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Alright, the demo is growing but still with no closure, so here comes the text! Nearly 20 000 words. We have Dr. Mortum and a rescued puppet with broken legs hanging out in the lab and things escalating from there.

Once again, thank you for your patience, the puppetstart demo is turning into a beast like the Auction chapter of Retribution. But, that also means that once that is done it is only one demo, instead of all the fragments from the other paths.

..................

*label brokenlegwakey

[b]Some weeks later, Dr. Mortum's laboratory.

The bed is a soft cloud, supporting your bruised body with minimal effort. Support for your back, a remote at hand to shift it into what configuration you want. Laying down. Sitting up. A massage function that makes you grit your teeth but probably is good for you, and a light vibration that reminds you of sleeping in a moving car. Restful. Safe. Someone at the wheel, someone you can trust, but that's a dream that always fades when morning comes. Faces pushed back. Forcibly unremembered.

*if ace

  Are they your memories or ${puppet_name}'s?

  *if puppet_name != "Ace"

    No. Ace's

  That's ${phis} name, isn't it? $!{phis} real one.

  *if puppet_name = "Ace"

    Did you know when you picked it? Was there a hint of a whisper in your ear as you named your new body?

  It makes you feel queasy. Since watching the video with Dr. Mortum, you have got more and more glimpses of what happened. Not memories. Maybe fantasies. Holes in your mind filling in what came before. You have no way of knowing whether it's true or not. And yet you can't dispel the ghosts that haunts your nightmares.

*else

  You never slept in this body before, could the shifting memories belong to ${puppet_name}? There's no active thoughts you can find or focus on, but what about the subconscious? Dreams trapped in long unused brain cells. Did ${phe} dream when you left the body behind? You don't know. All you know is that ghosts now cling to you every time you wake, like spiderwebs brushed from your face come morning.

Things are different. How long had it been since you slept and remembered sleeping before you got stuck here? How long had your mind continued functioning on an eternal loop? Morning to morning, no darkness in between?

Now that darkness consumes your nights. You need to get your body back before it starts to spread. It's bad. You wish you could articulate exactly what that means. Something has changed. Something that shouldn't. Like this body is changing you somehow.

Cellular memory. Could that be it? You know they talked about that on the Farm. Whether traces of someone's personality could survive in transplanted limbs and infect the new host. That was the draw of clone-transplants. No risk of things like that.

Superstition. Far more likely that your dreams are just telepathic remnants of minds you've brushed against in the past. You didn't sleep enough to remember anything but the worst nightmares. The ones that wouldn't let you go, clinging to your mind until you had no choice but to give in and sleep rather than just shift bodies to escape them.

A safety valve. A curse.

Maybe you should be grateful they haven't followed you here, instead leaving you with these vague and uneasy memories come morning, more like what dreams are supposed to be.

Normal. A normal brain. One you're stuck in. Giving you time to think.

*if mortumknows

  You think you're safe here. Dr. Mortum didn't need to break you out. You're surprised that ${mhe} did after you told ${mhim} the truth. Maybe ${mhe}'s as lonely as you. Maybe ${mhe} looks at you and still sees ${puppet_name}. It's hard not to.

  Because isn't that just you these days?

*else

  You [b]are[/b] safe here. You know that by now. Dr. Mortum has proven ${mhim}self time and time again. On your side. Willing to take risks ${mhe} would be smarter to avoid. For you. No. For ${puppet_name}.

  But isn't that just you these days?

*fake_choice

  #My other life feels more and more like a dream.

    Your other life feels more and more like a dream. Like some strange fever fantasy conjured up by a mind desperate to escape the confines of your body. It's not true, of course. You know that. No matter how human you currently look, you are a Re-Gene, lacking anything close to a human experience.

 But it would be so easy to forget. Fool yourself into denial. Isn't that what you so often did to people telepathically? Nudge them to take the easier path, if they don't see you they don't have to raise the alarm, they can keep dozing off, nothing is happening. Inaction is addictive.

 You could let it go. All of it. The struggle. The pain. Just drift away, start a new life, walk away from your past. You could do it.

 *if ((motivation = "justice") or ((anarchist) or (prepare_them)))

   If you didn't know what was coming.

 *elseif motivation = "fate"

   But you doubt you'd be allowed to. Fate isn't finished with you yet.

 *elseif (((motivation = "revenge") or (motivation = "anger")) or (hunter))

   You could try. But you'd let them win. Give up. And you'd be damned before you give them that satisfaction.

 *elseif boss

   Give up everything you worked for. Your ambitions. Your new life. Run. Be a coward. No. That's not an option.

 *else

   A new life. A better future. Run away from the storm that is coming and convince everyone you care about to run with you. A pipe dream.

  #No. I'm trapped, but that won't last forever.

    You're trapped in this body, intimately familiar, and yet not yours. A pause. A stepping stone. This won't last forever, you refuse to accept that possibility. You'll heal enough to get back on your feet, and then everything will get back to normal.

 *if ((motivation = "justice") or ((anarchist) or (prepare_them)))

   You have work to do. Work that can't be done in this body, you need power. Influence. And laying here, you're painfully aware that the clock is ticking.

   You're running out of time.

 *elseif motivation = "fate"

   There is a lesson in this somewhere, you know it. A reason why you're stuck in this body. But it's a puzzle to solve, not an inevitable future. And yet you keep wondering.

   Why are you here?

 *elseif (((motivation = "revenge") or (motivation = "anger")) or ((hunter) or (boss)))

   You've got work to do. Work you can't do in this body, weak and helpless in comparison. All it does is heighten your frustrations while at the same time refusing you an outlet.

   You wish you could heal faster.

 *else

   Maybe you should try to think of this as a vacation. Some time to heal. Rest. Of course it's hard to do that when it's not a choice, with your body stolen and this one stuck in a hospital bed.

      Worst vacation of your life.

  #The body doesn't matter, I am me no matter what.

    You're stuck in a broken human body, with no telepathy, but that doesn't really change who you are. What you are. Your thought. Your mind. That's what's important. Your memories. Your core.

    That's what always set you apart as a Re-Gene. You knew. You weren't blank. Little by little you could chisel away at implanted memories and orders and make a core that was just you. Will. Purpose.

 *if motivation = "anger"

   A seething anger at your enforced fate. You would be free.

   You will again.

 *elseif motivation = "fate"

   Fate.

   You were meant for something bigger than what they made you into.

 *elseif motivation = "justice"

   Truth. They kept lying to you with their mouths, but their actions told you the truth. Their fears. You weren't just a tool, but something more.

   You all were.

 *elseif motivation = "life"

   Joy.

   You weren't supposed to experience that.

 *else

   Revenge. No, that came later, when you finally understood the extent of what they did to you.

      Never again.

You let out a breath which turns into a sigh, adjusting the bed to find a more comfortable position. Restless. Itching. You can't relax. Your body crawling with impatience. The unease overtakes you, so you shift positions hard, reckless movement despite your injuries. A jolt of pain spears you from legs to spine, turning threatening shadows into bright white and red.

Good. Pain. It's something you're used to.

You need to heal, you tell yourself. Can't rush that. You already have the best medical technology Dr. Mortum's contacts can get their hands on. You know you need to rest. You know this inaction is needed. And still you can't help being reminded of being back at the farm. Stuck in a tube, sedated as your body recovered. Forced healing hurts as much as injuries, they didn't sedate you to spare you, they did it to shut you up. Screaming bothers people no matter how ruthless they are. What Dr. Mortum uses on you is more gentle. Less prone to lasting damage or lingering cancer decades later. Deep tissue stimulation. Vibrations. A drug regimen strong enough to knock you out for the rest of the day after every session. But, no tube.

Not unless you count the therapeutic casts, with muscle-stimulants to make sure you won't be too weak once healed enough for rehab. You should be grateful. No, you are grateful.

*if epilogue03

  But, you're also aware that while you are recovering here, your body is not. You still can't believe it, though you were shown the drone footage Dr. Mortum has shot as ${mhe} scouted your apartment. Your own body. Moving about. Shooting the drone.

  The thought still makes you nauseous. No wonder you can't go back. Someone's stolen it. Like you stole this once empty husk.

  *if epilogue07

    You didn't tell Dr. Mortum the truth. Not yet. How could you, helpless like this? Instead you lied and said you had no idea why your boss had wanted you to pick up the body of ${name} ${surname}. Or why they weren't comatose as you had been promised. It was easy enough to play up your very real fear and confusion, speculating out loud whether this had been a trap for you all along. Begging Dr. Mortum to let you stay here while you healed. That you were afraid. Alone.

 Of course ${mhe} let you.

  *else

    And what's worse, you're starting to wonder if Dr. Mortum is doubting your story. You can't blame ${mhim}, this doesn't make sense at all. Either you are playing some game with ${mhim} and leaving this puppet body only to try to ambush ${mhim} later, or somehow both bodies are moving at the same time. Which shouldn't be possible.

 You have a feeling Dr. Mortum might be formulating some sort of theory but is afraid to spring it on you. There's something in the way ${mhe} looks at you. Not threatening. Almost with... pity.

 And you hate that.

  *elseif ((epilogue04) or (epilogue05))

    You just wish you could relax. But you can't. Not with the texts you've been getting from @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}}. It all started so innocently. @{epilogue04 He|$!{hhe}} found your body, just like you had said. Out like a light. You were high enough on painkillers at the time you nearly cried from relief. This would be over soon.

 And then. Then the texts started coming. Texts that didn't make sense. Sharing the good news that the boss had woken up. Was okay. Nothing to worry about. You asked what @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}} meant, and @{epilogue04 he|$!{hhe}} didn't seem to understand. Asked when @{epilogue04 he|$!{hhe}} could come and pick you up, the boss was eager to get back to work. One text. Then another. Asking where you were. If you were okay. And then that final one, that made you turn off the power to your phone for good. The one that didn't feel like @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}} had written it, none of the concern or the little tidbits of life that had been in the others. Three words.

 [b]I need you.[/b]

 You haven't opened your phone since. You need to bring this up with Dr. Mortum eventually, but you're not sure where to start.

  *else

    You're also still stuck. You had hoped a night or two might fix things. Or that going without painkillers for a while would. Nothing. And what was worse, you knew that the clock was ticking, there's only so long your body could last without water.

 In the end you had no choice. Contacting @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}} and ask @{epilogue04 him|$!{hhim}} to bring your body here seemed to be the choice with the least amount of risk involved.

 *if apartment != "your base"

      *if heraldregenereveal

        Herald would take care of your body, but you don't want him anywhere near Dr. Mortum, and you need the good doctor to try to figure out how to get your body back.

      *if argentreveal

        Argent would understand the need for secrecy, but you're not sure you could trust her. Not when you probably need Dr. Mortum involved too. A Ranger would complicate things.

 You risked a call, it would be easier to explain things in words than text, and at this point you had recovered some of your facilities. Dr. Mortum had promised the phone was secure, and you figured @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}} might be the type to pick up even from an unknown number. You were right.

 It went... badly.

 Sure, @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}} was happy to hear from you and know you were still alive, but then there was a voice in the background asking who was calling. A voice you recognized.

 Your voice.

 $!{name}'s voice.

 You don't remember much after that. Just the panic. Heart racing. @{epilogue04 Pelayo|${hench_name}} talking to ${chim}. To you. Not you. The anger in ${name}'s voice when ${che} demanded to talk to you.

 You hung up. Turned off the phone.

 You haven't turned it on yet. You need to bring this up with Dr. Mortum eventually, but you're not sure where to start.

You need a plan, but the first step is getting back on your feet. Which will take a while. $!{swear}.

"Good morning, ${title}." Dr. Mortum enters with breakfast, ${mhis} footsteps heralding ${his} arrival so you have time to collect yourself. Put your mask on. "I hope you slept alright?"

