[Loading subject memories: Masha.]
[Synchronization complete.]
The world came together out of sounds. First — a child’s laughter, then the sharp click of heels on wooden floors, the smell of dust and rosin.
And then — a room. A small stage, cheap velvet curtains, and a poster on the wall:
**“Auditions. Theatre Club *Star*. Open to all.”**
A girl of about ten stood on stage.
Thin arms, serious eyes, shoes a size too big. She clutched printed sheets to her chest — her script.
Maxim understood at once: this was Masha. Only without all those sharp edges, without the weary armor of adulthood. Just *expectation*.
And that simple, stubborn belief — that if you try hard enough, everything will work out.
She stood perfectly straight, the way they’d taught her: shoulders back, chin up.
Before her — a middle-aged man with a folder, wearing a sweater and an absent look. Probably the director.
“Alright, Masha, yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” the girl nodded. “I’m ready!”
He flipped through his papers without looking at her.
“You’ve got the part of Sonia?”
“Yes,” her voice trembled just a little. “I’ve been practicing all week.”
“Good,” he said absently, glancing over her shoulder. “Listen, we’ve got a bit of a situation…”
Masha tensed.
“What kind of situation?”
“There’s a new girl — Yulia. She’s… special. Very nervous, stage-fright and all that.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re a kind kid, right? You understand that sometimes we need to help others?”
Masha nearly laughed from the joy of being trusted.
“Of course I understand!”
“Good girl,” he said, relieved. “Then for today, you’ll play her friend. Small role. Just to help her through the performance.”
He smiled. “Next time, I promise — the lead is yours.”
Maxim saw how the girl straightened her back, how her eyes lit up.
He saw her run backstage, clutching her new script — short, only two lines.
And without looking, she dropped her first, beloved script onto the table — the one she’d learned by heart.
[Emotional parameter “trust” — 98%.]
[Positive belief formed: “If I help others, good things will return to me.”]
Maxim clenched his jaw. He already knew how this would end.
The stage lights came on.
Yulia stepped forward — thin, pigtails, trembling — and forgot half her lines. But the director smiled at her, whispered prompts, nodded kindly.
Masha stood off to the side, playing the supporting role as told, glowing with pride.
She was happy for the other girl. *Genuinely.*
Then came the applause.
Then the whispers backstage.
“Wonderful job, Yulia, just wonderful.”
“I think we can lock her in as the lead.”
Masha froze.
She stepped closer.
“Excuse me, but… you said that next time—”
The man flipped through his pages without looking.
“What? Oh, that. Things changed. Yulia’s a better fit.”
“But you promised!”
“Sweetheart,” he said, finally meeting her eyes with weary indifference, “in theatre, promises are conditional.”
[Parameter “disappointment” activated.]
[Emotional balance — disrupted.]
Maxim felt something twist painfully in his chest.
Masha stood there, motionless. Then simply nodded.
That evening, when the children had gone home, she sat alone on the edge of the stage.
No tears came.
Just the trembling of her fingers and that hollow space inside — so large it could swallow her whole.
“I did help,” she whispered to no one. “Why… did it make everything worse?”
The light around her flickered.
The world shifted.
Now — another room. Her parents.
Mother in a business suit, father with a cup of tea at the table.
Both faces tense.
“Masha, your father and I have decided,” the mother began, “theatre just isn’t for you. Since it didn’t work out, we’ll try ballet.”
“I don’t want ballet,” the girl said softly.
“Want or not,” her mother snapped, “we spend time and money, and you just let us down!”
Her father said nothing, just tapped the spoon against the cup.
“I didn’t let anyone down…” Masha tried. “I just… helped another girl.”
“Oh, there you go again — with your pity!” her mother shouted. “You have to be strong, not *kind*! Do you think anyone will ever help *you*? No one!”
[Forming belief: “Good deeds are never rewarded.”]
[Emotional trauma recorded.]
Maxim stood frozen, as if underwater.
The child’s fragile voice echoed in the void.
“I just wanted everyone to be happy.”
Then — the slam of a door.
And silence.
The world fractured and dissolved into pale pink light.
The system’s voice came quietly, almost regretful:
[Memory load complete.]
[Subject stability — critically low.]
[Cause: broken expectations and loss of belief in reciprocated kindness.]
Maxim knelt in the empty void, fists clenched.
“This… is *unfair*.”
[Strong empathic reaction detected.]
[Connection level between subjects — increasing.]
“Oh, shut up with your *fixation*,” he snapped. “She was a kid who just wanted to help!”
No response. Only silence — and the dimming of the light.
When everything faded, he was back in Masha’s apartment.
She sat on the couch, staring at the floor.
Andrei beside her, speaking softly.
Maxim stood by the wall, invisible, feeling his own heart hum — equal parts anger and sorrow.
[Mission “Help Masha” — active.]
[Next stage: restore subject’s belief.]
He exhaled.
“Belief, right. And how do you give back something that was stolen at ten years old?”
The system said nothing.
Somewhere, just at the edge of his vision, pink ears flickered.
The Rabbit was watching again. 🩷🐇
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and then Add to home screen.