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<<set $ran to false>>
<<set $LDE to false>>
<<set $fought to false>>
The first thing you remember, you were walking through downtown Manhattan early this morning. The only thing you know about yourself comes from the silver bracelet on your right wrist; the small plate between the links reads "LILA."
You're trying hard to pull something to the surface of your thoughts that might tell you more about yourself, but nothing will come.
You're too distracted. You realize this when you accidentally bump into someone and he turns toward you angrily.
"Hey, watch it! What do you think you're doing?"
Do you [[apologize]] or [[stand your ground]]?"Sorry," you say quickly. You avert your eyes from the man you've run into and keep walking, and he continues on his path in a huff.
You look up at the pastel clouds as the sun falls over the skyline, and you sigh. The harder you try to remember how you ended up alone in Manhattan in the early hours of the morning, the more your head hurts. It's as though something is trying to keep you from your own past.
You examine your bracelet again. You're sure "LILA" has to be your name, but that doesn't give you much to work with.
You shake your head and keep walking. Beside you, layers of hovercars stretch toward the sky, moving together through vertical traffic layers, and you wonder whether you've left a car somewhere.
"Hey, honey."
The voice comes from your right, from down an alleyway shadowed by towering buildings and untouched by streetlamps.
Do you [[look for the speaker|look]] or [[ignore him and keep walking|ignore]]?You stare at the man, unwilling to apologize. He didn't move out of your path either, and you don't feel like you're the only one at fault.
The man lets out an exasperated sigh. "My bad," he says flatly. He rolls his eyes and continues on his path in a huff.
You look up at the pastel clouds as the sun falls over the skyline, and you sigh. The harder you try to remember how you ended up alone in Manhattan in the early hours of the morning, the more your head hurts. It's as though something is trying to keep you from your own past.
You examine your bracelet again. You're sure "LILA" has to be your name, but that doesn't give you much to work with.
You shake your head and keep walking. Beside you, layers of hovercars stretch toward the sky, moving together through vertical traffic layers, and you wonder whether you've left a car somewhere.
"Hey, honey."
The voice comes from your right, from down an alleyway shadowed by towering buildings and untouched by streetlamps.
Do you [[look for the speaker|look]] or [[ignore him and keep walking|ignore]]?You look down the alley and find a man watching you. There's an unsettling smile on his lips. He keeps looking over your shoulder like he's waiting for someone else to join him.
Do you [[stay and see what happens|stay]] or [[run]]?You don't look for the speaker or react to his words. You continue on your path down the sidewalk, and after several seconds, it becomes obvious that you're being followed. You feel a presence too close behind you to be accidental.
"Where are you headed?" It's the same man's voice, but now it's coming from just behind your ear.
"Doesn't matter," you tell him. "I'm going there alone."
You tune in to the people around you, and you feel that more than one of them is on your trail. Still, you don't look at them. Your pulse and pace remain even, and you aren't afraid, though rationally, you think you should be.
Whoever you really are, you realize that you aren't a coward.
Someone laughs, and the voice is different this time. He asks why you would be alone on a night like this, and then you feel a hand grab your shoulder.
"Don't touch me," you say firmly.
Someone else laughs, and then you feel two more hands on you. As one, they pull you back toward them.
Do you [[fight]] or [[run]]?You react on reflex.
You pull your right arm free and, in one fluid motion, sink your fist into the gut of the man restraining your left arm. In the same movement, you kick back and knock someone else's feet out from under him. You grab the arm of one of the men and bring your other hand down on it swiftly, and a sickening snap echoes through the air from beneath your hands. The man whose arm you've broken cries out in pain. He exchanges an incredulous glance with one of the others.
Someone grabs your left arm again. You reach behind you without looking to see which of the attackers it is and pull him forward, ducking as he flies over your head and lands on the street, his arm bending unnaturally beneath him.
Now, terror is etched on each of their faces. Two of them bend down to help the fallen one stand, and they support him after they pull him to his feet.
They all run, scattering as they hurry down the street and away from you. You count them as they retreat and see that you've just fought off five people by yourself.
You turn away and continue down the street in the way you were headed [[before]]. <<set $ran to true>>
You pull away as hard as you can, and, to your surprise, their hands slide off of you. You shoot off down the street as quickly as you can move.
The city whips past you, and you realize your footsteps are far faster than they should be. You've never seen someone move this quickly, and it frightens you. You shake your head, trying to focus on what you should do next. You need to go somewhere to collect yourself and decide how to handle your inability to remember anything before this morning.
You scan the street, and your gaze falls on a large hotel a few buildings away. It feels familiar. You close your eyes, trying to remember, but all you find is a pounding pressure in your head. You sigh and open your eyes, and you approach the hotel. If nothing else, you reason, you can find a place to sit in the lobby until you've figured out where to go from here.
You reach the hotel and pass through the sliding glass doors that open automatically to allow you to [[enter]].Though you know rationally that this is a bad idea, you realize that you aren't scared. You stand still, watching the man, until you hear multiple sets of footsteps approaching from behind you.
"Where are you headed?" the man in front of you asks.
"Doesn't matter," you tell him. "I'm going there alone."
You tune in to the people around you, and you feel a group starting to surround you, trying to drive you toward the alley. Still, you don't look at them. Your pulse and pace remain even.
Whoever you really are, you realize that you aren't a coward.
Someone laughs, and the voice is different this time. He asks why you would be alone on a night like this, and then you feel a hand grab your shoulder.
"Don't touch me," you say firmly.
Someone else laughs, and then you feel two more hands on you. As one, they pull you back toward them.