*fake_choice

  #"As well as I could with these on." I gesture to my casts.

    "As well as I could with these on." You gesture to the casts, they keep you trapped in the same position. No tossing and turning, because every time you try to roll over, the pain reminds you that you shouldn't. Hard to get a restful night's sleep like that.

 "I'm sorry to hear that." Dr. Mortum puts down the tray on the small table next to the bed. "But if it's any consolation, you'll be out of them soon."

 "Really?" You hadn't expected that, but to be fair, you've tried to keep your expectations as low as possible. Manage your impatience.

  #"No," I admit. "The nightmares make that hard."

    "No," you admit, at this point you're not afraid of showing some weakness. "The nightmares make that hard."

 "I'm sorry to hear that." Dr. Mortum puts down the tray on the small table next to the bed. "Trauma rarely leads to good sleep, especially when you eschew sleeping pills."

 "I want to be able to wake up when I want to." You hate being trapped in nightmares, and at least this body is able to snap out of them fast. You don't want to risk that just for being rested. "I hate feeling trapped."

 "It is your decision." You can see that ${mhe} doesn't agree with it. Not that ${mhe}'ll push the issue. It's your choice. "But if it's any consolation, you'll be out of your casts soon. Perhaps that will help a bit."

 "It certainly won't hurt." You hadn't expected it to be this soon, but to be fair, you've tried to keep your expectations as low as possible. Manage your impatience.

  #"Didn't wake up screaming," I joke. "That's progress."

    "Didn't wake up screaming," you joke, because at this point gallows humor is all you have. "That's progress."

    "I suppose I can't argue that." Dr. Mortum puts down the tray on the small table next to the bed. $!{mhe} doesn't seem to find it as funny. "But I really do think you should try to have a higher bar."

 "If it was higher I couldn't reach it trapped in bed as I am." This time your joke gets an exasperated chuckle in return. Good. You both need that.

 "Well I have good news for you then." A brief pause for effect. "You will be getting out of your casts soon."

    "Good, I've been nursing an itch there for weeks." You hadn't expected that, but to be fair, you've tried to keep your expectations as low as possible. Manage your impatience.

"My friend will come by and have a look later today, but last I talked to her she seemed to think that it might be time to start some very light rehabilitation work. If you promise not to overdo it."

"At this point I'll promise anything." You accept the cup of coffee ${mhe} gives you.

*if mortumknows

  *goto impostertalk

*else

  *goto bosstalk

*label impostertalk

"Good. Because I need you to promise to keep a clear head about this." Dr. Mortum pulls up a folded newspaper from the pocket in ${mhis} labcoat, handing it to you. "It's on page three."

"What's happened now," you mutter to yourself as you put down the coffee, unfolding the newspaper under ${mhis} watchful gaze.

It's not even a quarter-page article, so it takes you a moment to realize which one ${mhe} is talking about.

*if villainy < 50

  [b]$!{villain_name} Robs Pharmacy, Staff Injured.[/b]

*else

  [b]$!{villain_name} Robs Pharmacy.[/b]

It takes you a moment to understand what it is you're looking at. A blurry picture of ${villain_name}, the angle screaming security camera. Not many details, just another minor heist.

*if infamy >= 70

  Minor. Heist.

*if rangersarmor

  The Rangers were supposed to have your armor. What happened? How did they manage to lose yet another thing from their vault? How incompetent are they?

  And, more importantly...

*fake_choice

  #A pharmacy? The indignity!

    Not only has this impostor stolen your body, they have stolen your armor. Your identity. And what's worse, they are using it to perform petty crimes.

    A pharmacy. The indignity!

 You scrunch the newspaper in your hand at the same time Dr. Mortum swiftly moves to protect the breakfast tray in case you'd throw it. So instead you take a breath, then another, putting the newspaper down with the same distaste as if it had been used to clean up after a dog.

 "I. Am. Fine." Your smile feels more like a snarl.

 "I am choosing to believe you despite all evidence to the contrary." $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head with the thinnest of smiles. "Because we need to talk."

  #How. How is this happening?

    How. How is this happening? Is this impostor good enough to control the armor well enough to use it? What does the Rat King feel about that? Can't they feel the difference? Or are they coerced somehow?

 This doesn't make sense.

 You look blankly at the newspaper in your hand, trying to make sense of what's there. No details. Just that picture burning into your brain.

 "This makes no sense." The paper falls from your limp hand, rescued by Dr. Mortum.

 "It certainly is a conundrum." $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head. "That's why we need to talk."

  *if (villainy < 50) #People are hurt? $!{swear}.

    You read the article, trying to figure out the fate of the hurt staff. Serious but stable condition. That can mean anything. But above all it means that whoever this impostor is they don't care about hurting people. Or they are sloppy.

 Neither is good.

 *if ((nokill) or ((repentkill) or (saving)))

   What if they kill someone? That would be on your conscience and reputation.

 *else

   Your armor is dangerous, even though the nanovores are neutered they could still cause a lot of damage with an inept user.

 You look blankly at the newspaper in your hand, trying to stop yourself from imagining the worst. It's hard. That image is burned into your brain by now.

 "What else have they done," you mumble as the paper falls from your limp hand, rescued by Dr. Mortum.

 "Nothing major so far." $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head. "But we need to talk."

  #That's your armor they're wearing. [b]Yours![/b]

    The absolute gall of the impostor almost leaves you speechless. That's your armor. Your name. Your reputation. [b]Yours![/b]

    You didn't put all this work into crafting you a new identity for someone else to steal it right under your nose. As if stealing your body wasn't bad enough.

 You scrunch the newspaper in your hand at the same time Dr. Mortum swiftly moves to protect the breakfast tray in case you'd throw it. So instead you take a breath, then another, putting the newspaper down with the same distaste as if it had been used to clean up after a dog.

 "This can't be allowed to stand," you growl.

 "I am not disagreeing." $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head. "But we need to talk."

"Talk?" You run your hands over your face, feeling the bones underneath your skin. Yours. Still not quite. The brain inside nothing more than a receptacle.

*set pharmacy true

"Yes." Dr. Mortum looks awkward as ${mhe} sits down next to your bed. "And I suppose there is no easy way to start a conversation like this. Do you remember when you told me who you really were?"

*fake_choice

  #"I'm not likely to forget. Thank you for saving me regardless."

    "I'm not likely to forget. Thank you for saving me regardless." More than you deserved really, but you suppose you are not the one who should judge that. You didn't even ask for it, this was all Dr. Mortum. You're not sure how that makes you feel. Too many emotions to deal with right now. Or ever.

  *if (mortum_flirting_puppet) #"I was so sure I was ruining everything." I smile helplessly.

    "I was so sure I was ruining everything." You can't help but smile. This is more than you deserved, though you suppose you are not the one who should judge that. You didn't ask Dr. Mortum to stick ${mhis} neck out for you. Or decide to move forward instead of clinging to hurt feelings. Move forward. Not forgive. There is a difference.

  #"Biggest risk I've taken in a long time," I admit.

    "Biggest risk I've taken in a long time," you admit.

 *if daring > 50

   Physical danger is different. Risking your life, pain, loss, broken bones... all of that drowns in the adrenaline of a good fight. Even going up against dangerous opponents is more of a thrill. A chance to prove yourself. To show them. This was different. All emotions and guilt, neither of which you're fond of dealing with if you can help it.

 *else

   You prefer your risks to be calculated, no need to seek out danger without the deck stacked in your favor. Play it smart. Be patient. You couldn't do that here, there was no way to gain an advantage without making things worse. Owing up to your mistakes. Face your complicated emotions and your guilt. Not something you're fond of doing if you can help it.

 But Dr. Mortum was worth it.

  #"I still feel guilty about lying in the first place." I look away.

    "I still feel guilty about lying in the first place." You look away instinctively, avoiding Dr. Mortum's gaze. It's still an open wound, though you've done your best to try to move past it. Both of you. Still, it's lurking under the surface like a sharp rock, ready to scuttle any mood. Guilt. Your least favorite feeling.

"I can appreciate the courage it took." $!{mhe} pauses, visibly uncomfortable. "And I don't mean to undercut that, just hear me out. Please."

"It's not like I'm going anywhere," you say cautiously, unsure what ${mhe}'s getting at, but you can smell something brewing and you doubt it is good.

"I've been looking back at the events of the last few weeks,"

${mhe} starts, looking for all the world like ${mhe} wishes he had a notebook ${mhe} could read out loud from. "The fact that ${name} ${surname} is walking around, to all appearances functional. The fact that ${villain_name} is still active—"

"Robbing a pharmacy," you interrupt.

"Yes. But the fact remains. While there haven't been any major battles so far, the armor does to all extents and purposes appear functional."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Have you considered that perhaps you have been telepathically manipulated into believing that you are ${surname}?"

"That I'm what?" Your brain feels cold, unable to keep up with ${mhis} reasoning. Or unwilling.

"$!{surname} is a telepath. Like you said, powerful enough to jump bodies and puppet them around. Puppet you around." A momentary pause, but this time you let ${mhim} finish. "I just think that we need to consider the possibility that you might have been brainwashed into thinking that you are ${surname}. What better way to have an assistant utterly loyal to the cause?"

"That's..." you break off, shaking your head as you try to collect your thoughts. It's an absurd suggestion, you know who you are, you know what you've done. You're not some pre-programmed drone doing ${phis} job. Right? You'd know. Right?

*fake_choice

  #But would I? How could I be sure?

    You try to shut down the little voice of doubt inside you, but you can't. Telepathic programming on that scale would be a monumental effort, but isn't the same true for possession? Is really one vast powerset more absurd than the other. You try to breathe, try to think. You remember your past. Being a Re-gene. You remember...

 Not everything. You hate that. You know there's holes in your memories, places cordoned off and marked with Entry Forbidden. Trauma. That's what you've told yourself. Some things are best forgotten, left buried, suppressed, trapped behind locked doors. You don't need to remember everything, just move forward, get on with the plan. Do your job.

 Even if it kills you. You remember standing before Hollow Ground, that sinking feeling in your stomach that your time was running out. Your future was catching up to you.

 Expendable. Is that it? Is that you?

 Are you a copy of a copy? That's how Re-Gene minds are made, past knowledge stashed into an AI chip, seeding the host brain with everything needed to function upon decanting. Did you do that? Did ${surname} do that?

 How could you ever know for sure?

 *set selfdoubt true

  #No. I am ${name} ${Surname}. I know that.

    You take in the information, mulls it over. Are you a copy of a copy? That's how Re-Gene minds are made, past knowledge stashed into an AI chip, seeding the host brain with everything needed to function upon decanting. Did you do that to your puppet? Are you ${puppet_name}, cut loose at last, floating free?

 You can see the logic of it. Especially to an outsider, who can only see the surface. But you know better. You know for sure. Even before you were implanted with borrowed memories, you saw Them. You felt their thoughts. You found yourself before anybody else tried to make you into what they wanted. You [i]know[/i] who you are.

 Re-Gene. Tool. Hero. Villain. The body doesn't matter. The mind does. You've been through hell too many times to start doubting now.

 *set selfcertain true

  #I hate that ${mhis} arguments makes sense. I can't be sure.

    You hate that there is a logic to this. It sounds like something you could do, though on a more ambitious scale than you ever have before. But, couldn't the same be said for your possession? Power. The audacity to manipulate people's minds and memories like clay. That's how Re-Gene minds are made, past knowledge stashed into an AI chip, seeding the host brain with everything needed to function upon decanting. Did you do that to ${puppet_name}? Did ${surname}?

