– I'll return to my room if you don't mind Gunslinger. If by chance…

– she smiles, – something interests you, just call for me.

– Okay, – I agree.

On the stairs already, Madam stops and adds:

– By the way… if you like the picture and want to see it in more detail, rub the image with your finger.

I nod and drink my coffee glancing at the albums.

Do they have any emergency exits here I wonder? Most likely they do.

Though I also can pretend that my timer worked and to dissolve in the air. In any case I'm saved. I've got the better of the hundred of enraged doomers, earned the doubtful fame and came 14 levels closer to Unfortunate. Maybe he'll be dragged out before I reach him but I did my best anyway.

Coffee was finished, I looked into the pot… just look, it's full again! The magic thing from '1001 nights'. I fill the second cup and pick up the black album. Looks like African women are here?

It turns out that no.

There was a picture of the girl chained to the chair on the very first page. The thick brick wall was behind her, her head thrown back and the face can't be seen but half naked body promises much. The chains are shiny, with purposefully big links. The leather lash lies under girl's feet on the floor.

O-ooo-kay…

I close the album and put it on the corner of the table. Let it wait for sadists/masochists.

It's definitely "All Amusements".

I look at the cover rainbow. Let's try to guess. The blue cover, for instance.

Hm, I guessed right. The Hollywood actor was smiling merrily from the first picture, the one named as a sex symbol for the third year already.. He's dressed in leather jacket, high boots and lacy underwear. Wow my friend, just look how lucky you are…

There's no title under the picture obviously. Even if the poor cutie who never suffered from homosexuality tries to sue the brothel, it'll be very hard to prove anything. The photo is slightly altered and nobody will accept it as an evidence except for those of course who were in the deep and know how the brain excited by the deep program imagines things. But those who really know virtuality know its main law as well.

The freedom.

In everything and for everybody.

Probably this is right…

I put the actor on top of the lady in chains. Let them have their fun, poor martyrs.

The pink album. Is it really lesbians? Strange…

No, just couples. Two girls with defiant stares, one stands on her knees, the other leans onto the first one's shoulders, gazing at me. No-no-no. Not today. Not after 14 levels of "Labyrinth". Just lie aside for now, you'll not be bored together either, I can feel it.

The brown album. My imagination gives up, and I have to open it.

The old woman in flabby dress.

Oh my God, it's really for all tastes! Stirred up by curiosity, I rub the picture with my finger. The old lady on the photo becomes alive, smiles winsomely, starts dancing tripping with her legs and unbuttons her loose overall.

Granny, you're fucking crazy…

I put the brown album on top of the pink one and start laughing loudly.

The guard in the corner glances at me but stays silent. I can't help it and ask:

– Do the … customers happen?

I poke the brown album with my finger. The guard nods slowly.

The violet album. I turn it over in my hands trying hard to think of anything, then open it at the first page carefully: what if granddads are there?

She-goat.

I mean it: she-goat, the young one, whitish, with sharp short horns.

I don't laugh, I'm too exhausted already. But it's impossible to take a real goat into the deep so it's either a human operator or a program… that imitates sexual stereotypes of the young spoiled she-goat.

Granny, go milk the goat.

The three albums remain: the white, the green, the yellow. I open the white one, for some reason being tortured by thoughts of elves, angels and other heavenly creatures. Wrong guess, it's just women. As it should be, the famous top-model dressed in an evening dress

from Cardin is on the first page. Okay, I'll examine the dress later. I weigh the green album in my hand. What else have left that could feed the mighty erotic fantasies? Kids, of course. I open the album. A-ha. Juvenile millionaire, the movie star and aging housewives' favorite. Go help your Granny to hold the goat kiddo.

The yellow album. I guessed right again. The girl's face is vaguely familiar, I think she's an actress too. The entourage is amazing: the beach spreading to the horizon under the rising sun. Instead of tanning idly, better bring the bucket of goat milk into the house, baby.

Having finished with the most 'all' of offered amusements, I fill the goblet with wine, gesture at the pile of albums with non-traditional partners, the guard picks them up silently and brings away.

I had to take a better look at that one, with animals. I wonder, are there young crocodiles and the swans, ripened as Madam? Though, even if there are not, they'll be organized at the customer's request. Even the green squid or pit-bull.

I start looking through the white book making the girls to strip from time to time.

The choice is staggering. The movie stars and models end quite soon, followed by unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar but cute. I can't help myself and look at the very end of the album.

The clean white sheet is there and the title: "Draw your own happiness yourself".

Yeah, nobody would leave this place unsatisfied.

I start to browse the album faster. After all, it's possible to look at naked beauties, both still and moving, by less expensive means that being in the deep.

The African in palm leaf skirt on her hips, the Eskimo in furs, the Korean on the mat, the Polynesian with the ring in her nose… there's no racism in virtuality.

I turn the pages even quicker. One page, another and another…

Vika.

I freeze gazing at the girl that smiles to me every morning.

Madam appears quietly as a ghost, sits by my side and asks:

– Do you want more wine, Gunslinger?

I nod. Looks like I have spent a long time sitting here and looking at Vika. It was an evening twilight on the picture, she sat on the railing of the wooden verandah, the dark forest could be seen behind her, the dim yellow lantern in the high grass, the black mirror of the pool.

– We have many different customers here, – says Madam thoughtfully, – Some of them prefer movie stars, others – goats…

A slight smirk.

– Who is this girl?

Madam looks at me puzzled.

– Does she have a real prototype? – I ask.

The brothel mistress leans on my shoulder and looks at the picture for a long time.

– I don't have right to answer such questions Gunslinger. I even have no idea. It's thousands of faces here. Many of them might seem familiar to you, – a slight grin, – but this is not more than just a coincidence. Does she remind you somebody?

– Yes.

– Somebody real?

– Not exactly… – I cut my one-side openness, – Madam, can I… meet this girl?

– Of course, – our gazes meet, our faces are close, irony and mockery are in her eyes. – Ten dollars an hour. Forty dollars a night. Our prices are moderate, affordable to any hacker.

– You're cruel, – I say.

– Yes. When it seems to me that a nice young gentleman starts getting crazy, I'm cruel.

I take out the credit card.

– Forty dollars?

– Yes.

She accepts the money, hesitates, then says:

– Gunslinger, please listen to one story… Once there was a small silly girl, she studied in college, liked to hang in discos and to flirt with guys. And she loved a singer. He appeared on TV often, was interviewed, his pictures always were on magazine covers. He was a good singer and he sang about love. The girl believed in love very much.