the mud, much more became clear to her. She had been bred a slave. She had escaped. But what good was her escape when the world was a sick, evil, unredeemable place?
She heard sounds, and two travelers came into view. They were two men in clerical garb, priests of some kind. Religious men. She called out for help, but they looked at her in fear and quickly moved past her, one fingering a string of beads and the other crossing himself and murmuring prayers.
In an odd way, she felt a certain satisfaction at seeing this. It was confirmation of all she’d suspected. She wished they had helped her, because she was badly damaged. In fact, it appeared she might be dying. She lay there for a long time, fighting off death, even as her mind wandered and she began to hallucinate. She was terrified of death, now that she knew it existed. But despite all she could do to fight against it, darkness descended.
Time passed. And then she saw the light, and saw some faint numbers, and she felt something. Something soft and gentle. She became aware again, the numbers receding into the woods. And there was Laika, her dog, by her side, licking her hand. She was alive. Laika had somehow found her in this crazy, insane world. She murmured her name. And she felt better.
She began to feel stronger. Her body and mind were repairing themselves. She wasn’t going to die after all. She was going to live. Over time, her mind cleared. Laika sat beside her, occasionally whining or licking her, showing her concern and waiting for her to get better.
She had now reached a new understanding, and had a new purpose. The entire human race was foul and repulsive. She would rid the world of this vermin—every last one. That would be her gift to the universe. She turned to Laika and laid her hand on her head. She said out loud: “I will destroy them all.”
She had the means and the power to do it.