 Could this you be a puppet in more ways than one? A mind gone rogue, operating beyond it's calculated parameters. Is that it? Were you sent to Hollow Ground to die? No. There would be no reason to waste such a valuable asset, right? Unless... unless you were already becoming too much of a risk. Too real. What if the fact that you told Dr. Mortum was the issue? You blurred the lines between you. Risked ruining your usefulness.

 You don't think it's true, but you can't be sure. Too many things add up.

 *set selfdoubt true

  #It doesn't matter. I need to assume I am myself.

    It doesn't really matter what the arguments are one way or the other, and you can see the merit in them. Re-Gene minds are made in a similar ways, past knowledge stashed into an AI chip, seeding the host brain with everything needed to function upon decanting. Could that have been done to you? Are you ${puppet_name}, cut loose at last, floating free?

 You shake your head. That kind of reasoning is a trap. You remember who you are. How you got here. What your goals are. The desperate need to get your body back, put everything right. That's where the truth is. In your emotions, not in any arguments. As long as you believe that you're real, you are.

 Belief. Confidence. You could never have come this far without them. Focus on that and leave any doubts behind. They matter less than what you do.

 *set selfcertain true

  #I hyperventilate, this is too much. I won't think about it.

    You can feel your heart rate increasing. Breathe. Quickly. Is this a panic attack? Maybe. Probably. Filled with anxiety and painkillers, this is not the time to...

 The time to...

 You press your face into your hands, feeling bones underneath you skin. You can't break through it to your brain. Can't examine it for faults or truths. This is too much, you can't deal with this right now. Not on top of everything else.

 "$!{title}?" Dr. Mortum doesn't touch you, but ${mhis} voice breaks through your gasps. Not sobs. Just breathing.

 "I can't deal with that right now." The words sounds like they are spoken by a stranger, someone who is not on the verge of falling apart.

 "We don't have to." $!{mhis} voice is surprisingly gentle. Kind. "Forgive me, this is my fault."

 "It's fine." You pull in a breath. Then another one. Holds it. Forces yourself to slow down. Does the count. Breathe in for three. Hold for three. Breathe out for four. Stop panicking. Ignore it. Focus on the present. Move forward. "You said I'd be able to get out of the casts soon."

 "Yes." Dr. Mortum eagerly switches subjects. "Better to focus on the positive side. The rehabilitation process will be painful, but at least you will be mobile."

*if selfcertain

  "I can see why you might be worried." You look up at ${mhim}, your thin smile filled with confidence. "But I know who I am. And what's more..." here you pause, face softening. "Are you sure your speculations are not just driven by wistful thinking on your part?"

  "Ah." There's a shadow crossing Dr. Mortum's face, a look of hesitation as if ${mhe}'s second-guessing ${mhim}self. "I suppose that is a fair question. The oldest trick to fall for as a scientist. Be influenced by what outcome you want, rather than what the truth is."

  "I'm not blaming you. Either explanation is strange enough to be true. But I know I'm me. In here." You place your hand on your heart.

  *if mortum_flirting_puppet

    "And I'm sorry if that bothers you. I know is the better looking body."

 "That's not it, ${title}," ${mhis} voice has gone soft. "I want to get to the truth of this. No matter the outcome. Yes, I admit there's some adjusting along the way, but we can work this out. Somehow. I just don't want us to be blindsided by the unexpected."

  *else

    "Please trust me on that."

 "I do trust you, ${title}." $!{mhe} leans closer. "I just wanted to raise a possible issue so we won't get blindsided by the unexpected."

  "I'm afraid that's already too late." You can't help but laugh. "This shouldn't be possible. And yet it is."

  "What seems impossible often seems so only because we lack the facts to make it understandable. So we need more facts."

  "And for that, I need to get back on my feet." You pat one of the casts.

  "Hopefully that will be tomorrow. You just have to promise me to be careful building back your strength. It will probably be a painful few weeks."

*if selfdoubt

  "I just don't know," you mumble unable to think straight. How would you even begin to prove that you are you? "I don't know what kind of answer you're expecting here."

  "I'm sorry," ${mhe} says, voice softening. "I didn't mean to distress you. I just think we should keep an open mind."

  "Hah." You force yourself to smile, you can't let this derail you. "Open mind. When dealing with a telepath. That's funny."

  "It wasn't intentional," ${mhe} assures. "I just don't want us to be blindsided by the unexpected. Whatever this is, it's unprecedented. We need facts."

  "Facts. I suppose that's true. No matter what the truth is, it all starts the same way. Getting me back on my feet." That's what you need to focus on. Things you can control.

  "Hopefully you will be out of your casts by tomorrow. You just have to promise me to be careful building back your strength. It will be a painful few weeks."

"I don't mind pain." Right now it might even help you focus. Give you a goal. Something to do. Something you [i]can[/i] do instead of speculating. Spotting the look on ${mhis} face you quickly add."But I'll make sure not to overdo it."

"That's all I can ask for." Dr. Mortum smiles, and you turn to devour your breakfast.

You need to build your strength back.

*page_break Are You Running Out of Time?

*goto rehabtime

*label bosstalk

"Good. Because we need to start thinking of the future." Dr. Mortum frowns, hesitating slightly before continuing. "What are you going to do once you're well? Is it safe to go back to your boss?"

"What makes you say that?" The words come automatically, a reflex, deflection.

*if ace

  "The look on your face when you talk about them, ${title}. Why you were sent to Hollow Ground in the first place. Do you think they know that you've got some of your memories back?"

  "I don't know. I never said anything, but..."

  *if known_telepath

    Your face twitches in a grimace. "It's hard to keep secrets from telepaths."

  "Is knowing who you are a risk to them?" From the sound, Dr. Mortum seem to think that it might be.

  "Good question." You run a hand over your face, trying to think of a good answer.

*else

  "The look on your face when you talk about them, ${title}. Why you were sent to Hollow Ground in the first place. The fact that you seem more eager to remain here than go back."

  "Ah. That." You run a hand over your face, trying to think of a good answer.

Your lies are catching up to you, and right now there is no way you can tell the truth and be believed. No proof of the absurdity that is your existence. No, what you need is a bigger, better lie.

But what kind of lie can get you the help that you need? What kind of story can make Dr. Mortum assist you in getting back to your own body? Can you even come up with a believable one? Take that risk?

$!{swear}.

The safest thing would be to play along and pretend that your boss is a threat to you. That will make sure that you can stay here long enough to heal. Be protected. You'd have more time to come up with a solution later. Could you really do this on your own? You'd like to think so, if you can get close enough to your old body you should be able to take it back. It's yours. You know it in your bones. As long as you are back on your feet, you should be able to catch ${villain_name} unawares. Out of armor. Could you trick ${chim} into mentally manipulate you? If they are able to do that while using your body that would force a connection you could use. If not... well, then you'd need to improvise.

You could also possibly reveal that ${villain_name} is ${name} ${surname}. That would mean that Dr. Mortum would automatically be wary. A villain connected to the Rangers.

*if known_telepath

  A known telepath.

*else

  You should tell ${mhim} that ${villain_name} is a telepath in that case. It wouldn't surprise you of the good doctor didn't already suspect that.

One less thing that could come out of the blue and bite you in the ass. But it might complicate things in the future, is it worth the risk?

If you dare to tell Dr. Mortum who ${villain_name} really is that opens up more options.

*if ace

  You already know you went through a lot of trauma at Shroud's hands. Could you claim that it's your boss that has kept those memories suppressed? Blocked off to make you dependent and helpless? That you want to force them to remove that psychic block?

*else

  Could you come up with a story that your boss have messed up something in your mind? That you need help to take them down and force them to remove the psychic block or compulsion?

That would mean that you might have help capturing your body, though it could be an awkward discussion once you've changed back and your puppet collapses. You probably need to tell the truth at that point, but if you're back in your own body it would be easy enough to switch back and forth to show ${mhim}.

All of your options includes some risk, the question is which one you'll pick.

*fake_choice

  #I will say little but the fact that my boss is after me.

    It's better to preserve what secrets you can. It's not like you can do anything until you're healed anyway. Dr. Mortum has not been the prying sort so far, you both have your secrets to preserve.

 *set huntedbyboss true

  #I will reveal who my boss is, but insist on handling it myself.

    It's better to prepare for all eventualities, Dr. Mortum needs to know that there might be a telepath hunting for you. A telepath and former associate of the Rangers turned villain. That's going to go down well...

    *set huntedbyboss true

    *set mortumknowsvillainid true

  #I will reveal my boss and say that I am suffering from a psychic block.

    You might as well skirt as close to the truth as you can. You are a victim of ${villain_name}'s powers, aren't you? A bit of sympathy wouldn't go amiss, and it would explain any holes in your story. Besides, Dr. Mortum needs to know that there might be a telepath hunting for you. A telepath and former associate of the Rangers turned villain. That's going to go down well...

    *set huntedbyboss true

    *set mortumknowsvillainid true

    *set psyblock true

"I'm sorry," you continue, as the pause has stretched into uncomfortable silence. "I never wanted to cause you any trouble."

"Well, I have more or less volunteered myself for that," ${mhe} says with a chuckle, which fades as soon as ${mhe} sees the serious look on your face. "What's the matter?"

*if mortumknowsvillainid

  "I didn't plan to tell you this," you admit, doing your best to sound as tired as you feel. "I wanted to keep you safe. Out of it." The laugh is a surprise, it takes a moment to realize it is yours. Hurt. Cynical. "I wasn't supposed to find this out. Maybe that's why I was sent to talk to Hollow Ground. Maybe ${che} wanted to get rid of me. Found out that I knew."

  "Knew what?" The worry is real now, Dr. Mortum listening with rapt attention.

  "Who ${villain_name} really is." You rub your face hard, as if trying to chase away tears. "I mean I had seen ${chim} without the armor once or twice, but I didn't add things up. I didn't recognize the face. Not at first. It's not like ${che} posed for picture when active."

  "I get the feeling I won't like this." A nervous twitch.

  "You won't." You pause as you try to decide which feeling to focus on during the reveal.

  *fake_choice

    #Fear. I am afraid.

   "$!{villain_name} is a former hero," you admit with a nervous glance at the door. "And a powerful telepath. $!{che} must have found out I had figured it out. Added things up."

   "A former hero?" Dr. Mortum sounds surprised, as if ${mhe} hadn't expected that. "Who?"

   "Sidestep." You swallow, voice quiet and nervous as if you were afraid of being overheard.

      *if villain_name = "Sidestep"

     "The real deal. Didn't even change the name." You shake your head.

   "$!{name} ${surname}. A former, and current, associate of the Rangers."

   "Merde. Are you sure?"

   "I mean..." you pause, as if you're considering your sources. "As sure as I can be." Your voice cracks without provocation. "!${che} must have realized I knew and hoped that Hollow Ground would do ${chis} dirty work for ${chim}."

 #Anger. I feel fooled.

   "I should have realized something was wrong before." You gesture in annoyance, anger directed at your own gullibility. "I felt like I had seen ${chim} somewhere before. I should have done my research faster. Maybe then I would have been better prepared." You let out a sigh, finally looking up at Dr. Mortum. "$!{villain_name} is a former hero."

   "You can't be serious." But it sounds like ${mhe} believes you. Have ${mhe} already had suspicions? "Who?"

   "Sidestep." You spit out the name as if it was a curse.

      *if villain_name = "Sidestep"

     "The real deal. Didn't even change the name." A bitter laugh.

   "$!{name} ${surname}. A former, and current, associate of the Rangers. And a telepath."

   "Merde. Are you sure?"

   "Of course I'm sure," you snap. "I checked and double checked. $!{che} must have realized I had figured it out. That's probably why I was sent to Hollow Ground. Must have hoped I'd get killed."

 #Control. I am just about keeping myself together.

      "I need you to understand that what I am telling you here will be a great risk for you too." You keep hold of Dr. Mortum's gaze as you continue. "$!{villain_name} is a powerful telepath. And a former hero."