Do you [[fight]] or [[run]]?As you walk, you realize there's no logical explanation for how well you just fought. You don't remember having any training in self-defense or in combat, but you tell yourself that doesn't mean you didn't have it; it's not like you remember anything else, either. Still, you saw how scared those men were as they ran away, and it frightens you. You snapped someone's arm with your bare hands, and you threw a full-grown adult like a ragdoll. You're scared of yourself.
You shake your head, trying to focus on what you should do next. You need to go somewhere to decide how to handle your inability to remember anything before this morning.
You scan the street, and your gaze falls on a large hotel a few buildings away. It feels familiar. You close your eyes, trying to remember, but all you find is a pounding pressure in your head. You sigh and open your eyes, and you approach the hotel. If nothing else, you reason, you can find a place to sit in the lobby until you've figured out where to go from here.
You reach the hotel and pass through the sliding glass doors that open automatically to allow you to [[enter]].Your eyes adjust rapidly to the artificial lights, and you take in your surroundings.
Pristine white chairs and chaises line the walls, and three silver chandeliers hang from the arched ceiling. A receptionist with her hair pulled back into a tight bun smiles and waves to you from the desk at the opposite end of the long room.
You know you've been here [[before|hotel1]].
You look down into the shining marble floor and then to the long mirror hanging behind the nearest chaise, and you see your reflection.
<<if $ran is true>>Your unnaturally quick flight has left no evidence; your blond hair has fallen perfectly around your face once more—your face, which has not flushed a bit from the effort of moving at a superhuman pace.
<<elseif $ran is false>>Your roadside brawl has left no evidence; your blond hair has fallen perfectly around your face once more—your face, which has not flushed a bit from the effort of fighting off five attackers.<</if>>
You start for the chaise, planning to rest for a few minutes and devise a plan, but the receptionist beckons to you. Frowning, you cross the lobby to the desk where the woman sits. The receptionist’s bright smile is still in place.
“Welcome back, ma’am.”
You blink. <i>Maybe if I just [[play along]],</i> you think, <i>I’ll figure it out.</i>“Thank you,” you say, forcing yourself to return the receptionist’s smile with one you hope is convincing enough.
The woman nods. “Your key.”
She removes a card from behind the desk, passes it to you, stands, and motions for you to follow her down the hall behind the reception desk. Your head swims as the two of you walk—everything about this place is just out of your reach, like you could grab on to the truth about it if you only look hard enough.
You follow the woman down the spotless white hallway and to an elevator at the other end.
“Your office sent the card over,” says the receptionist quietly. “They said they found it after you left. I just wanted to make sure it got back to you safely.”
Do you [[continue playing along]] or [[tell the receptionist]] that you don't remember where you work?
The elevator comes to a halt on the fifteenth floor, and you glance at the room numbers you pass until you reach 1501. You scan the card through the panel on the door’s right side, which also bears a keypad and a thumbprint scanner. When the lock clicks, you turn the glass doorknob and step into the room.
“Welcome, Lila,” says an automated voice from the door’s control panel.
Your jaw drops. You stand at the entrance to a suite. The furniture is extravagant and made of white, polished wood. On the opposite wall, the fading sunlight of dusk streams in the glass balcony door. In the muted reddish light, the golden satin bedclothes shimmer.
The wardrobe door hangs open, and you realize that it's fully stocked. To your left, an arched doorway leads to a [[living room]] with an entire wall lined with books. You nod. “Thank you.” Your mind buzzes with questions you can’t ask. You can’t tell the woman you have no idea where you work without rousing suspicion. You'll have to be content with knowing that you are, at least, supposed to be here.
You enter the elevator, and when the doors close, separating you from the woman, you let out a heavy breath and lean against the cold metal wall. You glance down at the card in your hand. “1501” is emblazoned in sharp blue script on one side, and beneath it is [[your name]]. <<set $LDE to true>>
You inhale. "I know this is going to sound crazy," you say, keeping your voice low, "but I don't remember where my office is. Can you tell me where I work?"
The receptionist blinks and watches you with a frown. "Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises," she says.
"Thank you." You rush into the elevator without another word, and when the doors close, separating you from the woman, you let out a heavy breath and lean against the cold metal wall.
<i>At least now I know two things about myself,</i> you think. <i>Now I just have to hope the receptionist doesn't cause me any problems.</i>
You glance down at the card in your hand. “1501” is emblazoned in sharp blue script on one side, and beneath it is [[your name|LDE true 1]]. <i>Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises,</i> you repeat in your mind. <i>That does sound familiar.</i>
You remember walking through Manhattan early this morning, when the city's residents were still bustling to work, coffee cups and half-eaten pastries in their hands. You remember seeing a large crowd gathered in front of a glass-walled skyscraper with that company's name written in large letters on its front.
You remember a dark-haired man in a suit addressing a crowd of reporters and onlookers, telling everyone that his business partner and friend, Damian Lawrence, was murdered [[last night|your name]].You take a step forward and close the door behind you. Incredibly uneasy, you creep toward the bed and sit on its edge.
<<if $LDE is true>><i>Damian Lawrence is dead,</i> you think, <i>and he was one of the heads of the company where I work. That can't be a coincidence. He died last night, and I can't remember anything before this morning.</i>
You don't like where this train of thought is leading you.
<<elseif $LDE is false>><i>Okay, she knew me,</i> you think, <i>and this place has to be mine. That’s several steps ahead of where I was a few minutes ago.</i>.<</if>>
You shake your head, leaning backward. You'll have time to think when you wake. You haven’t slept in… frankly, you have no idea how long.
Sleep does not elude you. In a matter of moments, your mind has drifted far away from the suite and into comfortable [[blackness]].
