Dear diary,
Thankfully only I can see these blogs and share my deepest and grittiest thoughts in them. Yesterday people almost found out I was the man behind the slaughter. The 80's were a wild time. But I shrugged it off and I think they don't suspect me anymore.
There IS a new pizzeria opening a few blocks away. Might pay that a visit soon.
Товарищ Журнал,
Upon sturdy legs, I approached the ХССГ Hotel, my own strides as firm and unyielding as the principles of our forebears. Each step was a testament to the relentless march of the Benefactor's spirit, unwavering even when faced with the vast craters left behind from an era when roads were as full of promise as the five-year plans. The hotel itself was a monument to socialist architectural brilliance, all imposing concrete and revolutionary angles. A red sign in glorious Cyrillic script hung above the entrance, its paint peeling only slightly - a testament to the enduring spirit of the Benefactor. It was the kind of place that would have made those decadent capitalists like James Bond tremble in their tailored suits.
As I stepped inside, I was enveloped in the familiar embrace of honest working-class air and the lingering aroma of proletarian contraband tobacco. The lobby was modestly appointed, with mismatched furniture and a threadbare rug - clear evidence of its dedication to serving the people, not indulging bourgeois opulence! The receptionist, a woman with the strength of a tractor and the no-nonsense face of a seasoned Union Party Official, barely looked up from her newspaper as I approached.
"Welcome to the ХССГ Hotel, comrade," she declared, her voice as clear and steady as a factory siren. "Your room is number 323. It is everything a hardworking Soviet citizen requires, and no more."
With a firm nod, I shouldered my bags and ascended the creaky stairs. The hallway was even more dedicated to the principle of functional lighting than the lobby, the only illumination coming from a flickering bulb at the end - a beacon of collectivist determination. The air resonated with the triumphant scent of cabbage and the reassuring tang of disinfectant.
For dinner, I ventured down to the hotel's restaurant. The menu was a limited selection of City 17™️ classics, such as borscht, potato soup, and headcrab beef stroganoff. I opted for the borscht, figuring it was the safest bet.
The soup was a deep red color, with chunks of cabbage, carrot, and beet floating in a rich, meaty broth. It was delicious, hearty, and filling – the perfect meal after a long day of traveling. As I ate, I couldn't help but appreciate the 食堂's氛围。 尽管灯光昏暗，装饰过时，但却有一种奇怪的舒适感。 感觉就像回到了苏联时代，一个迷失在时间里的时代。
After finishing my meal, I wandered the hotel's hallways, their utilitarian design echoing with past purpose. An old propaganda poster adorned one wall, a stoic worker and cosmonaut side-by-side, proclaiming "Glory Through Unity!" They look oddly… cheerful. An almost forgotten feeling.
A sudden crackling emanated from a ventilation shaft above me – a routine Combine broadcast announcement, no doubt. Despite the familiar words of 'progress' and 'compliance', the voice sent a slight shiver down my spine. Time to retire for the evening. Room 323 is spartan, but effective; a bed, a window, and a faint electrical hum that I'm certain is nothing to be concerned about. The window offers a sliver of a view over City 17, the Benefactor's Citadel an ever-present beacon amidst the urban sprawl. Sleep will come easily tonight, I'm sure. After all, a loyal citizen has nothing to fear, yes?
Sleep now, Comrade, for tomorrow we rise with the city, as resolute and enduring as the concrete that shelters us. Our dreams, tempered by our Benefactors' wisdom, shall carry us through to another day of unity and purpose.
Goodnight from the heart of City 17,
A Loyal Citizen