   "A hero?" $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head. "Who are you talking about?"

   "Sidestep." You sigh as you speak the name.

      *if villain_name = "Sidestep"

     "The original one. Didn't even change the name." A shake of your head.

   "$!{name} ${surname}. A former, and current, associate of the Rangers."

   "Merde. Are you sure about this?"

   "I checked and double checked. I didn't want to believe it at first either. I should have run as soon as I suspected it, $!{che} must have realized I knew too much. That's probably why I was sent to Hollow Ground. Must have hoped I'd get killed."

*else

  "Oh nothing much." Your face twists in a pained smile. "Only the fact that my boss is trying to kill me. I've been thinking about it, and that's the only thing that makes sense."

  "I'm glad I'm not the only one who has come to that conclusion. After what happened to you." Dr. Mortum gives you an awkward pat on your leg.

  "Yeah. $!{villain_name} must have figured out I would end up in trouble if I went to Hollow Ground in ${chis} stead." You don't even have to work on your bitterness, you are angry at your own miscalculation there. "I think I have to assume I was meant to die there."

"It is safer to assume that is the case," Dr. Mortum agrees. $!{villain_name}

*if villainy <= 30

  doesn't have the most vicious reputation, but..."

*elseif villainy >= 70

  is as vicious as they come, and..."

*else

  is a villain, and..."

"...I am a risk." You finish ${mhis} sentence with a sigh. "I can't risk being found."

*if ace

  "I'm so sorry." $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head. "I can't help but feel I set this in motion when I showed you that tape."

  "I think this was a long time coming." You give ${mhim} an awkward smile. "Once the armor was done, I was expendable."

"Well, you're safe here." Dr. Mortum looks like ${mhe} is planning some extra security measures just to be sure. "We'll figure out where to go from here once you feel better."

*if ((psyblock) and (ace))

  "I can't keep but wondering..." you touch your forehead, carefully as if you were worried it might break. "My past. Ace. What if ${villain_name} has been keeping that part suppressed? To keep me amnesiac? Dependent and loyal?"

  "I wasn't going to say anything." The sigh is sympathetic and heavy. "I have been considering the very same thing."

*if ((psyblock) and (not(ace)))

  "There's something else too," you continue, holding up a hand to assure ${mhim} it's not an immediate emergency. "I think ${mhe} might have been manipulating me. Not emotionally, but..." You touch your forehead. "Telepathically."

  "Oh that's not good." Dr. Mortum frowns. "And yet, it sounds like you remember things that pose a risk to ${chis} interests?"

  "Yeah," you admit. "Maybe ${che} didn't have time. Or thought it was necessary since I was sent to an early grave. But there are things missing." You touch your head.

  *fake_choice

    #"My past. I don't remember. Things don't add up."

   "I don't remember my past. Not fully. There are bits and pieces," you admit, letting your words come from your heart. "But there's enough missing that things don't add up. It is blocked away, and I don't know why."

   "And you think that ${villain_name} did this?" Dr. Mortum frowns, worried now.

   "I'm sure of it. The more I try to remember what really happened back then, the more things fall apart. My actions don't make sense. I don't know why I did the things I did, nor how I ended up here." A nervous laugh. "$!{che} must have done it. I wouldn't have forgotten things like that. It's important."

 #"Something's been stolen from me, but I can't remember what."

   "Something's been stolen from me." You touch your head, your voice finding words without effort. "I can't remember what. It's like a missing tooth, I can feel the hole, but I don't know what was there. Only that it's gone."

   "And you think that ${villain_name} did this?" Dr. Mortum frowns, worried now.

   "I don't see who else would have. Unless we have more telepaths running around messing with my head." A nervous laugh. "No. $!{che} must have done it. There's nobody else."

 #"I don't feel right. My emotions are wrong."

   "I don't feel right," you start, hugging yourself. "My emotions are wrong. No, not what I feel for you," a quick look of assurance at Dr. Mortum. "You feel more real than I do right now. If you weren't here I don't know what I'd do. Who I'd be." The words are strange, but you let them flow regardless.

   "I am here, ${title}. And I'm not going anywhere." $!{mhe} is frowning now, worried.

   "I think ${villain_name} has done something to me. Changed things in here." You touch your chest. "Maybe to keep me loyal so far, I don't know. But it feels wrong. I feel... manipulated."

  "That's a worrying thought." $!{mhe} shakes ${mhis} head. "Telepaths are dangerous. Complicated." There's a twitch on ${mhis} face you're not sure how to interpret .

*if psyblock

  "I want to be whole." Your voice gets stronger, as if you are trying to convince yourself. "There are so many things I don't know, about myself, about my past..."

  "And only one person who might be able to give you the answers." There's a tenseness to ${mhis} voice sharp enough to cut. "I see what you're getting at."

  "I'm not asking for anything," you lie. The seed has been planted, now it need time to sprout. "Just enough time to get back on my feet. I'll work something out."

  "[i]We'll[/i] work something out, ${title}." $!{mhe} smiles and for a moment you almost feel bad about the lies. Even if they are for a good cause.

  The truth is a risk neither of you can handle right now.

  *goto rehabtime

*if not(psyblock)

  "Thank you," you say with heartfelt honesty. You mean it. Dr. Mortum didn't need to stick ${mhis} neck out for you, and yet here you are.

  "Don't mention it, ${title}." $!{mhe} smiles and for a moment you almost feel bad about the lies. Even if they are for a good cause.

  The truth is a risk neither of you can handle right now.

  *goto rehabtime

*label rehabtime

[b]Some grueling weeks later, Dr. Mortum's laboratory.

Thump, thump, thump, your feet hits the treadmill, the pain making you grit your teeth. No pain no gain. You're finally well enough to run, that's what matters. It's been weeks of rehab, tentative first steps turning into carefully curated stretching exercises. Dr. Halabi is good at her job, though far too patient for you. Pushing the limits of your body is what you do, even when said body is not your own. Familiar though. In the way it moves. Not back to your usual form, but close enough that you don't feel hampered.

You can move.

*if puppet_skill = "running"

  It feels like freedom. Not being trapped in bed anymore, giving your body up to the slow rhythm of your own footsteps. Peaceful. Meditative. It makes you feel like you can finally move forward. No longer helpless.

*else

  A burning in your lungs forces you to pause, turning off the treadmill so you can catch your breath. Your main focus was never on endurance training, that was just one part of the package trying to turn your puppet body into a balanced fighter. Not as good as your real one, of course, but good enough that you wouldn't feel helpless.

Helpless.

A sneer crosses your face, and you let it sit there for a moment, investigating why it appeared. Was it aimed at yourself? Your futile efforts of making this body into a replacement for your own? Or perhaps the mistakes that led you to end up in bed in the first place?

*fake_choice

  #I can't turn this body into a weapon, I need to be smart.

    You can't turn this body into a weapon, at least not one dangerous enough to threaten ${villain_name}. You know that. Even out of armor, your own body comes with decades of the hardest training imaginable, and that's before taking your telepathy into account. That's why you need to play this smart. Come up with a plan.

  #I messed up once, I can't afford to do it again.

    You messed up once when you decided it was a good idea to challenge Hollow Ground by disobeying ${hghis} instructions. A stupid mistake, you should have realized something like this would happen. You've been too used to be able to talk yourself out of danger by using your puppet's innate charisma, that's not the most reliable of weapons. You need to come up with a better plan this time, you can't afford to make another mistake like this again.

  #No, this is about the bastard who's taken my body.

    No, you decide. The sneer is not aimed at you or your own shortcomings, its aimed at the bastard who stole your body. Whoever did this will pay, one way or the other. You'll claw your flesh back if it's the last thing you do. All you need is a plan.

Dr. Mortum has hinted at being able to help, but ${mhe}'s been surprisingly cagey what that might mean. You don't think ${mhe}'s bluffing, it's more likely that you're not going to like what ${mhe} is about to propose. Or that ${mhe}'s worried that you'd try to push ${mhim} to act faster, before you had fully recovered.

Or, and this makes you pause,

*if puppet_skill = "running"

  slowing down enough to grab a towel to wipe

*else

  wiping

the sweat off your face, ${mhe} might be scared. Scared of facing ${villain_name}. Scared of what might happen.

*if mortum_flirting_puppet

  Scared of losing you.

  *if mortumknows

    Scared of losing [i]this[/i] you.

"Don't wear yourself out, ${title}." Dr. Mortum smiles as ${mhe} walks past, still ignorant of everything that seethes within you. Secrets. Yours. So many times you have started a conversation only to break it off before it became too real.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do."

*if puppet_skill = "running"

  You finally slow down to a halt, turning off the treadmill. Out of breath, but not terribly so. Legs aching, but not in a bad way. Progress.

*else

  You give the treadmill a look, tempted to get back on it. But you've had enough for now.

"Well, as long as you don't injure yourself further." $!{mhe} looks you over, as if ${mhe} expected to be able to see all the aches and pains you're suppressing. "You've made remarkable progress."

"I know." You stretch, feeling your muscles pop. "But at this point this place is starting to feel like a prison. I need some fresh air."

Would it be it safe? At this point the Rangers must have given up on you. $!{puppet_name} was never more than a cog in a grander machinery, surely not someone they'd keep actively hunting. As long as you avoid the areas you know they frequent, there's no reason you'd run into each other. And your body-snatching impostor... you doubt they know that you are stuck in this body. Nobody knew you you would be able to survive losing your own. That would be impossible to predict. Whoever the culprit is, they must think you're dead. Scattered to the wind.

*if pharmacy

  They've been active as ${villain_name}. You've seen the occasional headline, nothing major, but enough to send you into a spiral of panic and rage every time. Pushed down. Buried. Used to push you through the rehab.

  *fake_choice

    #I need to get better fast to stop this.

   You need to heal, that's what kept you going. Get well enough so you can put a stop to this. You're not sure exactly how yet, but you'll work something out.

 #I feel more like the impostor every time this happens.

   You feel more and more like an impostor every time this happens. That's ${villain_name} out there, not you. What if you're in the wrong here? What if that really is ${villain_name} and you are... nothing but yourself?

   No. You push that feeling down again. You're you. You've sacrificed too much to get here to have your very identity ripped away too.

 #I'll have my revenge soon enough.

   Revenge is a dish best served cool, but at this point it feels like it will be frozen by the time you get around to it. Whoever has done this will pay, of course, you just wish you could do it faster. The fact that your body is flesh and blood is such an inconvenience at times, you never knew how good you have it being able to switch back and forth when one body was down for the count.

*else

  They've been active as ${villain_name}. You've seen the occasional headline,

  *if rangersarmor

    though you have no idea how they've managed to pull that off. The Rangers were supposed to have your armor. What happened? How did they manage to lose yet another thing from their vault? How incompetent are they?

  *else

    rubbing salt in the wound.

  No major heists, no, there's been minor robberies. Petty theft.

  *if villainy < 50

    Wanton brutality. Civilians ending up in the hospital

  The last one was a pharmacy. An ordinary pharmacy.

  *fake_choice

    #A pharmacy! The indignity.

      Not only has this impostor stolen your body, they have stolen your armor. Your identity. And what's worse, they are using it to perform petty crimes.

      A pharmacy! The indignity.

    #You have no idea how this is possible.

      You have no idea how this is possible. Is this impostor good enough to control the armor well enough to use it offensively? What does the Rat King feel about that? Can't they feel the difference? Or are they coerced somehow?

   This doesn't make sense.

    *if (villainy < 50) #They are hurting people in your name.

      You read the articles, trying to figure out the fate of the hurt civilians. Serious injuries. No deaths so far. Whoever this impostor is they don't care about hurting people. Or they are sloppy.

