“…loss of coherence between memory u8?x1 partitions…”

“…integration lag detected – inject another K)bJ% microdose of…”

“…mnemonic isolation protocols have been su$CdVo@…”

A hiss like steam venting from the inside of your skull. Light sears the inside of your vision, traveling down like magma down the back of your spine. Your scream is drowned by amniotic fluid as you metamorphbenddissolvechangetwistcontort.

Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly…

Windows and doors left open into darkness, to the dwelling of shapeless, nameless things.

They scream at you through the holes, reach claws through and try to strangle you.

You in other bodies. Them in you. Colors beyond the rainbow mankind was not meant to see.

They want to know why they’re you. You want to know why you’re them.

…or whether or I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.

>>November 8, 2441 CE

You wake up drenched in sweat, shivering from a cold that only you can feel. It takes you a moment to ground yourself, gripping your fist hard enough to hurt as the terror of the nightmare-memories drain out of you like a festering sore. You work through the fear, focusing on a self-diagnostic of yourself and systems to make sure that you're all of you. That nothing had changed.

You aren't in a cryopod or some sort of amniotic vat.

You are in the here and now. Above water. On land in a world that's gone to hell.

You are Lydia, last name pending.

Amnesiac netrunner and burgeoning salvager. Assumed friend of Harper Park and headache of Colonel Miguel Estevez.

You are you.

>>It's your last day of the salvage run in the Norfolk PRC, where do you wish to explore?
>The Crawl (Maintenance).
>The Garden (Roof Deck).
>The Stacks (Residential).
>The Strip (Commercial).

>>Do you wish to share the content of your nightmare with Harper? He looked concerned at breakfast, but didn't press you.
>Yes.
>No.

>Please structure your votes as the following:
>Exploration option.
>Dream option.

[VOTE OPEN FOR TWELVE(12) HOURS]