<i>You jump, startled by the abrupt change of scenery. You are no longer in your hotel suite; instead, you stand in a lab plated in chrome panels. Though you can’t recall ever being here before, the room feels glaringly familiar.
You aren’t alone. On your left stands an indistinct figure with their back to you. The more you try to concentrate on what this person looks like, the more your head aches.
You shift your attention instead to the man standing to your right. This one is incredibly clear to you. His brown eyes are locked on yours. He's speaking to you—pleading with you.
You shake your head. You can’t hear what he's saying, can’t hear anything at all. Your ears are filled with deafening [[silence]].</i><i>Suddenly, the scene changes. You now stand in a lobby with a high ceiling and a round, chrome security desk at its heart.</i>
How the hell did I get here?
<i>You stand about ten feet from a row of glass doors, looking down at a figure that is slouched against the one farthest to your left.
It's the man from the lab—the one who stood on your right, begging you for something, to do—or not to do—something. But what?
For the first time, you look down at your hand.
You're holding a [[plasma gun]].</i><i>You have no idea where you found the weapon. You weren’t holding it in the lab. Or were you? How did you get here, to the lobby?
Only a second has passed when the man speaks. This time, all you can hear is his voice—no background noise or abrasive silence.
<b>“You don’t have to do this, Lila,”</b> he says. <b>“You don’t have to—”</b> He glances over your shoulder, seeming to rethink the statement he was about to make. <b>“Just remember who you are. [[Remember who I—]]”</b></i>
You are in your hotel room, your head spinning with the sound that launched you out of the dream as abruptly as you entered it.
[[A gunshot]].
***You stare into the bathroom mirror at your tearstained face.
Your eyes sting, and your hair sticks out at odd angles, but you don’t care. You have no self-pity left. Though you're alone in a hotel in a city you can’t remember after dreaming about someone you don’t know, your tears aren't for yourself but for the man from your dream.
He seemed so real to you, as did the fear in his eyes as he implored you not to… But you couldn’t really have done it. There was no way you could have killed someone.
<<if $LDE is true>>You remember the press conference you passed, and you remember Damian Lawrence. Was that his face you saw in your dream? Was that lobby the one at Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises, which was roped off with police tape when you passed the building?
You sigh heavily, wishing you could remember what happened to leave you alone on the street and whether you had anything to do with Damian's death.
You tell yourself [[that's impossible|what happened]].
<<elseif $LDE is false>>What if you just saw a story on the news yesterday that disturbed you? What if you paid too much attention at the press conference you stumbled upon as you tried to leave Manhattan? What if the dream was your subconscious attempt to reconcile the tragedy the man in the suit was telling a crowd of reporters about with your own situation?
<i>What was the name of that robotics engineer he said was killed? Lawrence?</i>
You know you're deluding yourself. The images were far too clear to have been concocted by your weary mind. You knew this man. What remains to be seen is how, and [[what happened]] to him.<</if>>
You slide open a drawer beneath the sink and reach into it without looking to retrieve a silver brush. You run it distractedly through your hair as you try to remember.
<b>“You don’t have to do this, Lila,”</b> the man in your dream said.
He knew your name. The way he spoke to you… you were more than acquaintances. But something he said continues to trouble you.
<b>“Just remember who you are. Remember who I—”</b>
<i>Who he what?</i> You sigh. <i>I need [[answers]].</i>
You leave the brush on the sink and step back into your bedroom. You don’t need to make the bed; you didn’t pull back the covers last night, nor did you displace them while you slept.
The projection emitted by the clock on your nightstand tells you it’s 4:29 in the afternoon, and you can’t imagine how you were exhausted enough to sleep for so long.
You drift to the wardrobe, eyeing the clothing within. As you pull free a white tank top and a pair of khaki capris, you realize they’re precisely your size, as are the rest of the items filling the drawers.
You have no idea how long you’ve been wearing the short blue dress you have on or when you’ll find another opportunity to change clothes, particularly when you have no money to your name.
<i>Evidently I didn’t leave a wallet with my room [[key]].</i>You leave the dress lying on the bed and slip on the first outfit you found, and then you move to the door. You take a deep breath and turn the glass knob, stepping into the hall.
<<if $LDE is true>>Retracing the steps you took upon your arrival, you ride the elevator back to the lobby. The receptionist shoots you an uneasy smile as you pass, and you give her a wave, hoping to convince her not to think too deeply into your strange behavior yesterday.
<<elseif $LDE is false>>Retracing the steps you took upon your arrival, you ride the elevator back to the lobby. The receptionist waves as you pass, and you return the gesture with a forced smile.<</if>>
You make your way across the lobby. The other guests, most of them loitering near the walls, <b>watch you</b> as you pass.
You keep your eyes fixed ahead of you. Soon, you reach the large double-doors at the head of the room, and you [[step out]] into the summer heat.
You aren't entirely certain where you're headed, now. Your restlessness demanded you leave the hotel, but your lack of money limits your options.
You catch sight of a restaurant down the street and start toward it through the mid-afternoon throng, thinking that even if you can't order, you can hide indoors from the heat until you can form a better plan.
You let out a sharp breath as a dark-haired woman bumps hard into your shoulder. The woman mutters an apology, which you return on reflex, glancing toward her.
An image shoots through your mind of someone with the same pale face, the same hazel eyes and black hair as the woman beside you, though in this image, she's several years [[younger]].Startled by this flash of memory, you hurry onward, closing the distance rapidly between yourself and the restaurant. You've made it a few yards when a whistle demands your attention.