   Neither is good.

   *if ((nokill) or ((repentkill) or (saving)))

     What if they kill someone? That would be on your conscience and reputation.

   *else

     Your armor is dangerous, even though the nanovores are neutered they could still cause a lot of damage with an inept user.

    #That's your armor they're wearing. [b]Yours![/b]

      The absolute gall of the impostor almost leaves you speechless. That's your armor. Your name. Your reputation. [b]Yours![/b]

      You didn't put all this work into crafting you a new identity for someone else to steal it right under your nose. As if stealing your body wasn't bad enough.

"Fresh air," Dr. Mortum says, derailing your train of thought before it can run you down. "The air quality down here is quite superior to what's on the street up top. Less particles, far less stench."

"That's not what I mean," you start, but the hint of a smile on ${mhis} face makes you chuckle. "But than you for trying to make me cheer up."

"Joking aside, I do understand feeling trapped." $!{mhe} gestures to the room, the normally open space cluttered with the equipment you've been needing to get back on your feet.

"I need to get some new clothes." You look down on your training outfit. Dr. Mortum has brought what you have asked for, but there is a difference to picking things out yourself. That was one of your simple joys in this body, to be able to go to a clothing store and dress up the way you wanted. No fear. No hiding. A beautiful reflection in the mirror. It had all felt like such a game, and now? Now the stakes were real.

"You're not a prisoner," Dr. Mortum assures. "I could have driven you to the store earlier if you wanted to do some browsing."

"Not on crutches." You look down at your legs. Shaky. But whole. "I didn't want anybody to see me broken."

"You're not broken. Just hurt."

"Same difference." You shake your legs, one after the other. Sore. Functional. "Besides..."

*fake_choice

  #"... I didn't want to get you in trouble."

    "Besides, I didn't want anybody to see us together." Your smile is softer than you meant. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

    "I thank you for your consideration, but I can take care of myself." Dr. Mortum sounds flattered but amused. "Though I admit that seeing you work this hard has made me realize that perhaps I should try a little harder to stay in shape as well."

  #"... it would have been bad if I was spotted."

    "Besides, it would have been bad if I was spotted." You look down, avoiding ${mhis} smile. "Hard to escape on crutches."

    "That is a fair point." Dr. Mortum chuckles. "And I am afraid I'm not exactly the type to carry you to safety in my arms. You are the one working hard to stay in shape."

  #"...trying on clothes with crutches is not ideal."

    "Besides, trying on clothes with crutches is not ideal." You stretch your leg, pleased that you've gained some muscle back. "Changing rooms are too cramped."

    "That is a fair point." Dr. Mortum nods sagely. "Buying retail is more complicated than it needs to be at times." There is a look on ${mhis} face that seems almost haunted, though you're not sure what the cause is.

"Do you have a car I can borrow that's not your fancy one?" You wring the towel in your hands, trying not to look anxious. Despite your bravado you are aware that going outside is a risk. But you need to do this eventually, no time like the present. "And some money. I'll pay you back. I just need some clothes. And maybe a haircut."

"I doubt my finances will be ruined by that," ${mhe} says with a fond smile. "And if you want to, you can take one of the old trucks. The blue one should look presentable enough as long as you don't go into the fancy parts of town. I mostly use it when I need to haul goods incognito."

"I'll just hit up a mall." The words come too fast for thought, gratitude making you dangerously soft. The mall. Yes, why not. "Nobody will look for me there."

Nobody.

You suddenly feel lightheaded, missing what Dr. Mortum says in return. Nothing important you think, so you smile and excuse yourself. You need a shower now, that way you can hit the mall when the crowds get off work. Blend in.

Just another nobody.

*page_break A Perfect Plan.

*set mallsafe true

*goto mallmoney

*label mallmoney

[b]Silver Drive Mall.

You park the truck outside the mall, too far away for your liking but with the amount of cars here at least there will be crowds to hide in. This is a fairly central area, having been reclaimed enough that the mall is already starting to look worn down. Residential areas surrounding it. Several bus lines for people without cars. Silver Lake is surrounded by greenery, a magnet for

people without the means to relax elsewhere. You shouldn't look out of place.

Be normal.

You've chosen to wear your sportswear outfit, dressing down, with a cap shadowing your face. Nobody special. Shoulders slumped. A bag over one shoulder, a wad of cash burning in your pocket. Dr. Mortum has been generous, you doubt you'd be able to spend half of it in a place like this.

Out in the open.

*goto mallentrance

*comment fuse from elsewhere, chased to the mall.

*label mallentrance

*fake_choice

  #I walk fast, keeping an eye out for anything out of place.

    There's a tingling sensation down your spine, the sun is too hot, the asphalt absorbs the heat, turning the parking lot into a griddle. You walk fast, scanning the place for

 *if mallmoney

   anybody familiar. Anybody dangerous. You have no idea why, none of the Rangers would be caught dead here.

 *else

   pursuers. You don't see anything that looks out of place, no immediate sense of danger. No pursuit. Good.

 You let out a sigh.

    *if daring >= 70

      Have you lost your cool? You used to be braver than this, laughing in the face of danger. And now? Now you feel like you should he shrinking from shadow to shadow.

 *elseif daring <= 30

   Better safe than sorry. You haven't lived this long by taking unnecessary risks.

 *else

   So far so good.

 You'll still feel better once you're inside.

  #I find a group of people and shadow them inside.

    There's a tingling sensation down your spine, the sun is too hot, the asphalt absorbs the heat, turning the parking lot into a griddle. You need to get out of here fast, but also not be noticed. A group of young ${puppet_gender} walks past, and you tag along behind them. They're younger than you, but not enough that anybody would notice from a distance thanks to your clothes.

 *if mallmoney

   They're dressed cheaply as well, which makes you smile in relief. None of the Rangers would be caught dead here.

 *else

   There's no sigh of pursuit, hopefully you've manage to lose them by now.

 You'll still feel better once you're inside.

  #I walk with confidence, looking like I belong.

    Looking nervous would only make people take notice of you. Better to walk with confidence, like you belong here. There's a tingling sensation down your spine as you head towards the entrance, the sun is too hot, the asphalt absorbs the heat, turning the parking lot into a griddle. You pretend not to notice the single bead of sweat running down your spine.

    *if mallmoney

      There's nothing to fear. None of the Rangers would frequent a place like this.

    *else

      You must have shake off your pursuit by now, as long as you don't stick out, nobody will pay attention.

You reach the door without issue, disappearing into the air-conditioned interior. The large windows behind you makes you feel exposed, so you chide yourself to breathe as you walk past the first stores. Small specialist shops, not the general ones you need. You feel better once you've headed deeper into the mall, out of sight from anyone not already here. Save within the crowd. Ambling forward, following the leisurely flow, you take in the various stores lining the central walkway. A faint smell of coffee from one of the cafes, a scent of spicy food from another stall. Gentle music through the speakers, a faint murmur of people taking, a crying baby off in the distance.

Safe. Normal.

*if mallmoney

  *goto shoppingtime

*else

  *goto shoplifting

*label shoppingtime

Too bad you feel anything but. Under your cap, your hair is a mess. First the accident, then several weeks of untended growth. There must be a hairdresser somewhere in the mall, but you should pick up some proper clothes first. Make an attempt to look normal. That will make people less likely to remember you. You will be a lot more exposed sitting at a hairdressers than walking around in a clothing store.

Subject yourself to being scrutinized. Closely.

*fake_choice

  #That's what this body is good for, right?

    You don't know why you feel a shiver of unease running down your spine at that thought. The whole purpose of this body was to be able to stand up to scrutiny, right? Be normal. Nobody special. Attractive, sure, but nothing more than that.

 You've stayed cooped up for too long if you're starting to let something like that bother you.

  #There's no escaping it. Vacation is over, back to work.

    There's no escaping what you have to do. Back into the eye of the public. Be noticed. Be seen. You're not at your best like this, you feel and look like someone who spent weeks in the hospital, then weeks cooped up inside. You need to take back control. And to do that, the first step is to look the part.

 Get the mask on. Nail down that smile. Get the spring back in your step. You are the one in control now.

  #On second thought, maybe I'll fix up my hair on my own.

    The thought of sitting there at the hairdresser staring at the mirror gives you a chill down your spine. Maybe that is a bad idea, you can fix your own hair. Get some scissors and even out the worst parts, hide the rest with a suitable hairstyle. Maybe color it yourself. Or shave it. You have options.

 It is at least something to think about, you don't have to make that decision right now. Get clothes first, see how you feel later.

You let out a sigh at your reflection in the shop window, then quicken your step down the isle. You need a large store, where nobody will care much who you are or how long you take. The selection will be worse, but if you wanted quality you wouldn't be here. Dressing down. It feels like the wrong thing to do in this body, so you remind yourself that this is just the first step. Like the wobbly ones you took on crutches after the casts came off. Now you can run again, whatever you pick up here will only have to tide you over.

*page_break No Time To Be Picky.

The outlet store turned out to be your safest option. A large floor area filled with a labyrinth of last year's fashion brands, knockoffs, and cheap junk. No effort is made on having the store looking good, this is all for shopping cheap in bulk while hoping for the odd quality find. You should be able to find something that fits you here, and the staff didn't look the type to help you unprompted. The money Dr. Mortum gave you will be more than enough for a few outfits, and since they also stock a small selection of shoes, you can get everything you need in one place.

*if precognition >= 50

  This isn't a good day to linger, you can't shake the uneasy feeling. Get this done fast and get out of here.

Clothes first.

You make a slow circuit of the floor to gauge the selection before you make your decision. Better than you thought, though the quality might be lacking. Not that it matters, this is a stopgap measure. Something to tide you over until you dare to return to your apartment. Until things are back to normal. It's a relief not to have to worry about shoplifting anything, you are aware that you look suspicious enough in your state without having to worry about avoiding staff.

Instead, you focus fully on picking out what you want to try on. Normally you have a very distinct style in this body, elegant, expensive and stylish. That hint of sophisticated sex-appeal and danger. Not exactly the kind of style you can pick up at a place like this, at least not without risking it looking cheap. You're going off the rack here, chances are these clothes won't fit you as well as what you normally have in your closet. Considering that, what style of clothes are you picking up?

*goto fuseclothes

*label fuseclothes

*comment ADD STYLE CODE AND MORE VARIATIONS LATER

*fake_choice

  #As close to what ${puppet_name} would normally wear.

    You see no reason to change what ${puppet_name} usually wears. You just want to get out of this annoying tracksuit and feel human again.

 *set hotstyle true

  #Extremely normal and bland.

    You don't want to be recognized, and the best way to do that is to dress down. Don't flatter your good looks, try to be as normal as you possibly can. Just another face on the street. With the right haircut and accessories you'd be unrecognizable. Maybe you should pick up a pair of glasses too, that can really transform your face.

 *set normalstyle true

  #Practical to move and fight in.

    You have a mission, you can't afford to think what you want to look like. No, what you need is practical clothes. Durable. Lots of pockets. Things you can move in freely. Some sort of roomy coat where you can hide weapons. Maybe layers so you can fit some body armor under the top layer? You don't know what you can find here, but at least you know what you're looking for now.

 *set combatstyle true

  #Fashionable, but not in ${puppet_name}'s normal style.

    You still want to look good, but you know you should probably try to find a way to look less like ${puppet_name} used to. That shouldn't be impossible, you've got a lot of options here, all it takes is some careful browsing to put a suitably eclectic outfit together. Something to make you feel good.

 *set coolstyle true

*comment DEPENDING ON OWN STYLE SET selfstyle true. Fix code there.

