Invasion

It's gone. For the moment.\n\nYou take a breath, the first one you remember since you heard that too-familiar scrape, and your adrenaline crashes.\n\nAcross from the main bedroom is a guest room, two twin beds neatly made up. The window is boarded over. It won't be able to see you there. \n\nYour head swims. You can't stay upright a moment longer without rest, or you'll be useless when it comes back.\n\nAnd it will come back.\n\nWithout even bothering to take off your clothes, you collapse on top of the nearest bed. The last thought that crosses your mind before you fall asleep is <<cyclinglink $dream1 "Lakshmi" "your mother" "your journey">>.\n\n[[Sleep]].\n

You slide them off your wrist, orange twine and clinking silver, and bring them to your lips for a moment, whispering the names of the women they once belonged to. Sophia, Michaela, Katie, Giulia. You run your thumb over the friendship bracelet, swallow the lump rising in your throat. Sarah.\n\n[[...|the bracelets]]

But no. Nothing. You're fine.\n\nThat sound was just your pack, torn open on a rock. You look about. Your braid's coiled around a branch. That's all. A branch. You'd laugh in relief if you weren't trying to be quiet after that fall.\n\nYour eyes fall on the bag, on your possessions scattered on the forest floor. The pack's ruined; you can't take all of them. Only what you can carry in your jacket pockets. And only what you can grab before the creature that's been stalking you tracks you here. You'll have to [[choose]].

"It's all right," you say. Instantly, you feel foolish. They can mimic human speech to lure their prey, but you've never had any proof they //understand//. Certainly they don't understand "stop", "no", or "please". You [[look|result]] to gauge the reaction.

still in your car and you swerve hard to avoid one of the creatures in the road, doubled up on itself, and it turns its slavering maw towards you before it bounds off after someone else who isn't [[safe like you]]

The sputtering turns to a high keen of pain. It claws at its chest cavity, snow-white and gaping. Strips of flesh--if that's what it is--fall from the walls. Its cuticles come away stained with ichor.\n\nIt collapses forward with a heavy thud. It doesn't move.\n\nLooking at it, you feel <<cyclinglink "shock" "adrenaline" "relief" "loss" "nothing" end>>. You don't remember what you gave up. It must have been important. You hope it was worth it.\n\nLooking at the body, you begin to [[weep|CREDITS]].

Your dreams are haunted. <<continue "Lakshmi's face.">>Lakshmi's face, ripped to ribbons. <<continue "Your mother's voice.">>Your mother's voice, raising to a piercing scream, and the gnash of teeth.\n\nYou jerk [[awake]].

She was fond of it, but she let you wear it once, one New Year's Eve at a house party in the hills high above the city. Everyone was drunk and high and laughing and she was buzzing on the excitement of a new breakthrough at work, and when she kissed you at midnight for the very first time, you shivered and when she pulled away you didn't stop.\n\n[[...|sweatshirt loss]]

(impressionistic montage of what it's like/what you feel like when it comes for you, filling the whole screen, one to three words to click through that will snap you out of it that don't look like links)

As you hurtle blindly toward the safe house, worry creeps in. What did you leave behind as a sacrifice? A necklace? A ring? A piece of jewelry, you dimly recall, or clothing. But who did it belong to? And why had they been important to you, so important that you would take up weight in your travelling pack to keep them by your side, preserve their memory as long as you could?\n\nGone now. The ring, or the bracelet; whatever it was. And the memories. The familiar ache of loss in your chest. You double your pace, push yourself harder, stumble wildly on exhausted legs towards a [[gap|safe house]] in the trees.

as you hurtle blindly through the woods the loss hits you all of a sudden and your breath catches in your throat but you don't have time to slow down or to mourn there is always a [[cost|safe house]]

A man emerges from behind a gnarled oak. Tall and slender, blond hair shaved at the sides and flopping down over his forehead in a style you remember used to be popular.\n\nBut it's too eager. In its haste, it's forgotten to do the eyes.\n\nThe sightless indentations in the smooth pale flesh swivel about, as if actually scanning about for you. It's a good illusion. The best you've seen. That's why this one is so dangerous.\n\n"I need you," the man-thing says. His teeth are red and streaked with gore. "I need you to help me."\n\nYou cast the circles away, hard as you can, towards him, and you [[run|run3]].

