The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Day One...

“Bloody Welsh weather,” Amelia murmured, her breath misting the electronic binoculars as she peered through the rain. The cold drops of water tapped a rhythm on the leaves above her, echoing the tension in her body. She wiped the lens with a dry corner of her camo shirt and adjusted her position, her long, thick-set body barely shifting the damp earth beneath were she lay.

She peered out at the factory once again: August in North Wales they could keep it! Her mind drifted back to her days in the army... to exercises up in the Brecon Beacons, the mountains just south of her present position. Still, lying around in the rain was better than yomping up and down mountains with a sixty pound pack.

“You okay up there, Mil?” a voice crackled through her comms earpiece.

“Hold your horses.” She responded, her eyes scanning the shadowy abyss of the Abercwmeiddaw Slate Quarry which was an overgrown scar on the face of the Welsh landscape, a relic from its industrial past, now a silent witness to the rain’s persistent patter.

The high-tech multi-story building nestled against the old quarry face looked out of place, a stark contrast to the surrounding hills and the scrubby trees and bushes that had swallowed the rest of the abandoned site. This was her target, gleaming as it was with a dull metallic sheen even under the oppressive grey overcast. A private concrete road curled away from the structure to the village of Corris Uchaf, about a mile away, a scar running through the verdant landscape.

Amelia’s grip tightened around the binoculars as she zoomed in, her gaze focusing on the security men patrolling the perimeter of the cleared area around the building. She catalogued their movements, noting the pattern that was probably choreographed by boredom. She had to get closer, had to understand what was happening in that building. Her instincts, honed during her days as a corporal in the British Army, were screaming at her that something was off. This wasn’t just another recce job. It was personal, but then all of her jobs were—that was the way she approached things. She was here not only to get a handle on the site and on what was happening here but also on the people associated with it.

The rain had picked up tempo and was now a fine mist swirling around her ear-length brunette hair. Her no-nonsense hairstyle was plastered to her forehead where it poked out from under the peak of her cap, but she didn’t bother to adjust it. The quarry’s secrets were down there, and she was going to uncover them, even if it meant getting wet and muddy. As to why she was here in the first place,.. The rumours of something unsavoury going on, the whispers of the illegal activity were irrelevant to her. Her job was to get in, get as much information as possible, and get out without leaving a trace. But she knew, deep down, that this was going to be anything but a simple in-and-out job, it was a gut-feeling without anything concrete but survival usually depended on such gut feelings.

Her earpiece buzzed again, the voice of her handler, Marcus, demanding a situation report. “Mil, sitrep. We need to know what you’re seeing.”

“Hold your horses,” she hissed, the words echoing the first time she had responded to him. She didn’t like being pushed, not when she was in the zone. But she knew he had a job to do too, so she relayed the information in a crisp tone, “The regular afternoon’s truck is here. Locals are loading it up as per usual, no drones in sight yet either little flying ones or the big two-legged silver kind.”

Amelia watched as the men and women, dressed in dull grey company overalls, went about their business. They moved with a familiarity that suggested they’d been doing this for a while. Yet, there was something about their mechanical precision that sent a shiver down her spine. It was too perfect, too synchronised for her liking. She informed Marcus of this but her words were interrupted by the distant whirr of small rotors. She tensed, her eyes flicking to the skies. A drone had finally turned up, a tiny flying one, not one of the big silver robots. It hovered into view, a black dot against the dull-grey heavens, before descending to the far side of the building. The low cloud base had forced it down to an altitude where she could see it and now it hovered there, unblinking, watching. Her heart rate spiked.

This was it.

Time to hide.

With a swift movement, Amelia shushed Marcus, cutting off his protests mid-sentence. She knew the risks of losing comms, but she had to get under cover, and that meant going dark. She wriggled back, her toned body slipping with surprising ease under the massive old slate slab that jutted out of the slope forming a natural bunker. The cold, wet stone was just above her back as she lay in the mud, heart thumping in her ears. The drone’s whirring grew louder before it abruptly changed course, no doubt drawn to something else of interest. She waited, she listened, her senses on high alert.

