Dead quiet as we left the factory behind. The township could be felt, its population a faint whisper on the edges of our awareness. As we continued our long march something else appeared, its shout rising up to drown out the whisper of the distant city.

Passion, rising, heaving. A sacrifice, something to keep the twisted voice satisfied. We changed course, the calm voice guided us through the forest.

We reached a small campsite, just a solitary tent. A man and a woman were inside of it. They were in the lotus position, bodies pressed tightly together.

We stopped, waited. Our awareness slid up and down the heaving bodies. We leered at the display of flesh on levels that mankind may never know. As each drop of sweat ran down the lengths of the glistening bodies, we traced its journey with awe.

The passion reached its apex. Ecstasy and with it, a glimpse at the dark goddess. We allowed it, let them have that one final moment of bliss.

They stayed in position as they died, locked together for eternity. No, not for eternity. We will see them again at the festival. Everyone will be there.

The twisted voice praised our mistress, and the charming voice praised him. The calm voice remained silent, until issuing a warning that it felt something in the woods, a threat.

[We must deal with them.]

(I agree, and if they are what I think they are, they can be of great use to us.)