Meat or memory. That's what it eats. That's all you <<replace "have">>are<<endreplace>>.\n\n[[Meat]] or [[memory]].

He looks so pitiful, so hungry, so lost. \n\nBut you saw the house from the outside. It's a twenty foot climb straight up to that window. With no footholds.\n\nYou consider your [[options]].

An airy window looks out over a weed-choked garden. Vines riot over what must once have been a path, and a vegetable patch to the northeast has gone to seed. There are still a few tomato plants that haven't been entirely nibbled by local wildlife. (You hope it's local wildlife). There's a shed to the right of the garden, at the end of the old path.\n\nIt's almost idyllic. But you aren't exactly eager to venture back outside at the moment. You turn back to the [[kitchen]].

infodump about creatures needs to be wedged in SOMEWHERE

<<once>><<display "Timer Addon">><<endonce>>So many memories. All you have to remember your life before, before the invasion happened and the world ended, tossed about on the forest floor.\n\nThey're all here, everything you've carried from town to town, seeking shelter and bartering and cobbling a semblance of existence from the burned world. <<if visited ("ring")>><<else>>A [[ring]] glints in the moonlight, the diamond glittering silver among the leaves.<<endif>> [[Bracelets]]<<if visited ("car key")>><<else>> and a [[car key]]<<endif>> and [[a candle]] are all jumbled together, spilling from the pack. <<if visited ("Pocket the photograph")>>A tiny [[bottle]] has rolled to a stop beside the first aid [[kit]].<<else>>A weathered [[photograph]] pokes out from beneath the first aid [[kit]]; a tiny [[bottle]] has rolled to a stop beside the plastic case.<<endif>> <<if visited ("Take it")>><<else>>A small wooden [[box]] with an etched lid.<<endif>> <<if visited ("sweatshirt")>>A notebook sits at the bottom of the pack.<<else>>A ragged [[sweatshirt|sweatshirtnew]] is wadded at the bottom of the pack, just under a [[notebook]].<<endif>> There's a stuffed [[bear]], ragged, only one eye, staring at you mournfully from where it's been tossed across the clearing.\n\nWhat will you take? Is it [[enough|take 2]]?\n\n<<once>><<start_timer 180>><<endonce>>

All sorts of bracelets, tangled together. You and your high school friends had loved those cheap silver bangles from the fast-fashion chains you hung about after school. One day you decided to exchange your favorites, swap so everyone bore the same teenage-girl-gauntlet about their wrist. "So we'll have something to remember each other by," Graciela had declared. (She couldn't have known it could save your life.) \n\nOnly one is different--an orange friendship bracelet. "I want you to have it," the girl had whispered, dried blood cracking at the corners of her mouth, and you untied it from her wrist, trying not to think about how sluggish her pulse was growing.\n\n...you can't leave that behind. You owe her better.\n\n[[Gather them up]].

Invasion

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The building rises before you, glass and chrome. Your current quarters: or, rather, where you were living when the world ended. \n\nYou throw your car into park, take the back stairs two at a time. Lungs strain in protest. Sweat drips down into the hollow between your breasts, an uncomfortable prickle of perspiration that reminds you how fast you've been running, for how long. At last you arrive at the ninth floor.\n\nYour door is open.\n\nHeart beating an irregular tattoo, you hurl yourself through it, with none of your usual caution.\n\nShe's there, on the floor. There are two creatures over her. One gnaws her left shoulder with its horrible sightless maw. The one closer to you is crouched, one chitinous cuticle drawn.\n\n"I needed...to see..." Her breathing is tortured. "Safe..."\n\nThe one closest to you grins, a horrible empty rictus, and [[slashes|no face]]--

It's worn thin with use. It had been Lakshmi's favorite: she'd curl up in it at night, even when it was too warm. You couldn't bring yourself to leave it behind. You stand up, tie it round your [[waist|choose 2]].

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you toss and turn.\n\n<<timedinsert 3s>>eventually, dawn [[breaks|day 3]].<<endtimedinsert>>

//God.// The bear. The first gift you'd got after you'd realized exchanging mementos and their stories created bonds just as profound as the ones you kept giving up. You started keeping things from people you met instead of trying to pin down the past like a still-living fly struggling in amber.\n\n"His name's Tim and he likes eating fish and please take good care of him," the little boy who gave him to you said. You'd nodded solemnly and //promised//, and you'd offered him your father's watch and told the child how your father had wanted it to be passed down to a son, but you were his only child.\n\n(You left out that your father had died before he had a chance to have another. The kid had probably seen enough of that.)\n\nIt's too bulky and strangely shaped to be carried. You'll have to [[leave|choose 2]] it here, in this silent clearing.