The rain had turned into a gentle patter against the slate above her, a rhythmic backdrop to the tension that coiled in her muscles. She could feel the dampness seep through her combats, but she didn’t dare move. The drone hovered, seemingly suspended in time and space, before finally it whizzed off, its little motor fading into the distance. Mil took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the area. The truck had departed, too, leaving behind only the echoes of its engine.

Patiently, she waited, her eyes never leaving the small patch of sky. She knew the drone could return at any moment, but she had to act. The mission was too important to let fear dictate her moves. With a slow exhale, she reached for her field rations, tearing open the packet with her teeth. The bland, chewy food filled her mouth, a stark contrast to the adrenaline rushing through her veins. Each bite was a deliberate act of self-preservation, a silent promise to herself to keep going.

When she eventually emerged from her stone shelter, the drone and the truck were nowhere to be seen. The quarry had gone eerily quiet, the only sounds were the persistent whisper of rain and low hum coming from the factory. She took a moment to chew and swallow another mouthful, before slipping the half-empty packet into her pocket. Time to go back to work.

The ground beneath her was a mottled canvas of grey-black and green, the rain mixing with the earth to create a slick, treacherous path. She moved with the grace of a predator, her boots sinking slightly into the mud and leaf litter before finding purchase on one of the rocky outcrops that dotted the landscape. The building loomed closer, a silent sentinel that held secrets she had been tasked to uncover.

Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement. The pair of patrolling security men had vanished no doubt returning to somewhere dry. Mil knew she had to be careful; one misstep and she’d be spotted, the mission compromised. But she also knew that she had to move quickly—the longer she stayed out in the open, the greater the risk.

As she approached the building, the rain began to ease, revealing a silver lining to the clouds. It was time. With a final deep breath, she broke into a sprint, her body a blur as she zigzagged through the overgrown terrain of the old quarry floor. Her target was in sight, and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way.

The whirr of machinery grew louder with every step she took, the building’s pulse beating like a heart in the stillness of the quarry. It was a strange sound, a blend of the old and new, the organic and the electro-mechanical. It sent a shiver down her spine, but she pressed on, her eyes on the prize.

The rain had eased to a light drizzle, giving Amelia a clearer view of the building. But with the clarity came a gnawing doubt. It was all too easy, like the universe seemed to have rolled out a red carpet for her. Her hand hovered over the butt of her concealed pistol, the weight of it reassuring. They had special Home Office authorisation to carry firearms: such was the importance of her mission.

Suddenly, a voice pierced the air, “Hallo, can I help you?” It was a woman’s voice, but not one tinged with hostility or suspicion. Instead, it was laced with a hint of concern, as if the unknown woman had stumbled upon a lost hiker. Amelia’s instincts screamed at her to be ready, but she remained frozen, her hand hovering near her Glock.

She spun around, her eyes widened in shock. Two female figures approached, their seemingly naked forms gliding through the rain without a trace of discomfort. But these were no ordinary women. They were tall, taller than she was in her black combat boots, and from the top of their hairless heads to their black shiny boots, they were a gleaming shade of black and looked as if they were living statues of polished obsidian. The sight was surreal, like a nightmare born from a sculptor’s fever dream. She had seen the silver robots many times but these two were black, pure unrelieved black.

“Are you alright?” the first one asked, her eyes unblinking behind the transparent visor she wore and her features eerily calm. The second woman/robot took a step closer. “Poor thing, you must be so cold, would you like a hot drink?”

Amelia’s brain struggled to process the scene. The black, shiny, naked-seeming women looked human, yet inhuman. Their skins or suits were unmarred, no blemishes, just a uniform sheen of glossy black that reflected the light in ways that were both mesmerizing and disconcerting. Their faces looked concerned behind their visors but held a certain charm that she couldn’t quite place. They moved with a fluid grace that belied their size, almost as if they were dancers performing in a silent ballet.

Her hand jerked towards her concealed pistol, but she caught herself. They were unarmed, their arms hanging by their sides. The situation was already bizarre enough without adding unnecessary aggression. Plus, she had no idea what kind of hidden tech they were packing beneath their shiny oil-black suits.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice a forced calm. “Just ing through.”