Your mind screams at you to keep walking, to get away. But the idea that you actually <b>recognized</b> that woman is more than you had moments ago, and it's enough to convince you to turn around.
As you expected, the woman is watching you from where she now stands on the other side of the bustling, traffic-heavy street, her lips curled into a smirk.
[["Lila," she mouths]].At the same moment she starts forward, pushing through a crowd of people gathered on the sidewalk, you turn back in the direction of your hotel and move toward it at a run.
Something whispers from the back of your mind that you can outrun the woman easily—that if you run far enough and fast enough, you'll lose your pursuer. But only for now. As strange as this feeling is, even stranger is the certainty with which you know that the victory of escape will be fleeting.
That this woman will never stop hunting you, and that you [[should know why]].You fly into the hotel and to your suite. You swipe your card and wrench back the door, slamming and locking it behind you. You proceed to your bathroom, shutting and locking this second door for good measure.
Your breathing quick and shallow, you throw your back against the wall, closing your eyes through the pain as you sink to the floor. You pull your knees up and rest your head on them, biting your lip.
<i>What am I going to do? I have to find out what happened to me. I need to know who that man was in my dream. I need to know why this woman is following me. What did I do to her? What did I do to—to him?</i>
You order yourself to hold still and bring your emotions into check. You force one deep breath after the other into your lungs and out again, and soon, you lose track of how long you've spent on the [[bathroom floor]].
With a sigh, you get to your feet. You unlock and open the door, starting toward the pair that lead out onto the balcony.
<i>Maybe I deserve this. Maybe I am responsible for his death, and maybe this is my punishment. But I can’t die now. Not when I don’t know, not when I have so many questions.</i>
A shadow plays on the carpet beneath the hallway door, the shuffling of feet outside accompanied by the pressing of buttons on a keypad. As your heart pounds, do you [[hurry out to the balcony]] or [[stay still]]?You cross to the back of the room, turning off the lights at the switch. You open one of the sliding glass doors and slip out onto the balcony as it closes automatically behind you.
You survey your surroundings to find that you’ve spent longer than you realized in the bathroom; night has fallen over Manhattan. There’s no easy way to the ground.
You lean over the railing, searching manically for options. The highway below is backed up with traffic. Hovercars, hovercycles, and pedestrians stretch as far as the eye can see, lights ascending through the vertical layers of vehicles like a steadily shifting constellation.
You hear the scanner beep somewhere behind you, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize how little time you have. Concealed by the wall separating the balcony from the connected room, you’re invisible to whoever is inside. But how long that will remain true is in question. The balcony, formerly shrouded in darkness, is now bathed in light.
Your eyes widen as footsteps signal someone’s [[approach]].
<i>No…</i>
The door to the hallway opens, revealing the black-haired woman who was so determined to catch you on the street.
She has a pistol trained on your heart.
A flash from a life you can't recall [[slams|slams2]] into you.No one else will understand. Whatever you've done, you're sorry. Beyond all words, you're sorry. But you can’t expect everyone to be so forgiving. Will they really believe you? You doubt it.
<i>Jump. Jump, you’ll be fine.</i>
You edge to the side of the balcony farthest from the door.
<i>That’s insane. So why does it feel like the safest option?</i>
<<if $run is true>>You know you're far faster than a human should be. But are you stronger? Is there any way you would survive a jump from the fifteenth floor? Or would you just prefer to take that risk instead of finding out what your pursuer has planned for you?
<<elseif $run is false>>You singlehandedly fought off five attackers; you threw a grown man like he weighed nothing. Do you think you can survive a jump from the fifteenth floor? Or would you just prefer to take that risk instead of finding out what your pursuer has planned for you?<</if>>
Do you [[jump]] or do you [[turn back toward your room]]?Once more, you look down. And, taking a deep, shaky breath, you climb up onto the railing and throw yourself over the edge.
As you hurtle downward, the world whips around you, flying upward faster than you can blink. Falling end over end, you attempt to regain your composure well enough at least to see which way is down.
The layers upon layers of hovercars rush closer, and you know it's only a matter of time before you make impact. Eventually, you manage to right yourself, if only for a moment.
You look down and follow your instinct toward a course of action. A dark green car is approaching you at roughly the right speed to [[catch you]].
You open the balcony door and return to your room just as the door to the hallway opens, revealing the black-haired woman who was so determined to catch you on the street.
She has a pistol trained on your heart.
A flash from a life you can't recall [[slams|slams2]] into you.You turn your body down once more and make a futile attempt to guide your flight pattern. You hold your breath as the roar of the air rushing past you becomes nearly unbearable, counting down the seconds until your estimated [[contact]]. <i>[[Three...]]</i><i>[[Two...]]</i>At the last possible second, you flip to face the sky once more.
You land with a crash on the roof of the car. As it speeds on its course, you're thrown back, sliding the few feet to the car’s rear, frantically searching for a place to grab on and [[finding nothing]].
Your scream is lost in the night air as you fly off the back of the car.
The familiar sensation of being drowned in air overwhelms you as you rush downward for the second time. Even as you plummet, however, you know this is preferable to what would’ve happened if you allowed the dark-haired woman to catch you.
A sharp stabbing pain splinters through your back as you collide with another vehicle. Metal crunches beneath you. This time, the car stops.
Your eyes close as your head swims in the aftershock. You barely register the sound of a door opening.
“Are you okay, lady?” someone asks.
“Hm…?” You feel your focus slipping away, and you fight hard to open your eyes. Your back screams, the pain [[shooting]] up your neck.
The man who spoke sighs in what sounds like frustration. “You fell from the sky and landed on my car.” There's a snap to his tone, but it's overpowered by disbelief. “Are you all right?”