You struggle against the block in your mind. Fragments rise to the surface. Lakshmi kissing you awake. Your mother's birthday cakes. Long walks at twilight in the university park. Teaching your college girlfriend Spanish, or trying to. Old movie nights. A whole world, [[gone|blood 2]].

You wait, quietly, for the familiar snuffling sound that you've learned means "I want".\n\n"Okay, I hear you." Your voice is raised, straining, a slight edge of panic already creeping in. One way or another, this ends tonight. You hope. Oh God, you hope.\n\n"I have something for you." Is that how you wanted to start? Does it sound too conciliatory? As if you consented to this? You don't, you don't, you don't--\n\nFocus. Need to get this [[right]].

You have a rummage.\n\nThere's a store of tinned food: nutripaste of all sorts, and even an ancient can of peas tucked away in the back. This will hold you for a [[while|kitchen]].

No use. As you reach for her, your hands pass through her shoulders as though you were a ghost. All you can do is watch your dream-self and [[remember]] the day your subconscious has dredged up.

A vast blackness stretches before your eyes. Your hand fumbles about for a switch, makes contact. Nothing. Only blackness. You're not going to descend into that without a light.\n\nThere's nothing to do but turn back to the [[kitchen]].

You're startled out of your reverie by the <<if visited ("broken alarm system")>>blare of the alarm system, an electronic shriek<<else if visited ("back door")>>scrape of cuticles on wood, a hollow rasp<<endif>>.\n\nAn odd choking sound in the back of your throat. Heat in your chest. You can't escape.\n\n<<if visited ("broken alarm system")>>The sound of the alarm seems to startle the creature; there's a heavy thump that sounds as if it's stumbled backwards off the porch, and the sound of crunching gravel as it lopes down the front path. There is a crack, and the shriek of a coyote, and then all is still.<<else if visited ("back door")>>It rattles at the door, but your twisted metal frame holds it steady, and with a snuffle, it gives up. You hear branches break, and the shriek of a coyote, before all is still.<<endif>>\n\nIt takes a [[long time|night 1]] to fall asleep that night.

You don't sleep the rest of the night. When dawn breaks, it's almost a [[relief|day 2]].

Blonde hair stringy with sweat and blood, falling into her eyes. Her hand in yours. Her breath coming fast and shallow.\n\n"It hurts," she gasps out. "It //hurts//."\n\nYou swallow. It never gets easier to witness.\n\n"You're going to be okay." Incantation rather than observation, as if your words could make manifest, close the gaping wound in her side, tuck the poryphrous guts spilling from her stomach back into her body.\n\nHow many others have you comforted? How many others have you buried? Their faces slip from your memory when the earth is piled. Even the charms you take to remember them are lost or traded, and then they're [[gone|morning 1]].

You can control the Addon with this Commands:\n\n[[Start Timer]]\n[[Pause Timer]]\n[[Resume Timer]]\n[[Stop Timer]]\n\n[[Set Mode To Restart]]\n[[Set Mode To Display]]

You're exhausted. Even your bones are tired. How long has it been since you've had a night of undisturbed sleep? Even when you're not woken by claws rapping at the window, the breaking of a branch or the screech of a barn owl--the ones that live still--jolt you awake, heart racing. Panic lives under your skin now, is your constant companion. Your memories of Lakshmi and of your mother have grown hazy and dreamlike. All you remember is adrenaline surge and where you keep the weapons.\n\nYou just need to scare it off. It doesn't need to die. It just needs to //stop//. Then maybe you can sleep again. Just one night. God, even just [[one]].

An empty husk. Smoking ichor. It's done. Somehow, impossibly, it's done.\n\nA tear snakes down your cheek. You can't be sure why you're crying. You've lost [[so much|CREDITS]].

<<set $noteweapon to 1>>A man's last private moment. If the creature consumes it, you will forget he existed. There will be no one left to remember him, his fear, how much he loved his wife.\n\nYou fold the scrap of paper almost guiltily, clutch it in your hand. \n\nYour footsteps creak on the old stairs, impossibly loud to your ears, as you [[ascend]].