They tilted their heads slightly, a synchronized gesture that was somehow unsettling. “You don’t look it.” The first one said, her eyes searching Amelia’s mud-spattered face. Are you sure that you wouldn’t like a mug of hot tea?

Amelia took a step back, her eyes darting between them, trying to gauge their intentions. “Thanks for the offer, but I really need to be going.”

The second creature took a step closer, holding out an inviting hand. “Please, come with us,” she urged, her voice without any traces of an accent. “You are wet and cold. We are concerned that you may become hyperthermic.”

Their concern seemed genuine and not as if they were following a script or playing out a role they had been programmed to perform. Amelia’s suspicion grew stronger with every ing second. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her hand inching closer to her gun.

The first creature looked at the second, then back at Amelia. “We’re just here to help.” She said, her eyes never leaving Amelia’s face. “Won’t you come inside and dry off?”

The invitation was innocuous and totally unexpected. Was there something in their tone that suggested more than just a cup of tea and a warm fire? If it was a trap, well she could take care of herself so she decided to play along. If she didn’t, she’d never find out what was happening inside that building, and she was on a recce after all.

With a forced smile, she nodded. “Alright, I could use a brew,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But I can’t stay long. I have to be... somewhere soon, friends are expecting me.”

They turned and began to walk towards the building, their movements so synchronized it was like watching a pair of dancers in a macabre performance. Amelia followed, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. She was walking into the lion’s den, but mission left her with little choice.

One half turned and indicated a half open door. Come in when you are ready. And both hovered there, waiting for her.

Marcus’ voice crackled in her ear again, “Mil, what the bloody hell are you playing at? Get out of there!”

Amelia’s heart skipped a beat as she realized she had forgotten her body camera. The feed was live, and Marcus was watching everything unfold from the safety of the company’s command vehicle a couple of miles away. She had to act fast before he called in the cavalry.

“Ladies,” she said with a forced smile, raising a hand to her ear, “I’m sorry, but I need to take a phone call.” She stepped back and turned away slightly, her hand moving to her earpiece. “It’s my mum,” she lied, hoping the urgency in her voice would be enough to convince them. “Just a quick one, I promise.”

The black figures exchanged a look that was almost human, a flicker of confusion ing between them. They nodded in unison. “Of course,” the first one said, taking a step back, “we’ll be inside.”

Amelia turned away from them, her hand moving to her earpiece. She pretended to listen intently, her eyes scanning the area for an escape route. The rain had stopped, leaving the quarry in a stillness that was almost deafening. She could hear the soft drip of water from the leaves above, the occasional call of a bird in the distance. Her heart hammered in her chest, the sound echoing in her ears.

“Mum, it’s a bit of a bad time, can I call you back?” she said loudly, hoping Marcus would get the message. The robots had disappeared into the building, the door closing behind them. She took a deep breath, her hand still hovering over her gun.

The silence on the line was deafening before Marcus’ voice came through, “Mil, do not engage unless absolutely necessary. The extraction team’s on stand by. Get what you can and get out.”

Amelia nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She knew the risks. She had to keep her cool and stick to the plan. With a flick of her wrist, she turned off her transmitter leaving her in the quiet embrace of the quarry. The door swung open, beckoning her into the unknown. She walked towards it, her boots squelching in the mud.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. The room was indeed low-tech, a stark contrast to the high-tech building in which it was situated. There was a row of lockers and some metal shelving stacked with mundane supplies cleanin fluids, polish, bottled water, and first-aid kits. In the centre of the room, a group of people sat around a large table, drinking tea and chatting. They were dressed in the same grey overalls as the ones she’d watched loading the lorry, but their faces were flushed with the warmth of humanity, not the cold perfection of the black statues.

“Prynhawn da, merch ifanc, pam nad ydych chi’n dod allan o’r glaw?” A motherly middle-aged woman called out warmly in fluent Welsh.

“Prynhawn da,” she greeted them in return, her Welsh rough and almost none existent. “I’m just looking for someone.”