After a moment, the pain recedes slightly, and you force your eyes open to find the man watching you. He's also standing on the ground, which means that you're done falling.
<i>[[Oh, thank God.]]</i>
“Yeah. Thank you.” You attempt a feeble smile and push yourself up onto your elbows.
“Are you sure you should be trying to get up? I mean, which floor did you fall from?” The man looks up at the hotel’s gleaming exterior, panicked. “How are you conscious?”
By this time, others have stopped their cars, and a crowd is beginning to gather around you and the man. You nod unsteadily.
“I’m fine,” you insist. “Really.”
With a gulp and a wave of nausea, you push yourself off the roof of the car. There's a general intake of breath around you as you roll onto the pavement of the road below. The world spins again as you stand, and a relieved sigh spreads through the gathered crowd.
“Hey!” calls someone from your left. <b>[[“It’s her!”]]</b>
You tense. “I… don’t really re—”
“She’s—that’s Lila! <b>Someone call the police!</b>”
A murmur spreads through the crowd, rapidly growing into a din.
<i>No… Not now. Not everyone.</i>
Do you [[run|run2]] or [[stand your ground|stand your ground2]]?You turn and run, without another word, for the sidewalk across from the hotel. The onlookers are shouting, now, calling incomprehensible things after you as you push your way out of the cloud of people. Your breathing quick and shallow, you fly down the street and around the corner.
As you run, the pieces begin to click into place in your mind.
<<if $run is true>>You already knew how fast you are. Not a single bead of sweat forms as you cut through the city more quickly than you should be able to move.
<<elseif $run is false>>You're running at much too rapid a pace to be considered normal, and not a single bead of sweat forms with the effort.<</if>>
You're disoriented from your fall, and your back throbs, but shouldn't you be dead?
“What am I?” you [[breathe]].
You've come too far to be intimidated by the shouts of a crowd. You just threw yourself off a building—you're not about to let these people scare you.
"I haven't done anything wrong," you insist, though even you don't believe that's true. Whether you <<if $LDE is true>>had a hand in the death of Damian Lawrence or not, you aren't about to admit that you're questioning that to this hostile crowd.
<<elseif $LDE is false>>actually shot someone or not, you aren't about to volunteer that information to this hostile crowd.<</if>>
You see a few people pulling out their phones. Some of them look like they're recording you or taking your picture, and at least one of them is [[calling someone]]. You hold still, trying to persuade these people that you don't mean anyone any harm. Instead of dissipating, the crowd is growing. People on the second level of traffic have pulled over to look down at you, and honks fill the air as they hold up the cars behind them.
You can barely hear the <b>gun</b> [[fire]]. But you feel the plasma bolt <b>sizzle</b> into your [[back]]. You whip around to face the hotel—and the direction from which the shot came.
The lobby doors slide closed behind the black-haired woman, and you stare at her, ignoring the screams of the crowd around you and the footsteps you hear rushing away.
A flash from a life you can't recall [[slams]] into you.<i>You're standing beside <<if $LDE is true>>Damian in his old room at his parents' house.
<<elseif $LDE is false>>the man you dreamed about in your hotel room. With a sickening pang, you remember something you can't believe you could've forgotten: his name is Damian Lawrence.<</if>>
He's been smiling the whole time he's shown you around, taking you through his childhood one room at a time. Here, there's a picture of a girl sitting on his desk. Her hair is dark, her eyes hazel, and she's smiling warmly.
Damian inhales, and when you look up at him, you see that sadness has crept onto his face.
"That's Ravenna," he says. "We were... [[close]] in school."</i>
The same girl—a woman now—approaches you with her pistol raised. Her eyes are furious, her jaw clenched.
You hold up your hands. "Ravenna, please—"
She fires again, and you scream as the plasma bolt sears into your arm.
You look down. Blood covers your arm, but when you see the gleam of <b>metal</b> inside the hole made by the plasma bolt, you realize that the blood is <b>synthetic</b>.
That <b>you</b> are [[synthetic]].<i>The crowd outside the glass doors is buzzing, but you barely hear it. Your breath is unsteady, and your heart thuds against your ribs. The banner that says “Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises Grand Opening” is backward from where you stand, the black letters bleeding enough through the pale blue banner that you can still make them out.
Beyond the platform where Eddie, Damian's best friend and business partner, stands outside, addressing the news cameras, more people have stopped to watch than you anticipated.
“What if they don’t like me?” you ask quietly.
A warm hand encloses yours, and you turn to see Damian giving you a reassuring smile. “They’re going to love you,” he says. “You’re going to be the face of this company. People will see you and know that it’s possible to achieve [[perfection]].”</i><i>“It’s go time,” says Derek. He's Damian's brother, fair-haired with blue eyes, and the sight of him sends a rush of warmth through you. You've always wondered whether he knows that you watch him just a little bit longer than you should, that you've always found his smile more handsome than anyone else's that you know.
Derek crosses the lobby and opens one of the doors, and the noise of the crowd hits you at full force. Excitement fills the onlookers’ voices, and it ripples through you. Derek looks back at you, and when he smiles, you take a step [[forward]].</i>
Ravenna stands in front of you, now, and as your back warms with the blood seeping from your wound there, you realize the hole in your arm is dripping blood down your wrist, down each of your fingers.
"I wouldn't have hurt Damian," you tell Ravenna. Your voice is pleading. You need her to understand. You're starting to remember; you know you are the first android Damian created with Derek and Eddie and that you were supposed to be the face of their company.