You might as well [[leave|choose 2]] the kit; it's nearly empty. Most of it's patching up your side.

"Take it. It's yours." Bile rises at the back of your throat. You fight it down. You're so close.\n\nIt darts forward, opens that maw of impossible geometry, unhinges itself around your <<if $usering eq 1>>ring<<elseif $uselocket eq 1>>locket<<elseif $usekey eq 1>>key<<endif>>. There's a grinding sound of satisfaction, and then a [[sputtering]].

<<set $knowledgeGirl to 1>>You've seen so much since the world as you knew it ended. You can't help but see the images seared behind your eyes, even when you don't want to. Families turning on each other when the food ran out. A man crouching over the body of his husband, weeping bitterly, refusing to leave him behind. A bloody stump on the side of the road, wax-white phalanges mangled, what would have been the ulna in a human oozing out, clear and viscous.\n\nAnd the girl. You try not to think of her, but it's no use in [[dreams]].

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it's all right it's all right it's not real\n\nTry to [[sleep]].

You wake [[screaming]].

A [[tapping]] sound from the open door to your left. The master bedroom.

Dark woods loom on every side. Detritus crunches under your feet as you sprint in the direction you desperately hope is north. You've learned to be quick. The lithe muscle rippling under your skin is one of your best defenses.\n\nYou had a head start. You ought to make it to the safe house.\n\n<<timedinsert 2s>>A firm [[yank]] on your long black hair--<<endtimedinsert>>

So many memories. All you have to remember your life before, before the invasion happened and the world ended, tossed about on the forest floor.\n\nThey're all here, everything you've carried from town to town, seeking shelter and bartering and cobbling a semblance of existence from the burned world. <<if visited ("ring")>><<else>>A [[ring]] glints in the moonlight, the diamond glittering silver among the leaves.<<endif>> <<if visited ("Bracelets")>>Jewelry<<else>>[[Bracelets]]<<endif>><<if visited ("car key")>><<else>> and a [[car key]]<<endif>> and [[a candle]] are all jumbled together, spilling from the pack. <<if visited ("Pocket the photograph")>>A tiny [[bottle]] has rolled to a stop beside the first aid [[kit]].<<else>>A weathered [[photograph]] pokes out from beneath the first aid [[kit]]; a tiny [[bottle]] has rolled to a stop beside the plastic case.<<endif>> <<if visited ("Take it")>><<else>>A small wooden [[box]] with an etched lid.<<endif>> <<if visited ("sweatshirtnew")>>A notebook sits at the bottom of the pack.<<else>>A ragged [[sweatshirt|sweatshirtnew]] is wadded at the bottom of the pack, just under a [[notebook]].<<endif>> There's a stuffed [[bear]], ragged, only one eye, staring at you mournfully from where it's been tossed across the clearing.\n\nWhat will you take? Is it [[enough|take 2]]?

A large oak table ringed with chairs. They're clearly hand-carved, the work of a master craftsman. A white tablecloth is still draped across its surface. You can imagine a family thronging around the table, laughter rising high in the air, cheeks warm with wine and holiday cheer. Back when there were holidays.\n\nYou retreat back into the [[entryway|House]].

The boy's mouth gapes in a rictus. Where there should be teeth are only hundreds of tiny sucking mouths. He begins to keen, high and piercing. Your gorge [[rises]].

you haven't slept faces swim behind your eyes blooming in the darkness dissolving like ripples or is that petals \n\neverything shimmers slightly around the edges in the silverblue dawnlight\n\nyou blink. the world swims slightly back into focus.\n\nyou've been on the defensive. you haven't predicted its behavior well enough. you've been weak. you've been so weak. if you weren't so weak maybe you could have <<cyclinglink "helped her" "protected her" "saved her" end>>\n\n[[no|day 3 part 2]].

You need to keep busy, keep those images out of your head. \n\nThe day passes in a blur of activity.\n\nYou venture out to the shed, but the padlock is rusted shut. The coyote from the night before lies tattered at the bottom of the garden. You butcher it for some meat and leave the rest outside.<<if visited ("broken alarm system")>> You find an old radio tucked away in a corner of the master bedroom, bring it down to the living room.<<else>> You take apart the dying alarm system; manage to get it mostly working again.<<endif>><<if visited ("back door")>> After your visit to the shed, you take a plank of wood, reinforce the door where it's left deep grooves, pry a chitinous fragment from the wood. Maybe it's cosmetic, but it helps to feel like you have some control.<<endif>>\n\nYou've accomplished a great deal. So it feels like you've earned your evening's respite, curled on the sofa fiddling with the radio you found earlier, its soothing tone lulling you...\n\nYou startle awake. Something's [[wrong]].