The motherly woman looked up at her, her eyes warm with curiosity. “Oh, you must be the wet lady that the two synthetics were concerned about.” She said, switching to English. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

The tension in the room had dissipated, the locals returning to their conversations their laughter bouncing off the metal walls. Mil took a couple of steps towards them, her eyes scanning the room for threats or anything of anything of interest. There had to be something, somewhere.

She smiled and informed the people that two tall shiny black robots had indeed invited her in for a mug of tea.

“So, you’ve met the welcoming committee.” One of the men said with a wink. “They’re quite a sight, aren’t they?”

Amelia nodded, still on edge. “They said something about a brew. I’m guessing that’s what you’re having?” She gestured towards the steaming mugs on the table.

The motherly woman chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Those two are definitely not robots. They’re more like... well, let’s just say they’re something else entirely. We call them ‘Synthetics’ here. They help us out around the place and keep us safe. They’re good souls, really.”

Amelia took the offered mug of tea, the warmth seeping through her cold hands. The scent of the brew filled her nostrils, a comforting aroma that was at odds with the tension coiled in her stomach. She took a sip, the liquid scalding her tongue and sending a jolt through her system. “So, they’re like... guardians?”

The woman nodded. “In a way, yes. They’re part of the Hive,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But don’t let on that you know. They don’t like it to be talked about.”

The word ‘Hive’ sent a fresh wave of unease through Amelia. She knew the term from her briefing; it was the name of the shadowy organization rumoured to be running this place. “What’s the Hive?” she asked, her voice measured.

The room fell silent, all eyes on her. The woman’s smile slipped away, replaced by a look of caution. “You’re not from International Electromatics, are you?” She asked, her voice tight.

Amelia’s heart raced. She had to keep her cover. “No, I don’t work for the corporation, I’m just bird watching,” She blurted out, the words sounding ridiculous even to herself. “I’m just up here for a spot of bird watching. Got a bit lost in the rain.”

The woman studied her for a moment, then sighed. “Alright,” She said, her smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re safe here. But don’t you go poking around where you’re not supposed to be. The Synthetics don’t take kindly to that.”

The conversation drifted to safer topics—the weather, the state of the local football team, and the difficulty of growing vegetables in the acidic soil. The tension in the room eased but Amelia couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She sipped her tea, the warmth spreading through her body, and listened to the mundane banter of the locals. Yet, she couldn’t ignore the nagging questions in the back of her mind: what were these people hiding? She wondered.

The rain had stopped outside, leaving the room filled with the scent of wet earth and the gentle patter of water running off the roof. The villagers began to stand up, stretching their legs and collecting their things. “We’ve got work to do,” the woman, who seemed to be the team-leader, said, her voice a gentle reminder that Amelia’s time was up.

Amelia set her mug down, the tea barely touched. “Thank you for the hospitality,” she said, her voice sincere despite the tension. “I’ll be on my way.”

The woman nodded, her eyes lingering on Amelia for a moment too long before she turned away. “Be careful out there.” The woman. called out as the door swung shut behind her.

The quarry was eerily silent as Amelia stepped back into the open. The Synthetics were nowhere to be seen, but she could almost feel their presence lurking in the shadows. She knew she had to get back to the job at hand but she also knew that her surveillance mission was blown so she followed the road and headed towards the village of Corris Uchaf and her parked car.

From its spot perched on the edge of the roof the little flying drone watched her until she had disappeared around a bend in the road.

Later that evening, Amelia was having a quiet drink in the bar of The Slater’s Arms pub down the road in Corris. And although there was a good crowd she was enjoying the quiet anonymity that being a stranger often brought. Marcus hadn’t been over impressed by what he described as her ‘dumb stunt’ and had torn a strip off her for taking unnecessary chances. She’d pressed her point and he had grudgingly itted that the data she had gathered was useful.

The bar was warm and cosy, the scent of roasting meat and damp clothing mingling with the aroma of the local ale. The chatter of the locals washed over her like a comforting blanket, a stark contrast to the tension of the quarry. She had managed to blend in with the crowd, her mud-splattered combat gear replaced by a pair of worn jeans and a thick, oversized jumper that had seen better days. She was halfway through her second lager when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me buy you a drink, love,” a deep, gruff voice said. She turned to find a man with a thick beard and a cheeky grin, his eyes a bit too eager. She took in his worn flannel shirt and muddy boots, the hallmarks of someone who had been out on the farm all day and was too lazy to change his clothes before going to the pub afterwards.