"You killed him," Ravenna snarls. You remember seeing her face in that photo at Damian's parents', and you wonder when the two of them started speaking again. Is that something you would've known, if you hadn't lost your memory? Were you that close to Damian?
And what about Derek? What about Eddie? Do they know where you are? You recognized Eddie as the man who spoke at the press conference yesterday, who announced Damian's death.
Where do your creators think you [[are]]?"I don't remember anything," you tell Ravenna quickly. "Not before yesterday morning."
She lets out a laugh that sounds more like a hiss, and you can tell she doesn't believe you.
She raises her pistol again, taking aim at the space between your eyes, and you realize you have a choice.
Who will you protect?
[[Yourself|You]] or [[her]]?You have no desire to hurt this woman, but you know that if you don't act quickly, she's going to kill you.
You run toward her at your top speed, moving in an arc to avoid her shot. She fires, her plasma bolt slicing through the air where you just stood.
You reach her and twist her arm behind her back.
How far will you take this?
Do you want to [[incapacitate her]] or [[kill her]]?You know you could overpower her. You know you're quick enough to avoid her shot.
But you don't want to.
You know what you've taken from her. You saw the way Damian looked at her photo, and you know he loved her, even if that was a long time ago. The pain in every line of Ravenna's face tells you that love never stopped.
You hold still, keeping your eyes on her as she fires again.
The last thing you hear before the plasma bolt sizzles into your skull is the wail of approaching police sirens.
***
The End.
Or you could return to the [[bathroom floor]] and try again.You hold her arm in place, and you feel her bones creak in your grasp. Her breathing is shallow and labored. You know you're hurting her, but she's alive, and you haven't broken any bones yet.
"You're a failed experiment," Ravenna growls.
As you stand here, restraining the old friend of your dead creator, you hear the approaching wail of police sirens.
***
The End.
Or you could return to the [[bathroom floor]] and try again.Your stomach churns, and for an instant, you wonder why Damian and the others built you with the capacity to feel such nauseating fear and regret.
"I'm sorry," you whisper.
"You're a failed experiment," Ravenna growls.
Holding her arm still, you reach up with your other hand, wrapping your fingers around her throat. You close your eyes and twist as hard as you can, and you feel her neck snap.
As you stand here, holding the body of your dead creator's old friend, you hear the approaching wail of police sirens.
***
The End.
Or you could return to the [[bathroom floor]] and try again.<i>You're standing beside <<if $LDE is true>>Damian in his old room at his parents' house.
<<elseif $LDE is false>>the man you dreamed about in your hotel room. With a sickening pang, you remember something you can't believe you could've forgotten: his name is Damian Lawrence.<</if>>
He's been smiling the whole time he's shown you around, taking you through his childhood one room at a time. Here, there's a picture of a girl sitting on his desk. Her hair is dark, her eyes hazel, and she's smiling warmly.
Damian inhales, and when you look up at him, you see that sadness has crept onto his face.
"That's Ravenna," he says. "We were... [[close|close2]] in school."</i>
The same girl—a woman now—approaches you with her pistol raised. Her eyes are furious, her jaw clenched.
You hold up your hands in front of your face, taking a step backward. "Ravenna, please—"
She fires again, and you scream as the plasma bolt sears into your arm.
You lower it and look down. Blood covers your arm, but when you see the gleam of <b>metal</b> inside the hole made by the plasma bolt, you realize that the blood is <b>synthetic</b>.
That <b>you</b> are [[synthetic|synthetic2]].<i>The crowd outside the glass doors is buzzing, but you barely hear it. Your breath is unsteady, and your heart thuds against your ribs. The banner that says “Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises Grand Opening” is backward from where you stand, the black letters bleeding enough through the pale blue banner that you can still make them out.
Beyond the platform where Eddie, Damian's best friend and business partner, stands outside, addressing the news cameras, more people have stopped to watch than you anticipated.
“What if they don’t like me?” you ask quietly.
A warm hand encloses yours, and you turn to see Damian giving you a reassuring smile. “They’re going to love you,” he says. “You’re going to be the face of this company. People will see you and know that it’s possible to achieve [[perfection|perfection2]].”</i><i>“It’s go time,” says Derek. He's Damian's brother, fair-haired with blue eyes, and the sight of him sends a rush of warmth through you. You've always wondered whether he knows that you watch him just a little bit longer than you should, that you've always found his smile more handsome than anyone else's that you know.
Derek crosses the lobby and opens one of the doors, and the noise of the crowd hits you at full force. Excitement fills the onlookers’ voices, and it ripples through you. Derek looks back at you, and when he smiles, you take a step [[forward|forward2]].</i>
Ravenna stands in front of you, now, and you realize the hole in your arm is dripping blood down your wrist, down each of your fingers.
"I wouldn't have hurt Damian," you tell Ravenna. Your voice is pleading. You need her to understand. You're starting to remember; you know you are the first android Damian created with Derek and Eddie and that you were supposed to be the face of their company.
"You killed him," Ravenna snarls. You remember seeing her face in that photo at Damian's parents', and you wonder when the two of them started speaking again. Is that something you would've known, if you hadn't lost your memory? Were you that close to Damian?
And what about Derek? What about Eddie? Do they know where you are? You recognized Eddie as the man who spoke at the press conference yesterday, who announced Damian's death.
Where do your creators think you [[are|R2D2]]?"I don't remember anything," you tell Ravenna quickly. "Not before yesterday morning."
She lets out a laugh that sounds more like a hiss, and you can tell she doesn't believe you.
She raises her pistol again, taking aim at the space between your eyes, and you realize you have a choice.
Who will you protect?