Strolling through the racks, you run your fingers over the garments, feeling their textures as you try to pick some likely options. It's an old habit, you never really cared much how you looked, but you did care how your clothes felt on your body. Not just the fit but the feel of the fabric. How it felt under your fingertips was the closest prediction you could make to how it would sit on your skin. You couldn't exactly try things on then, and more than once you threw out clothes as fast as you had stolen them because they felt wrong.

*fake_choice

  #Pain was easier to handle than a scratchy clothing tag.

    You always wondered if your nerves were just wired wrong. Nobody else seemed to complain their clothes felt weird, or be driven to distraction by a forgotten clothing tag. That was always the first thing you did, cut away all tags and labels and try to excise every thread of the remains. Sometimes a corner remained, discovered hours later driving you to distraction. The same went for certain seams.

    The fact that your pain-gate worked for a knife in your leg and not a piece of fabric always struck you as profoundly unfair.

  #Because they reminded me of the Farm.

    Even if you avoided the colors or the looks, there were certain texture that always made you remember the clothes you wore at the Farm. Something about the sound they make, that feeling of being naked despite being covered by fabric. As if it was made from fingers, ready to grab you when you were least expecting it. Not silky. Not plastic. Not rough. Too thin, and at the same time, too stiff.

 Wrong, in all the ways you could never articulate.

  #It is different in this body, texture is just texture.

    It is an old habit, sure, but it doesn't matter in the same way in this body. Sure, there are nice textures, and there are less than pleasing ones, but they don't set you off the same way. They're just different. Some rough. Some silky. There's no value judgment in your fingertips, no disgusted recoil as you hit something that doesn't agree with you. No need to rub your fingers against your leg until the sensation is obliterated from your memory.

 It's just cloth, nothing more.

*if mallmoney

  *goto shoppingtime2

*else

  *goto shoplifting2

*label shoppingtime2

Piece by piece, you pick your wardrobe. No need to be stingy, you'd rather have too much to try on than too little, especially as off-the-rack sizes can vary. You don't want to run back and forth if you can help it, get it all into the changing booth and then pick out your best outfit and a backup. Once that is done you can get some shoes and then worry about your hair. There should be a public restroom outside where you can change.

But first you need to decide into what.

You smile at the changing room assistant, and as you're not carrying any suspiciously large bags or clothes, you're allowed to pass without interference. At least your smile still has that sort of power, even dressed down like this.

A different sort of power than telepathy, but one that can be almost as helpful at getting people off your back. If less likely to be forgotten. You arrange your clothes on the hangers, pulling off your cap to decide what to try first.

*page_break Decisions, decisions.

The changing room is large enough that you can undress without contorting yourself too badly. Without clothes your body looks thinner, less fit. The bruises have faded, but there are reddish scars on your legs where surgical incisions were made. You've lost some muscle tone. The light in here does you no favors, the harshness of it bringing out every imperfection. You do your best to focus on what you have gained rather than what you've lost. Think positive and the dice will surely roll your way. You can move, and right now that will have to be enough.

As you change, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the changing room mirror, wincing at the sight. Dr. Mortum didn't have many mirrors around other than in the bathroom, but this is the first full-body reflection you can't avoid.

Your body. Not your body.

*if samegender

  *if trans

    A real ${puppet_gender}. Human.

  *else

    Human.

*else

  *if nb

    Human.

  *elseif trans

    $!{puppet_gender}. Like they designated you.

  *else

    A ${puppet_gender}. Unlike you.

*if ((samegender) and (genderquestion))

  It brings back feelings you've tried to push down. The awkwardness of being seen as a ${gender} that you haven't had to deal with since the crash and injuries. After being stuck in this body. Same gender. A different experience. After spending this much time as your puppet, eating, living, breathing the ${sex} experience you've come to a conclusion...

  *fake_choice

    #Being a ${gender} wasn't the issue, being a Re-Gene was.

      You thought you didn't want to be a ${gender}. But, being immersed like this, in another body with the same gender have shown you that your issues lay elsewhere.

      In your lack of humanity.

      You've never had a choice not to be the outsider, to be a pale imitation of what you are living now. That's what your issues were. Not in whether people saw you as a ${gender} or not.

      *set genderquestion false

    #I really don't want to be a ${gender}.

      You always wondered if it was a reaction to being a Re-Gene. If maybe what you weren't longing for was the easy acceptance of humanity. But, being trapped in a human body for this long has proven that's not the case at all. This body is handsome, fit, desirable and human. And yet you want to crawl out of your own skin as people keep treating you as something you're not.

      $!{sex}. The Farm designated you as that, but right now you want to be anything but.

      *set genderdoubts true

    #I don't know. I'm still confused.

      You really don't know. There's too many things mixing together, humanity, gender, attractiveness. You love this body. You hate this body. You want your own body back. How are you supposed to know who you are? What you feel? You've had too much time to think, trapped here, but none of your thoughts makes sense.

      You wish you had someone to talk to.

    #No time to think about myself right now. Only the mission.

      You've got bigger issues right now than whether people see you as a ${gender} or not. Really. You need your proper body back so you can get on with your work. Feelings are irrelevant. Unprofessional.

      So you push them away, your comfort is not what's important right now.

*elseif genderquestion

  A ${puppet_gender}. You roll that thought around in your mouth for a moment, almost speaking the words out loud in the changing room like a mad${puppet_gender}. It shouldn't matter, but it does. Somehow. You've never immersed yourself this deeply in your puppet body before. Not just masquerading, but committing to all the ugly drawbacks of it. Living this new life without breaks.

  It's made you come to a conclusion.

  *fake_choice

    *if (not(nb)) #Being a ${gender} wasn't the cause of my discomfort.

      You thought you didn't want to be a ${gender}. But, being immersed like this, in the body of a real ${puppet_gender} have shown you that your issues lay elsewhere.

      Not in your body. Or your presentation. Maybe in your lack of humanity? Maybe in how you always felt like an impostor, pretending to be something you were not?

      You're not sure. Maybe it's simply that you don't like yourself very much.

      *set genderquestion false

    *if (nb) #Gender really isn't for me.

      Being immersed like this, in the body of a ${puppet_gender} have shown you that you were right all along. Gender isn't for you, the binary is a trap you don't want to be a part of. You acted like a ${puppet_gender} in this body because it was simpler to play up the act. Be something people could slot into a box.

      Be the ${puppet_gender} of people's imagination. A useful act. But, in the end, just an act. Being trapped in this body proves it.

      *set genderquestion false

    #Being a ${puppet_gender} feels more natural than ever.

      You always wondered if your unease with your body was a reaction to being a Re-Gene. If maybe what you weren't longing for was the easy acceptance of humanity. But, being trapped in a human body for this long has proven that's not the case at all. You're standing here in the harsh lights of a changing room, scarred and ungroomed, lacking all the things you used to make this body desirable. For others, and for yourself. And yet, it feels more natural than your own.

      You look like hell, sure, but you look like a ${puppet_gender}. And that matters more than you ever thought it would.

      *set genderdoubts true

    #I don't know. I'm still confused.

      You really don't know. There's too many things mixing together, humanity, gender, attractiveness. You love this body. You hate this body. You want your own body back. How are you supposed to know who you are? What you feel? You've had too much time to think, trapped here, but none of your thoughts makes sense.

      You wish you had someone to talk to.

    #No time to think about myself right now. Only the mission.

      You've got bigger issues right now than whether people see you as a ${gender} or a ${puppet_gender}. Really. You need your proper body back so you can get on with your work. Feelings are irrelevant. Unprofessional.

      So you push them away, your comfort is not what's important right now.

*elseif ((samegender) or (nb))

  It feels...

  *fake_choice

    #Strange. Like I will be found out at any moment.

      Human.

      *if trans

        $!{puppet_gender}.

      This body is that. And now so are you? You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

      So why do you still feel like an impostor? As if you'd accidentally strip another layer and reveal tattoos underneath your skin? Is this what you would feel like if you ever managed to magically remove the tattoos on your own body?

      *if trans

        Remold yourself to be who you are?

      Would you still jump at shadows? Dread your own reflection? How deep did they scar you?

      The answer is disconcerting enough to make you avoid it.

    #Right. I need this. I need this so badly.

      Human.

      *if trans

        $!{puppet_gender}.

      This body is that. And now so are you. You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

   You hate being locked out of your own body but it is also the most deeply affirming experience you've ever had. A proof of concept. A blueprint for what it would look like to be human.

      *if trans

        A ${puppet_gender} down to the last details.

      You want it. You need it. So badly.

    #Wrong. I can't forget that I am a Re-Gene.

      Human. This body is that. You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

      And yet you can't forget that no matter how you look in the changing room mirror you're not a human. You're a Re-Gene. A tool. Not even cattle. You can't forget that. This body isn't an escape. It's a temptation.

      It's a trap.

*elseif trans

  It feels...

  *fake_choice

    #Strange. Like I will be found out at any moment.

      Human. Something you never was. $!{puppet_gender}. Something you left behind. This body is both, and now so are you. You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

      So why do you still feel like an impostor standing here? As if you'd accidentally strip down another layer and reveal tattoos underneath your skin? Is this what you would feel like if you ever managed to magically remove the tattoos on your own body? Remake yourself as the ${gender} you are?

      Would you still jump at shadows? Dread your own reflection? How deep did they scar you?

      The answer is disconcerting enough to make you avoid it.

    #Horrible. I'm not a ${puppet_gender}, this is a nightmare.

      You're not a ${puppet_gender}. You've spent too many years remaking yourself to slide back into that pit, and yet here you are. Drowning in people's looks, the way they treat you, talk about you, looks at you. Human, sure, better than a Re-Gene but also so much more gendered. You're an impostor here, not just pretending to be a human, but forced into a role you had left behind.

      This is a nightmare. You need to wake up.

    #Wrong. I can't forget that I am a Re-Gene.

      A ${puppet_gender}. Bad enough, but you can deal. You've lived that nightmare for years, but this is new. This is worse. Human. This body. You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better..

      You look like hell as you stare into the changing room mirror. It's a liar, showing you as something you're not. Human. Laughable. You're a Re-Gene. A tool. Not even cattle. You can't forget that. This body isn't an escape. It's a torture device.

      It's a trap.

*else

  It feels...

  *fake_choice

    #Nervous. Like I will be found out at any moment.

      Human. This body is that. And now so are you? You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

      So why do you still feel like an impostor standing here? As if you'd accidentally strip down another layer and reveal tattoos underneath your skin? Is this what you would feel like if you ever managed to magically remove the tattoos on your own body? Would you still jump at shadows? Dread your own reflection? How deep did they scar you?

      The answer is disconcerting enough to make you avoid it.

    #Being a ${puppet_gender} feels strangely comfortable.

      Human. A ${puppet_gender}. This body is that. And now so are you. You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

   It feels strangely comfortable. You've never stayed a ${puppet_gender} for this long before, it feels more and more natural as time pass.

      Is it your humanity or your ${puppet_gender}hood?

      You're not sure, but there is something precious here to be found in this otherwise disastrous situation. Something to learn about yourself. You just wish it was under better circumstances.

      *set genderquestion true

    #Wrong. I can't forget that I am a Re-Gene.

      Human. This body is that. You sleep, eat and drink the human experience, strip down naked for showers, and Dr. Mortum treats you as if you were what you look like.

   *if mortumknows

     Even though ${mhe} should know better.

      And yet you can't forget that no matter how much you stare into the mirror in front of you, all it shows you are lies. You're not a human. You're a Re-Gene. A tool. Not even cattle. You can't forget that. This body isn't an escape. It's a temptation.

      It's a trap.

$!{swear}. You shake your head and start to pull on clothes instead. There will be time for thinking later, right now you have a job to do. Dress this body for the occasion.

No. The thought strikes you too quick to deflect. Not dress this body. Dress you.

This is you.

This is, for all extents and purposes, you now.