Safe enough. Especially if you keep the pictures in. A pang of sadness for the family, but they're beyond pain now. Sometimes you wish you were as [[well|wait]].\n

"Stay //back//," you say, your heart thumping distressingly fast against your ribcage. The shuffle of footsteps down the porch steps, the creak of the gate. You temporarily deactivate the alarm; unbolt the door. The coyote's useful. A plate of raw, glistening meat marbled white and red. You know what it wants. \n\nYou put the plate down next to the balustrade and retreat to safety.\n\nThe slurping sounds you hear shortly are distressing. After a while, though, there's only silence. You can't recall the last time there was [[silence|encounter 2]].<<set $fedCreature to 1>>

The creature's relentless. It will hound you until one of you is dead, or a hollow shell. Head in your hands, you turn your options over, again and again.\n\nCan you give up [[so many memories|love]] that it gluts itself to ruin? What will you be when those are gone? Will you ever feel yourself again?\n\nWill you risk [[the lesser dose|rhetoric]], a calculated application of what you think you can live without? What is the arithmetic of a soul? (And if it doesn't work, have you lost those parts of you for nothing?)\n\nAre you weary of this heartless calculus, the taxonomy and weaponization of your most intimate moments? Would you rather be [[a martyr|blood]] and destroy it as it feeds on you? Is there a triumphant symmetry in that?

"I'm not going to open the window," you say. "I know what you are." Instantly, you feel foolish. They can mimic human speech to lure their prey, but you've never had any proof they //understand//. Certainly they don't understand "stop", "no", or "please". You [[look|result]] to gauge the reaction.

<<if $knowledgeLakshmi eq 1>>sample<<else if $knowledgeGirl eq 1>>sample<<else if $knowledgeMother eq 1>>sample<<endif>>

<<set $knowledgeLakshmi to 1>>Her dark eyes fill your dreams. Her deep voice stirs your blood as if she were whispering in your ear, her breath hot on your neck. \n\n"Let's go out to the lake," dream-Lakshmi says, perching on the edge of that horrible taupe machine-fab couch you never got rid of after university, as dream-you pretends to be engrossed in the newsfeed.\n\nYou wish you could reach out and [[kiss]] her once more instead of just [[watching|remember]] the memory unfold.

Not safe. Not safe enough. You spend the day prowling the halls with a knife. You return to to the coyote carcass, hack up the rest of it. You strew the entrails across the porch. That will warn it. You're just as dangerous. Just as desperate. Your dark eyes are bloodshot. They flicker and jump at every sound. You consider taking apart the radio to build a trap, but get distracted when you hear a skritching coming from underneath the floorboards. It's just a mouse. You wring its neck anyway.\n\nIt's not until the sun sets that you [[hear it|encounter 3]].

You crash through the undergrowth at full speed, wishing you hadn't skipped track practice so often in high school. You don't bother being quiet: why bother hiding, it's been tracking you relentlessly for days, it knows where you are. \n\nAnd then you hear it.\n\nAnother set of heavy footfalls. That wet sucking sound of--breath? You're not alone. You'll have to do //something// to [[distract]] it.\n

The Timer has been paused\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>\n<<pause_timer>>

A man emerges from behind a gnarled oak. Tall and slender, blond hair shaved at the sides and flopping down over his forehead in a style you remember used to be popular.\n\nBut it's too eager. In its haste, it's forgotten to do the eyes.\n\nThe sightless indentations in the smooth pale flesh swivel about, as if actually scanning about for you. It's a good illusion. The best you've seen. That's why this one is so dangerous.\n\n"I need you," the man-thing says. His teeth are red and streaked with gore. "I need you to help me."\n\nShaking hands loosen the knot of the sweatshirt, let it fall to the floor. You don't wait for its reaction. You just [[run|run3]].

<<display "Timer Addon">>\nThis is a sample Page for the Timer Addon.\nNote that in the Jonah Template, a function doesn't work multiple times, sadly.\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>

There are other possessions you'd rather [[fill|choose 2]] your pockets with.