[[Yourself|et tu Brute]] or [[her|her2]]?You have no desire to hurt this woman, but you know that if you don't act quickly, she's going to kill you.
You run toward her at your top speed, moving in an arc to avoid her shot. She fires, her plasma bolt slicing through the air where you just stood. It sizzles into the wall.
You reach Ravenna and twist her arm behind her back.
How far will you take this?
Do you want to [[incapacitate her|incap2]] or [[kill her|kill2]]?<<if $run is true>>You know you're quick enough to avoid her shot.
<<elseif $run is false>>You know you could overpower her.<</if>>
But you don't want to.
You know what you've taken from her. You saw the way Damian looked at her photo, and you know he loved her, even if that was a long time ago. The pain in every line of Ravenna's face tells you that love never stopped.
You hold still, keeping your eyes on her as she fires again.
The plasma bolt sizzles into your skull.
***
The End.
Or you could return to the [[bathroom floor]] and try again.<<set $fought to true>>
You hold her arm in place, and you feel her bones creak in your grasp. Her breathing is shallow and labored. You know you're hurting her, but she's alive, and you haven't broken any bones yet.
"You're a failed experiment," Ravenna growls.
As you stand here, restraining the old friend of your dead creator, you realize you need to separate her from her weapon.
You pry the pistol from her grasp, and, muttering apologies you're certain she doesn't want to hear, you drag her into the bathroom. You shove her forward, and she stumbles but catches herself before she can fall. You hurry to slam the door behind her. <<if $run is true>>Moving at your top speed, you dash for the bed. You know from the way you felt Ravenna's arm bend in your hands that you're not only faster but stronger than a human should be, and you know you can move the bed.
<<elseif $run is false>>You plan to use your superhuman strength to your advantage.<</if>>
You push the bed from the other side, combining your strength with your speed to block the bathroom door before Ravenna can [[open it]]. Your stomach churns, and for an instant, you wonder why Damian and the others built you with the capacity to feel such nauseating fear and regret.
"I'm sorry," you whisper.
"You're a failed experiment," Ravenna growls.
Holding her arm still, you reach up with your other hand, wrapping your fingers around her throat. You close your eyes and twist as hard as you can, and you feel her neck snap.
As you stand here, holding the body of your dead creator's old friend, you realize you are the monster she thought you were. The failed experiment.
***
The End.
Or you could return to the [[bathroom floor]] and try again.You know that now that a gun has fired within your suite, more people are bound to come looking for you. You stash Ravenna's weapon in the nightstand drawer and hurry for the hallway door, leaving your belongings and Ravenna behind as you rush for the elevator.
You run into a few hotel guests on your way down, but despite the pounding of your heart and the bleeding of your arm, you force yourself to remain calm, at least outwardly.
When you've crossed the lobby and have reached the street outside, however, you break into a [[run|breathe]].After what feels like hours of searching, you find a window small enough to slip into that leads into the basement of an old, abandoned brick building. The darkness where you now sit in the back corner is a considerable departure from the grandeur of your hotel suite, but after <<if $fought is true>>what happened with Ravenna,<<elseif $fought is false>>the crowd's reaction to seeing you,<</if>> you don't believe the public is the best place to be, at the [[moment]].You've been sitting in silence for a long while apart from your own ragged breath and the pounding of your heart in your ears when a voice reaches you from up the ramp leading to the main level.
“Hello?”
Your eyes widen. <i>Is nowhere safe?</i>
You scoot away from the voice, your back pressing hard against the wall as you will yourself to become invisible in the near-perfect darkness of the basement.
A few moments later, a shape comes into view: the figure of a man descending the ramp, holding what looks like a [[plasma gun|windows]].“Hello?” the man asks again.
You hold perfectly still.
“If you come out now,” the man continues. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
For an instant, you weigh your options. His words sound sincere enough, but he's holding a gun, and you have no idea who he is or whether he's trustworthy.
Still, he doesn’t appear to be leaving, and perhaps he'll be less inclined to use the weapon if you show him that you don't mean him any harm.
You push yourself to your feet.
“Lila?” asks the man.
“Who—who are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who are you?” you repeat. You’ve had your fill of people knowing you while you know nothing. You've had enough of running without knowing why and questions without answers. <<if $fought is true>>Still, this man's voice is almost painfully familiar.
<<elseif $fought is false>><</if>>
You watch the man’s outline as he moves along the wall on the other side of the room, and then all at once, the basement is bathed in <<if $fought is true>>[[light|Derek]].
<<elseif $fought is false>>[[light]].<</if>>All at once, relief crashes over you as you recognize Damian's brother, [[Derek|Derek2]].Aside from a few scattered boxes and stains along the concrete floor, you are alone with the newcomer. His features are sharp, his hair a sandy blond. He wears dark jeans and a long-sleeved navy shirt.
He is almost painfully familiar, his name on the tip of your tongue, but you can't find it.
You take a step backward, the cool wall meeting your back as you glance from the man’s face to his gun. The weapon is aimed at the floor, but the knuckles of the hand that hold it are white.
“Lila? What are you doing down here?”
You briefly contemplate fabricating some sort of story to tell him, but you knew this would be pointless. There's no use in lying when you have no idea what the [[truth]] is. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you," you say before you can stop yourself.
The gun twitches in Derek's hands, but he doesn't lower it. "So you do know me?" he asks.
"I'm starting to put things together," you tell him, nodding. "At first, I couldn't remember anything that had happened before yesterday morning. I was walking through Manhattan alone, and all I knew was that I needed to get away. I ended up walking past a press conference where Eddie was talking about... losing Damian."