“Thanks, but I’ve already got one,” Amelia said, holding up her half-empty pint glass.

The bearded man’s smile didn’t waver. “Ah, but it’s the company that makes the drink,” he insisted, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. His eyes glinted with a mix of stubbornness and hope.

Amelia sighed and took a sip of her lager. “Look, I’m not here to be charmed. I’ve had a long day.” She didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in her voice. She had hoped to keep a low profile, but the attention was becoming unavoidable.

She then informed him that if he didn’t remove his hand from her shoulder, she would break it. The bearded man’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes flicking to her hand, which was now wrapped firmly around her pint glass. He took a step back, his hand retreating as if it had been burned. “I’m just being friendly,” he protested, his voice a little too loud for the quiet corner of the pub.

“No, you are just being an arsehole!” She said rather more forcefully than she meant to.

The man’s smile disappeared entirely and the room began to fall silent. Amelia felt a flicker of satisfaction, but she knew it was short lived. She was a stranger here and the locals were giving her sideways looks. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know they weren’t pleased with her outburst. The bearded man’s face turned a shade of red that clashed with his flannel shirt, his hand hovering by his side as if he was considering his options.

“That’s enough from you, Dai Thomas,” a firm voice boomed from behind the bar, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. The landlord, a burly man with a bald head and a thick moustache, stepped out from behind the counter. His eyes were like lasers, fixed on the bearded man. “Leave the lady alone,” he said, his Welsh accent thick and unyielding.

Thomas gaze moved from Amelia to the landlord, his eyes narrowing. He took a moment to size up the newcomer, his hand still hovering by his side. The air in the pub was charged with potential conflict, the patrons holding their collective breaths at what promised to be an interesting confrontation.

But Amelia had had enough. Slowly, she got to her feet, her muscles protesting after a long day of tension. She towered over the bearded man: she was five-foot-eleven tall and possessed a broad frame. As the bearded man watched, she seemed to grow even taller in the face of his challenge. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her height, a hint of surprise flashing across his face. She didn’t say a word, just stared him down with a cold, hard gaze that spoke volumes.

Thomas took a step back, his bravado evaporating like mist in the morning sun. He glanced from her to the landlord and back again, the unspoken threat in the air as potent as the smell of the roasting meat that wafted in from the kitchen. The room was taut with anticipation, the chuckles dying down as the locals realized that this was no ordinary rejection.

“Sorry!” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned and slunk away, disappearing into the crowd of patrons who were gathered around the bar.

Amelia felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She nodded her thanks to the landlord, who just winked back, as if to say ‘no problem’. Returning to her seat, the chair creaked under her weight. She took another mouthful of lager, her eyes scanning the room. The locals had returned to their conversations, the incident forgotten, but to her surprise, she was no longer alone.

The woman and the man she had encountered at the tea room earlier that day were now sitting at her table, smiles plastered on their faces.

“You okay?” The woman asked quietly.

Amelia nodded, taking a deep breath. “I was just looking for a quiet evening.” She said, her voice still a little shaky.

The woman chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to fill the space around the table. “I know the feeling,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners, “I’m Gaynor Pugh, by the way, and this is my husband, Len.”

Amelia nodded, her hand shooting out to shake Gaynor’s. “Amelia Perkins,” she said, her grip firm, “but everyone calls me Mil.”

Gaynor’s smile grew wider. “Pleasure to meet you, Mil. And don’t you worry about that Dai, he’s all bark and no bite. Just a bit of a local nuisance, really.”

Mil drained her glass, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the heat in her cheeks. “Pleasure to meet you both,” she said, her voice a little too loud in the sudden quiet. “Can I get you a drink?”

The woman shook her head. “Len’ll get them in.” She said, then as her husband disappeared into the press of bodies by the bar, Gaynor added, “That’s what husbands are for, isn’t it?”

Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wouldn’t know, I’m single,” she replied, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Ah, well, you’re a sensible girl,” Gaynor said, patting her on the arm. “You don’t need a man to have fun, do you?”

The tension from the quarry and the confrontation with Thomas had left her feeling raw and exposed, but here, in the warm embrace of the pub, it was easy to forget about the plant, the Hive and the secrets they held.

Len returned with three drinks, handing one to each of them with a nod. “Cheers,” he said, his voice gruff but kind. They clinked glasses and took a sip, the act a silent toast to the end of a tense day.

“So,” Mil began, her eyes gleaming with curiosity, “how long have you been working up at the plant?”

Gaynor’s expression grew guarded, her smile slipping slightly. “Six months,” she said, her voice low. “Ever since it opened, but we’re not really supposed to talk about it, you know.”

“It’s been interesting, that’s for sure.” Len added, his eyes scanning the room as he took a sip of his pint. “But it’s good work and it keeps us busy. Good pay, too.”

Amelia leaned in, her curiosity piqued. “What’s in the lorries?” She asked, keeping her voice casual.

Gaynor and Len exchanged a knowing glance. “Ah, now that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Len said with a chuckle. “We’ve signed NDAs, so we shouldn’t really say anything. But they say it’s all top-secret stuff for the Government: not the sort of thing you’d expect to find in a sleepy little quarry in the middle of nowhere.”

Gaynor took a sip of her gin and tonic, then smiled knowingly. “So you’re a bird watcher?”

“’S right, it’s a serious hobby.” Mel said, playing along. She had a cover to maintain, and she wasn’t about to blow it now. “Some of these birds are quite elusive, especially in weather like this.”

Gaynor’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. “Oh, really?” She leaned closer, the warmth of her breath carrying the faint scent of mint. “What kind of birds are you looking for?”

Amelia took a moment to gather her thoughts. She knew she had to tread carefully. “Just some... rare species,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’ve heard they’re found around here.”

Then she asked about the robots...

Gaynor’s eyes widened. “The Synthetics?” She whispered, leaning closer. “They’re something, aren’t they? We’ve got quite a few working at the plant. They’re a bit... off-putting, to start with. But they’re incredibly efficient, friendly too, especially the silver ones.”

Amelia nodded, her mind racing. “I saw a couple of black ones today, they looked after me when I got caught in the rain.”

Gaynor nodded, her eyes glazed over for a moment as she took a sip of her gin and tonic. “They’re like that,” she said, her voice distant. “They’re always watching. They take care of us, make sure we’re safe, like.”

The pair I met seemed genuine. Mil said in an attempt th draw the woman out.

Gaynor nodded. “But I swear they are linked to the little drones that fly about.”

“Linked to the flying drones?” Amelia asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. “How so?”

Gaynor leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say the Corporation uses them to keep an eye on us, make sure we’re all doing our jobs and that we are not in any danger.”

“The Corporation, that’s International Electromatics, isn’t it?” Amelia repeated, her eyes never leaving the other woman’s face. “What can you tell me about the Corporation? I’m thinking about changing my job.“

Gaynor glanced around the room before leaning in closer. “Not much,” she whispered. “They’re the ones who run the plant. They keep to themselves mostly, but they’ve done a lot for Corris Uchaf. Jobs, investments... we’re all grateful, really. We’re from Corris Uchaf, aren’t we, Len?”

“Have you lived there all your life?” Mil asked innocently.

“Not yet!” Len chuckled.

Amelia gave him a wry smile and then took a pull of her lager and realised that she liked these friendly people. They drank and chatted until closing time, Len and Gaynor had been married for close on thirty years and had a daughter. The corporation had saved Corris Uchaf, which had been dying on it’s feet. There was no pub there, so they all came down the valley to the one in Corris when they wanted a drink. They even told her that “Corris Uchaf”, meant “Upper Corris” in English. “Quite fitting, really!” Len chuckled.

After closing time, the three of them shared a taxi for the short journey up the valley and Mil knew that she had made new friends. She also knew that she would soon have to go back into that factory building and was not looking forward to it in the slightest.