*if selfstyle

  The clothes you have picked

  *if mirror_image

    accentuates your resemblance. As if you were unconsciously trying to evoke who you can't be.

  *elseif normalstyle

    looks what you might have worn a few years ago, desperate not to stick out. As if you were trying to summon back a past you can no longer touch.

  *else

    are not the ones you would pick to wear for your own body. Is that why they feel wrong? Had you expected your skin to change and not just your wardrobe?

*elseif mirror_image

  You always did look similar, and right now you find yourself scrutinizing your face for new lines. Have you been in this body long enough now that your personality is starting to show on your face?

*else

  Can you see it in your eyes as you peer into the mirror? Does it show in the new lines appearing on your face, as if your personality is forcing the clay of your puppet to adapt?

You straighten your clothes and meet your gaze in the mirror.

*if selfdoubt

  Dr. Mortum's words come back to you once more. Are you really who you think you are? $!{name} ${surname}? Or are you who keeps looking at you from the mirror?

  $!{puppet_name}.

  *if ace

    Ace.

  Your face twitch, and the reflection echoes the movement. You. Not you.

*fake_choice

  #Focus. On. The. Job. I'm in control.

    You meet your eyes and whisper between closed lips. Just for the two of you. "Focus. On. The. Job." The reflection doesn't reply, which is a relief.

 For a nervous moment you were almost afraid that it would. But no, you are the one in control here.

  #I'm hyperventilating, that's not good.

    You meet your eyes, filled with nervous agitation. Are you hyperventilating? Yes. Yes you are. Why can't you... no. No. You need to stop. Hold your breath. Then breathe. Slowly. In and out.

 You can't lose it here,

 *if selfdoubt

   can't start doubting yourself in a lousy changing room.

 *else

   lost in someone else's body in a lousy changing room.

 You're better than that. Just breathe.

 *set bodypanic true

  #The body doesn't matter. My mind is still mine.

    You meet your eyes and judge your reflection in the mirror. Does the body really matter? It's just another outfit, flesh and bones instead of cloth. Your mind is still yours, and you can see it reflected in the eyes that stares back at you.

 *if selfdoubt

   You admit that Dr. Mortum's question had you worried for a moment, but the more you thought about it, the less it rung true.

 You know who you are.

 *set selfdoubt false

 *set selfcertain true

  #I could break the mirror right now and nobody could stop me.

    You could break the mirror. The thought is there at the same moment you raise your hand, readying yourself for an attack. The reflection almost smirks, or maybe that is your face? With an act of will you open your fist, forcing yourself to adjust your clothes instead.

 *if selfdoubt

   Your hand. Your. Your. Your.

 Don't lose it. Ignore the staring eyes.

 *set bodypanic true

Clothes. You look over at the selection on the hangers. That's why you're here. No other reason. You grit your teeth and change back to the clothes you arrived in. Your training gear, masquerading as fashion. You have one new outfit you know works, and grabs the rest without trying it on. Dr. Mortum gave you enough money, you can afford some bad decisions in there.

You need to go.

*if bodypanic

  You're not sure how long you can keep yourself together.

*elseif precognition >= 50

  It's not wise to linger.

*else

  This is just the first stop.

Walking out the dressing room with your haul, you smile at the staff, charm and confidence as natural as you can fake it. No. Not fake. It is still there, even after all this. Even when tired, hurting and frustrated. Guess what people say about fake it 'til you make it really is true.

The bunch of clothes in your arms makes you take a beeline through the neighboring isle of bags and accessories. You need a roomy backpack that won't clash too openly with your outfit. Plastic bags are nice, but they won't leave your hands free.

*if precognition >= 40

  And you need that.

None of the shoes in here look better than your current trainers, which is a disappointment. You did see a promising shoe stores right when you entered, so you suppose that is easy enough to pick up once you're out of here. Right now you're starting to feel watched, so you straighten your back and head to the cashier. Your money gets whatever suspicious security staff that kept an eye on you off your back, and you put your newly bought clothes into your backpack before heading off to your next stop.

*fake_choice

  #Hairdresser first. I need this mess fixed.

    You need to get your hair fixed, and it will be better to do that before changing into your new outfit. There's going to be those annoying little hairs everywhere otherwise, and you'll have to suffer them while shopping for shoes. This way you can drop your workout outfit in the laundry once you return.

 *set hd true

 *goto hairdresser

  #Shoes. The outfits I bought won't work with trainers.

    An outfit isn't complete unless you've got the right shoes for it. And let's be frank, your trainers doesn't really match what you have purchased. It's not even a question about fashion, it is one of those telltale signs that can ruin your whole presentation. A sign that something is wrong, a hint of disguise. You can't allow cracks in your facade, presentation was always ${puppet_name}'s first weapon.

 *set sh true

 *goto shoes

  #I'll change into my new clothes first, that's my priority.

    You'd better change into your new clothes first. That's the reason you bought them after all. A fresh start.

 *if normalstyle

   Fitting in a bit better.

 *if hotstyle

   Looking your best.

 *if combatstyle

   A practical outfit.

 *if coolstyle

   A better look.

 Once that is done you can start to think about fixing your hair or picking up some better shoes. Everything will feel easier when you're dressed for the part. That was always the strength of this body.

 *set br true

 *goto bathroomchange

*label hairdresser

You saw a suitable salon when you scouted the mall, a drop in place, not too busy. That's probably a sign it's not the cheapest or best, but right now you will settle for adequate competence.

*comment ADD HAIRSTYLE SPECIFIC COMMENTS IN CODE LATER FOR DEMO.

Heading over there, you pause at a reflective window to pull off your cap. Your hair is clean but messy, not the way you'd usually show up to get it cut. Not that you have a choice right now, so you run your hands through it in an attempt to make yourself look more presentable.

Oh well. You're sure they've had worse customers.

Gliding through the crowd, you step into the salon. It's on the edge of an indoor concourse, the glass ceiling overhead letting in natural light. Most of the shops here are eateries, and the scent makes your mouth water. Later. Right now there is no line, and that's what important.

*page_break You Want This Done.

It is a soothing experience getting a haircut. Your clothes doesn't matter, hidden under the protective cape as they are. That was always one of the perks of this body, you could allow yourself to get pampered. Have others wash your hair without fear. Nothing to hide. Nothing to be judged over. Even the small talk with the hairdresser comes easily, mindless enough chatter that you don't even have to think before replying.

*comment ADD PICK HAIRSTYLE CODE BEFORE DEMO.

Watching yourself in the mirror, you tilt your head forward as some final stray hairs needs to be trimmed. Soon done.

[i]Any moment now, it will snow indoors.[/i]

*if precognition < 30

  *set precognition 30

*set precognition %+ 10

You look up, the intensity of the feeling hitting you like a blade to your throat. The crisp sound of chimes as the snowflakes cascade through the air, no, as they hit the ground and... a shake of your head erases the vision.

Danger. Not just for you but for everyone.

*if precognition >= 50

  Too familiar. A moment in time showed to you before it happens.

*fake_choice

  #I need to leave now, while I still have time.

    You don't know what this vision is showing you, but you do know that you want to be nowhere near here when it happens. Trust your gut.

    "It's fine now, can I pay?" You wave off the last adjustment, the hairdresser looking slightly disturbed by your sudden change in mood.

    "Of course, just let me brush you off..." You feel the soft brush touch your neck but you are already moving.

    "Never mind," you snap, grabbing your backpack with the clothes you bought. "I realized I'm late for a meeting," you quickly add, slapping a couple of bills on the counter before you turn to the door. Overpaying. Right now you don't care.

 [i]The sound. Crisp, like bells. Then the screams.[/i]

 You stare at the door, but nobody else heard it, so you push it open and step out into the concourse. It's noisy but also silent, the chatter and drone of people milling about, eating, shopping, still failing to fill the space.

 [i]Snow. Glittering in the sunlight.[i]

 Your heart has started to pick up so you turn and walk away, fast, as fast as you can. You need to [b]go[/b].

 Keeping your head down you leave the exposed area, retreating towards the exit. It feels better to have a solid roof over your head, you keep wanting to look up but there's nothing there but fluorescent lights.

 And then you hear it. A thin, crisp sound cutting through the murmur of voices like a knife through butter.

 [i]Like glass through flesh.[/i]

 You turn to look behind you, just in time to see the glass ceiling of the concourse break inwards in a million shards.

 [i]Like snow falling.[/i]

 In the center of the glittering sunlit storm is a solid shadow,

 *if suit_speed

   a burst of jump jets letting them land safely in the center, crushing broken glass under their armored boots.

 *elseif suit_armor

   falling like a missile before impacting the tiled ground. The impact is loud, a perfect three-point landing as the shards cascade down like rain, tink tink tinking off their armor.

 *else

   gliding down on a wire before landing in the center, crushing broken glass under their armored boots.

 *page_break $!{villain_name} Has Arrived.

 *set headstartmall true

 *goto snowstorm

  #I need to get people out of here right away.

    Whatever is coming won't just be a danger to you but to everyone. You know that with nauseating certainty. You could run, sure, but this place is filled with people. You can see that reflected in the mirror, families having dinner out there in the concourse, people chatting, laughing, shopping. They don't [b]know[/b].

 You do.

 "Do you smell that?" you ask, standing up suddenly enough to almost be nicked by the scissors.

 "What?" The hairdresser sounds nervous and suspicious, but you're already looking around.

 Somewhere... Somewhere... There!

 You slam a handful of bills on the counter to avoid an argument, but the fire alarm you've spotted is your real goal. They need to run. Now. Get out.

 [i]The snow falls, but it wont land softly. The shards or glass are heavy and sharp, suspended in your vision like guillotine blades.[/i]

 "Fire!" you shout, activating the fire alarm. The sound cuts through the pleasant atmosphere, but better that than glass through bodies. Some immediately starts to head for the exit, others scatter in the spreading panic.

 [i]A crack in the sky. A shadow.[/i]

 You look up, the dark shadow on the glass ceiling raising a fist.

 *if suit_strength

   It won't take more than one blow.

 *else

   The other hand is pressed palm first to the glass, weakening it.

 "Run!" you scream, and most obey, but a young man stands frozen in indecision.

 [i]You see where the large shards will fall.[/i]

 The reaction is instinctual and the tackle is flawless. You push him aside at the last moment as a large pane of glass impacts the floor where he stood, spraying you both in shards. Not large enough to do damage. Good.

 "Run," you hiss, and this time he obeys, scrambling away on hands and knees, bloody handprints on the ground. Alive.

 [i]Roll![/i]

 You don't hesitate but roll aside, the armored boot impacting the place you were a moment ago. The shadow has landed, a solid outline against the sunlit sky above, staring down at you.

 *page_break $!{villain_name} Has Arrived.

 *set savedmall true

 *goto snowstorm

  #I try to get a clearer image what this vision might be about.

    *if precognition >= 50

   You've got enough glimpses of the future by now that this can't be a coincidence. No. It might be a source of power. But power is nothing unless you know how to use it.

 *else

   These flashes of things that might be have haunted you for months. Elusive. Unclear. And yet they return, and with them the tantalizing idea that you might be able to do something with them.

 Snow. Why snow? You stare into the mirror, trying to see beyond the hairdresser as she tidies you up. The large window behind you reveals the concourse outside, the glass keeping the noise as bay.

 [i]In the mirror, you see snow falling, glittering in the sunlight. The muted sound of chimes.[/i]

 No. Not chimes. Familiar. You stare into the mirror, trying to fall into the image, using techniques learned from your telepathy. Focus while relaxing. Don't make assumptions. Just absorb. Your mind will interpret things and force it into a recognizable picture, and that picture might not always tell the whole truth. We never see the world as it truly is, just what our senses present to us.

    What [b]aren't[/b] you seeing?

