Gathering human data
Explorer's log, Earth date 4th of June 2011
Seventeenth entry
Subject: New mission directive
I explained to Kate what befell me when I told the truth when applying for jobs. It turns out that I erred on the wrong side of caution. I must remember to be less candid. Honesty is apparently not appreciated during job interviews.
Dutifully, I relayed this information to higher command.
To my surprise, I received a wholly new mission directive and a date of execution. The time of merely gathering human data is over.
As the date draws nearer, I have begun to prepare in earnest for my true objective as I await further instructions. I have to get my vessel in shape for the task at hand. Utilising the resources at my disposal, I have enlisted the help of my pet billionaire and his personal trainer Claude Bastille.
Grey started out pleasantly surprised at my exercise regime, but his initial excitement has already turned to worry.
'You're gaining weight,' he remarks. A subtle – for Grey – way of body shaming me. My host is horrified at the remark. I have no idea why. It could be the fact that she believes that he is calling her fat, but I thought even that would make her happy. The two of them are always complaining that she is too thin.
'I thought that was what you wanted.'
'Yes, but I didn't mean like this,' he explains. It appears that he fears that my vessel will become too muscular for his liking.
'You wanted me to get fat?'
Grey shakes his head. Exasperated, I ask him what exactly he wants then.
'So, you want me to gain weight, but it can't be muscle weight or fat? What do you want me to do? Grow a tumour? I thought you'd be thrilled that I was exercising at least. Wasn't that in the contract? Or is it just that when I do what you want me to do you have no reason to punish me?'
He opens his mouth and closes it again like a particularly unattractive sea creature. I roll my eyes in perfect imitation of Ana and guide him to the Ugly Room of Boredom. We haven't tried out ninety-nine percent of the tools on display here. I survey everything and select a belt.
'I rolled my eyes. That's unacceptable. Punish me,' I order, thrusting the belt at him. He doesn't take it, though he is clearly almost salivating at the thought of hitting me with it.
'I can't do that. You'll leave me.'
The guy is delusional. Like he'd let me!
'Don't whine. Just do it,' I snap. He accepts the belt; slowly sliding it through his hands in a way he probably thinks is sensual.
'I am going to hit you six times and you will count with me,' he commands.
'No, I won't. Get on with it,' I reply, bending over the nearest bench and baring my vessel's butt. He proceeds to hit me – hard. From time to time, I look over my shoulder. His face is a mixture of pain and pleasure. Inside me, Ana starts to cry and her tears stream across my vessel's cheeks. Finally, Grey is finished. I pull up my underwear and jeans carefully, so as to keep the contact with my sore behind to a minimum. It hurts like hell.
'That wasn't so bad,' I say. Honestly, it was extremely unpleasant to witness how much he obviously enjoyed the fact that I didn't enjoy that beating. However, admitting that would give him even more satisfaction, so I'm not going to do that.
'What? No! That was… fucked up. I am fucked up,' he insists. I roll my eyes again.
'No argument there.'
That shuts him up well and good. And thank the stars because I am very much not in the mood to listen to this pathetic excuse for a human being berate me for not giving him the response he'd hoped for. I am tired and hungry and I have more important things to do.
'Why don't you stop being a little bitch and actually do something about how fucked up you are, huh? How about that?' I advise. Dumbfounded, he stares at me. It's as if this has never occurred to him. In all fairness, why would it have? His problems only negatively affect others.
Whatever. I have a president to kill. Hopefully, this will be a little more straightforward than the JFK fiasco.