Pain flickers across Derek's eyes, and as he watches you, he lowers the gun by an inch.
"Derek, I... I have no idea what happened to him. Everything I see is coming to me in flashes, but I remember who you are, and I remember that I never would've hurt Damian on purpose. You have to believe me."
With a sigh so heavy his body seems to deflate, Derek nods, and he lowers his [[weapon]]. "I want to believe you," he says. His voice is soft and strained. An instant passes, and he extends his free hand toward you. "Come on."
<i>If it’s even a possibility that I was involved in his brother’s death,</i> you tell yourself, <i>he has every reason to want to harm me, but he isn’t. He wants to believe I didn’t do it. And I don’t feel like I should be afraid of him. Honestly, what do I have to lose? What other option do I have?</i>
You take his hand, and you realize how cold you've become sitting in the basement when you feel the warmth of his skin.
He leads you up the ramp and to the dingy double-doors leading out onto the street. You follow him out into the night and to the blue car parked on the curb, where he opens the passenger door for you. You climb into the seat, and when he closes the door behind you, you catch sight of a few [[papers]] lying at your feet. Upon closer inspection, you realize the paper on top is a blueprint of a woman—of you.
<<if $fought is true>>You tell yourself not to be surprised as you shift your focus to the text at the top of the page. "Property of Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises. L.I.L.A.: Lawrences' Intelligent Living Android." Somehow, seeing this brings you comfort; you remembered the company's grand opening and Damian's words about you being its face, and now that you have this confirmation and that of Derek's identity, you feel like you might begin to trust the fragments of memory that are coming back to you.
<<elseif $fought is false>>Frowning, you shift your focus to the text at the top of the page. “Property of Lawrence-Dodson Enterprises. L.I.L.A.: Lawrences’ Intelligent Living Android.” <</if>>
The driver’s side door opens, and Derek climbs into the car, shutting the door before starting the vehicle and pulling out into the street.
“You don’t have to be so tense, you know,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you. I… really don’t think you could’ve done this. Not to <<if $fought is true>>[[Damian|Damian1]]."
<<elseif $fought is false>>[[Damian]].”<</if>>
You barely hear his words. Your head is spinning as you understand why your fall from the fifteenth floor left you without a scratch. Derek has known you for your entire life because he created you—he and his brother, presumably. The brother everyone but Derek believes you murdered.
<i>They’re good at their jobs. They made me so close to human that even I couldn’t tell the difference.</i> Still, despite the strength you know courses through you with each movement, you feel less like an unstoppable force of mechanical genius and closer to a young woman stranded in a foreign place with no way to return home.
As you look to the man beside you, however, you know you at least have someone on your side, someone who can help you begin to understand.
For now, that's enough.
***
The Beginning.
Or, you could return to the [[bathroom floor]].At these words, you start to relax. You remember the warmth you felt when Derek smiled at you in the memory of the company's grand opening, and you hold onto that feeling. He seems to trust that you couldn't have hurt Damian on purpose, despite the fact that the rest of the world, including the woman you left locked in a hotel bathroom, believes otherwise.
As you look to the man beside you, you know you at least have someone on your side, someone who can help you begin to understand what happened to you.
For now, that's enough.
***
The Beginning.
Or, you could return to the [[bathroom floor]].“I don’t know where else to go,” you say. “Who are you?”
He stares at you for a moment, frowning, and you believe he's trying to determine whether you're serious.
“How can you not know me?” he asks, taking a step toward you. “It’s me! It’s Derek!”
“Derek who?” Your voice becomes more desperate with each word, and you feel like you're losing your mind, reaching for memories that slip through your fingers like water no matter how you struggle to pull them back.
“Derek Lawrence!” His voice is exasperated, and though you can’t blame him, his agitation serves only to heighten yours. You shift backward, pressing tighter against the wall behind you. He sighs and speaks again, his tone considerably softer this time. “Don’t you know me?”
You shake your head. “No. I—I don’t remember anything before yesterday. The first thing I remember, I was walking around Manhattan, seeing something about a murder at a press conference!” You freeze as something clicks into place in your mind. “I think his name was [[Lawrence]], too.”
Derek flinches. “Damian?” he asks, his tone so flat you know he has to be fighting to keep it that way.
You nod. “I think so. And the hotel receptionist knew me—my name was on the keycard, and apparently the room was mine, but I don’t know how I found it, because I don’t remember being there before, and—why do people know me while I have no idea who I am? Why do you know me? What about the woman with the dark hair, the one who looked at me like she wanted me dead? What about the people on the street?” Your voice breaks, and your gaze falls to the floor.
“I’ve known you all your life,” says Derek after a moment. “The receptionist knew you because you live there, and if what you say about your memory is true, it’s a miracle you ended up there to start with. The hotel called me after you got back today to let me know you were there before the police found you, and I’ve been looking for you. I want to give you a chance to prove you didn’t do this, because I really don’t want to believe [[you did]].”
<i>The police?</i> you think. <i>Maybe things are as bad as I thought.</i>
“Why are the police looking for me?” you ask quietly.
“They think you killed Damian.” Derek sighs, and there's a sadness in his eyes that pains you to watch. “My brother.”
You feel as though the wind has been crushed from your lungs, and you struggle fruitlessly for your voice for several moments. Eventually, Derek speaks again.
“We have a security video that places you there when it happened. I wanted to find you before we told anyone, but my business partner decided to tell the media, which is why everyone seems to know. And if someone was looking at you like she wanted you dead, I would imagine that’s my brother’s fiancée, so forgive her for being… determined. Come on.” He lets the hand holding the gun fall to his side, and some of your tension [[vanishes|weapon]].