 [i]In the mirror you see glittering things falling, things your mind translated to snow, but which you now see is shards of glass. Most small, some large enough to kill. The chimes are not the bells of Christmas but the crisp tinkle of glass smashing against tiles.[/i]

    [i]This time you hear the screams.[/i]

 [i]This time you see the shadow falling from the sky.[/i]

 [i]This time you see the impact of ${villain_name} as they land, helmet turning, turning, turning to...[/i]

 *set precognition %+10

 *fake_choice

   #I scream a warning to everyone to get out of the way.

     "Watch out," you scream, heedless of the scene you're causing as you nearly leap out of your chair. "The ceiling is going to collapse, we need to warn people."

  "What?" The hairdresser looks equal parts shocked and confused, but your urgency is getting to her. "How do you..."

  It is at that moment you hear the sharp crack of breaking glass, even through the soft music permeating the salon.

  "No," you protest, but your words do nothing. It is too late, perhaps it was always too late. You heard the scream. You saw the blood.

  Now you hear the screams, like a rerun of some awful nightmare. Outside the salon window, shards of glass cascade down, glittering in the sun. Most are small, but some are large enough to maim. To kill. People are fleeing for their lives, a kaleidoscopic background to the shadow falling from the

  *if suit_speed

       sky, a burst of jump jets letting them land safely in the center, crushing broken glass under their armored boots.

     *elseif suit_armor

       sky. The impact is loud enough to overpower the screams, a perfect three-point landing as the shards cascade down like rain, tink tink tinking off their armor.

     *else

       sky, descent carefully controlled as they land in the center, crushing broken glass under their armored boots. A dismissive gesture pulls the grappling wire back into their armor.

     *page_break $!{villain_name} Has Arrived.

     *set salonmall true

     *goto snowstorm

   #I throw myself on the floor to get out of sight.

        You don't hesitate to cause a scene, before the vision of ${villain_name} meets your face in the mirror you throw yourself to the floor to get out of the line of sight.

  "Wha..?" But the hairdresser is interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and screams. You can't see the scene as you crawl towards the back, but it's still playing in your mind.

  The falling glass. People running. Screaming. Bleeding.

        *if suit_speed

          The hissing sound of the jump jets as ${villain_name} lands among the shards.

        *elseif suit_armor

          The heavy impact as ${villain_name} lands hard enough to crack the tiles.

        *else

          The telltale whir of the grappling hook as ${villain_name} descends to the floor.

        You don't pause to listen. Or look. You need an exit, fast. Around you, customers and staff scream in panic, crowding towards the back. Hidden behind a counter you desperately look to the staff for guidance, but none of them head for some hidden back exit and you realize with a sinking feeling that there is none. The only way out is to the front.

  *page_break You're Trapped In Here.

     *set hidemall true

  *set salonmall true

     *goto snowstorm

*label snowstorm

This can't be happening, but the way your adrenaline spikes and turns everything to painful clarity assures you that it is.

$!{villain_name} is standing amidst broken glass and overturned tables,

*if savedmall

  looking down at you like vermin.

*else

  blood pooling on the tiled floor, red against pale gray.

*if suit_terrifying

  It's a terrifying sight, the armor looks so utterly out of place in the mall, a monster on the loose from some cheap horror flick.

*elseif suit_imposing

  War has come to this ordinary suburban mall, and here stands its chief instigator, violence constrained in armored form.

*elseif suit_mysterious

  The mirrored helmet makes them look as if the glass ceiling itself has descended to the ground for vengeance, the faint mist pooling around them not thick enough to hide the destruction.

*else

  A showy entrance but a practical one, straight for the target no matter what stands in the way.

*if suit_cape

  The cape billows as the wind sweeps through the broken ceiling, and the sudden movement breaks your paralysis.

*else

  For a moment you're paralyzed like the other onlookers, then the moment breaks.

You need to move.

*if savedmall

  *goto closeescape

*elseif hidemall

  *goto stalked

*else

  *goto runforit

*label shoes

Shouldering your backpack nonchalantly, you stroll down to one of the shoe stores you spotted as you entered the mall. It lies right next to the entrance, the large glass windows giving you a rather uninspiring view of the parking lot outside. Still, daylight makes it easier to judge what you buy. Too bad they didn't have that for your clothes. At least you can pull them out here for comparison if you need to, if you plan to be that picky. Right now you're desperate for anything new.

You don't even want to know what these trainers smell like, you've been wearing them for weeks. And, shoes really should rest every other day if you want them to last. A small detail, but one which is important. With a smile of satisfaction you start browsing the shelves. The selection is better here, you might be able to pick up what you need without issue. The faint music in the background is a soothing presence, and the two girls behind the counter are busy talking to each other. They glance over at you, but when you give them a nod they return to talking about whatever caught their attention outside.

Not the best customer service, no wonder the place is almost deserted. Compared to the busy interior of the mall, this place feels empty.

*fake_choice

  #I am nervous, I don't bother trying the shoes on first.

    You feel uneasy lingering too long. Maybe it's the fact that you've spent so long cooped up. Maybe it's the fact that you're not even armed. Huh. Why does that suddenly bother you? Why would you need to be armed? This is a mall. Nobody knows you're there. And yet...

 You pause with a pair of shoes in your hand, trying to judge their fit. It wouldn't take that long to check. Really. But you grab the shoes instead, picking out some other pairs as well. Some nice. Some practical.

 No need to take undue risks. You've got enough money to pay for it. The large windows makes you feel exposed, as if all the cars in the parking lot were watching you.

 *if precognition >= 50

   [i]A sound like glass breaking.[/i]

   You look up, momentarily confused, but nothing is amiss. Still, this makes you even more determined to wrap things up.

 You need to get out of here.

 It feels like it take forever ringing up your purchases, but once its done you head for the exit. Don't run. Walk fast. You're on the verge of heading for the parking lot when something stops you. A cold shiver.

 [i]A mirror breaking into a thousand pieces, a hand reaching...[/i]

 No. You turn and walk back into the mall, back towards the crowds. Back towards safety. Don't run. Don't run.

 [i]Run![/i]

 You turn to look behind you as you ready yourself, just in time to see the glass window near the entrance crash inwards in a million shards.

    In the center of the broken window stands a solid shadow,

    *if suit_speed

      surrounded by a faint smokey haze vented from the jump jets that fueled the kick that smashed it.

    *elseif suit_strength

      outstretched fist aimed directly at you as if the blow that smashed the glass was a precursor of what the next one will do to your head.

    *else

      nonchalantly holding the metal pipe that smashed it.

    *page_break $!{villain_name} Has Arrived.

    *set headstartmall true

 *set gotshoes true

    *goto windowbreak

  #I'm getting several pairs while I'm here.

    It is wiser to get everything done in one go, if there's something worth doing it's worth doing well. You have at least three outfits that needs shoes, and that's not counting a pair of new trainers, if you can find some of better quality here. You might have to go to a separate sport's store for that. Oh well, that's for later.

 You start your slow, methodical search for the right footwear. The sizing depends too much on the manufacturer to leave up to chance, some are too narrow, others are too wide in the wrong places. The time you spend now will mean less chafing later.

 One of the girls on the staff eventually asks if you need help, and you send her to the back room to pick up a different size. She's lucky this isn't a tipping situation, and her friend seems distracted, staring at the window.

 *if precognition >= 50

   [i]The window will break.[/i]

   You pause, shoe half untied. You can almost see the floor covered in sharp shards of glass, and quickly lace it up again. What was that?

 *else

   Teenagers. You nearly scoff to yourself as you unlace your shoes, you know this is stress making you grumpy. That annoying itch at the back of your head which tries to remind you that there's something that you've missed.

   *set noshoes true

 Maybe you should hurry this up.

 The moment you think that, the crash of broken glass outside makes you throw yourself back from the window almost before you realize that you've moved. At least this body still have good reflexes. A moment later the shop window explodes in a similar way, but this time you have a front row seat to the destruction.

 Your eyes go wide as you take in the scene from your position on the floor.

    In the center of the broken window stands a solid shadow,

    *if suit_speed

      surrounded by a faint smokey haze vented from the jump jets that fueled the kick that smashed it.

    *elseif suit_strength

      outstretched fist aimed directly at you as if the blow that smashed the glass was a precursor of what the next one will do to your head.

    *else

      nonchalantly holding the metal pipe that smashed it.

    *page_break $!{villain_name} Has Arrived.

    *set lingershoes true

 *goto windowbreak

  #I'm curious, I try to overhear what they are talking about.

    You can't help it, you've always been too curious for your own good. Something strikes you as odd about the two girls and the way they seem more interested in the view than you, their lone customer. Sure, it might just be that they are terrible at customer service, but it might just be worth it listening in on what they are talking about.

 So, you start your browsing for shoes close to their position, waving away any attention as you wait for them to settle back and focus on what they had been doing before.

 "You're imagining things," one of the girls say, her laugh a little too loud, so she quickly hushes herself before continuing. "Here? Nothing happens here, and you know it."

 "I swear I saw it," the other insist, her eyes scanning the parking lot. "I just don't know where it went."

 "Getting out of a van?" Another laugh. "Get real. Look at everyone out there, it's as boring as always, nobody else has seen a thing."

 "I know." The other girl sounds unsure of all a sudden. "It's weird. It should have been impossible to miss."

 "What did you see?" you ask, interrupting despite yourself. The sinking feeling in your gut is not imagination, and neither is the crawling feeling down your spine.

 [i]Unprompted, the giant window near the exit breaks into a million shards, the shadow at the center slowly coming into focus.[/i]

 What? You blink, missing the first part of the girl's answer.

 "—over there. It was standing around for a while but nobody seemed to notice. Then it ducked behind a car and now I can't—"

    "Down," you hiss, because you can. You can see it. You can see the shadow walking right up towards the entrance, hazy and uneven like a mirage.

 Were you fast enough? You don't know, but you're behind the counter now, out of sight together with the two girls, one of them mouthing a whisper.

 "What? I didn't see anything."

 You hold up a finger to shush her, but the crash as the window breaks outside makes both of them squeal like nervous pigs. $!{swear}.

 Outside there are screams as people run in panic. Hidden behind the counter you desperately look to the staff for guidance, for some hidden exit. Neither of them move, eyes wide and scared, and you realize with a sinking feeling that there is none. The only way out is to the front.

 *page_break You're Trapped In Here.

 A second crash tears through the screams, closer this time as it is the window to the shoe store that is smashed. No. No. This isn't some random attack, is this for you? Is someone after you? Driven by the same self-destructive curiosity and need to know you chance a peek around the edge of the counter, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep back a cry.

 *set hidemall true

 *goto windowbreak

*label windowbreak

This can't be happening, but the way your adrenaline spikes and turns everything to painful clarity assures you that it is.

$!{villain_name}

*if lingershoes

  is standing amidst broken glass and overturned displays, looking down at you like vermin.

*else

  steps closer, armored boots crushing glass to powder underneath.

*if suit_terrifying

  It's a terrifying sight, the armor looks so utterly out of place in the mall, a monster on the loose from some cheap horror flick.

*elseif suit_imposing

  War has come to this ordinary suburban mall, and here stands its chief instigator, violence constrained in armored form.

*elseif suit_mysterious

  The mirrored helmet makes them look as if the broken glass is clinging to their form, the faint mist pooling around them not thick enough to hide the destruction.

*else

  A showy entrance but a practical one, straight for the target no matter what stands in the way.

*if suit_cape

  The cape billows as the wind sweeps through the broken window, and the sudden movement breaks your paralysis.

*else

  For a moment you're paralyzed like the other onlookers, then the moment breaks.

You need to move.

*if lingershoes

  *goto closeescape

*elseif hidemall

  *goto stalked

*else

  *goto runforit