Helena's Diary

[totalbullshit]

[ You will find the door to Room #10 unlocked and half open. It is a mess. There is food from the grocery true everywhere, all the cheapest kind. Many empty packages haven't been trashed yet and instead are scattered over the ground. The hospital gown Helena arrived in is on the floor in an otherwise clean corner. Next to it are nunchucks and a gashapon machine ring with a not attached.

Dio's jacket hangs over the bedpost. The bed itself is the most tidy thing in the room. There is just one thing on it, centrally positioned: a cheap notebook with the handwritten word 'DIARY' on the cover. ]

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Week 1

[totalbullshit]

Thursday
Yesterday there was a "minigame" (so in reality, they let us play fetch for their cruel entertainment) that allowed us to earn some money. Though I refused to participate in such malicious tomfoolery, I have obtained some money due to acts of charity from the other captives. It was enough to buy a cheap notebook and start writing diary again.

I am unhappy that my autonomous decision to boycott the game was disregarded in such a way, but I don't think there is anything inherently wrong about securing the livelihood of a member of your community. Thinking of it this way, I can't be angry. The only one who respected my decision wholeheartedly despite offering me help was Dio. Though he appears to be rather vain, he might be the one who understands me best. His profile claims he likes fashion, but his sense of clothing is, in Neo Yokian terms, absolutely atrocious.

We are told the only way to escape this mall hellscape is to kill one of our ranks. They also offered money as additional compensation. In a way, this place could stand as an allegory to all that Neo Yokio is, all that society is. You trample on others for a perceived route to escape the pressures that the world puts onto you, but in doing so you play by their rules and can never attain true freedom.
Everyone seems friendly so far, but I am concerned that someone will eventually snap. I don't know anything about these people, so trusting in them is difficult.

For now I am fine with waiting it out in my room. Withdrawing is the same everywhere. Writing shall be my relief, my testament to this warped sphere I am forced to inhabit.

Sunday
I want to cross out a lot of the words I have wasted above, but in the name of documenting this experience somewhat reliably, I shall leave it as is, sickened as I am by it.

Wake is dead. Wake who said I was kind for doing what I believe in. I do not think he was correct or mistaken, precisely, but it was a foolishly sweet thing to say. He was a person who seemed to want to see the good in everyone and to whom charity was second nature. It is hard to dislike someone like that. An absence of selfishness is always to be commended.

The one who killed him was Dio.

It was not for money, though that was the incentive presented to us. That puts me a little at ease. There are numerous things about Dio I do not understand. However, I may not have been wrong to say he understands me. At least he thinks he does. Even in his dying breaths he complimented my withdrawal from material goods, he called it purity and voiced concern for me. I do not believe that he would lie like this in the fact of death, when he also revealed personal information alongside it.

Dio was in a cult. I appear to fit the parameters of untaintedness that his belief system has set. There is more I wanted to ask him about it, but I will never get to do so now. He was executed. Trampled to death before my very eyes.

I am sickened. I feel distant from even myself today.

His jacket is hanging over my bedpost. I don't know if I will ever wear it.