An airy room with a squashy couch patterned in paisley, the sort that was always ugly and outdated even when new. There's a coffee table in front of it, scrapbooks and photo albums spread across the surface. The large storm-proof windows along the south wall are intact, though a sheen of dust has settled on them as it has on the rest of the room's contents. There is a huge fireplace against the western wall.\n\nNothing dangerous about this room that you can see. You turn back to the [[entryway|House]].

You're outside what must be a military base. They're mostly underground these days, but the military maintains a handful of surface strongholds; occasionally, they coordinate food drops and rescue missions. There's a humming in the air; the perimeter fence is charged with some kind of particle. You're not exactly sure how it works, but the creatures don't like getting too close.\n\nA handful of soldiers stand guard. There, her hair hacked into a haphazard bob, is Lakshmi, holding a machine gun, her back to you. Your breath catches.\n\nOf course she's here; of course she's safe. You were foolish to worry. The military would have protected her; they needed all the scientists who understood the meteorite, the subsequent invasion.\n\n//Lakshmi//.\n\nYour voice comes out as a whisper.\n\nShe turns to you, gun cradled in her hands.\n\nShe has [[no face]].

Easy enough to [[slip|choose 2]] them on your wrist, knot the orange band loosely.

The Timer has been started with 10 Seconds\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>\n<<start_timer 10>>\n

<<set $knowledgeMother to 1>>Your mother. God, but you loved her. Elegant and poised, she lit up every room she entered; she had music in her hands and on the tip of her tongue. She earned a living as a pianist, but she gave free lessons to the neighbohood children on the weekends who couldn't afford it otherwise. \n\nShe used to braid your hair when you were younger and insisted on wearing it long, almost to your waist. You'd sit on the bed and she'd brush out the day's snarls from your black waves before her skillful fingers forged a neat trail through your tresses.\n\nYou only realized when you were older how much it must have cost her to braid your hair, night after night, when her fingers ached from arpeggios and long ninths. You thanked her for it once, but only once, after the first dinner you'd cooked in your new quarters after the Department hired you. (You'd overcooked the chicken and the //mole// came out strange and lumpy, not at all like hers even though you'd followed her recipe, but she ate it anyways and said nothing.)\n\n...\n\nHer empty apartment. Her keys still there. The door open. If you'd come straight from work, before loading up the car--would you have been in [[time]]?

You run to the bathroom just off the bedroom, gagging and retching. (No windows here, thankfully.) You bend over the toilet, dry heaving until your sides hurt, but nothing comes up. It's been too long since you ate anything.\n\n<<if visited ("hurl")>>The slavering sound rings in your ears.<<else>>The wailing continues.<<endif>> You rest your hot cheek on the cool porcelain and weep.\n\n<<timedinsert 6s>>Eventually, it dies away.\n\nYou risk [[emerging]].<<endtimedinsert>>

The key to the rusty '17 Toyota that carried you out of the city. You drove it as long as you can, bartering your soldering skills or spare food you had for gas.\n\nIt broke down a few days ago outside New Taos. The mechanic there shook her head and looked at you sadly. You cried for hours. She held you as you did.\n\nWhen you left the enclave on foot, you took her old telephone number from before the apocalypse as a memento, scribbled on a scrap of paper and wrapped around the key. That car had saved your life; it felt like an old friend. You couldn't leave it//entirely// behind.\n\nThe key is small enough to fit in your [[pocket|choose 2]].

Cozier than most of what you've seen so far, the kitchen is papered with fading yellow wallpaper. The table is small but serviceable, the chairs around it upholstered in what once must have been a garish orange. There <<if $notes is 0>>are a few [[papers]] scattered across<<else if $notes is 1>>are several letters lying on<<endif>> its surface. Some of the cabinets have been ransacked, their contents spilled over the floor. The [[ones]] above the sink and stove are untouched, however. A [[refrigerator]] hums--actually hums--in the corner. You silently give thanks for the generator, wherever it is. \n\nA [[window]] over the sink looks out over the garden. That must be where the heavy panelled door leads. There's a small staircase in the southeast corner, leading [[downwards|basement]].\n\n<<if visited ("basement", "note")>><<playsound "" >>A sound [[shatters]] the quiet of the kitchen.<<endif>>

Your grandfather gave it to you for your seventh birthday. He worked with wood after he retired, carving birds that looked as though they could break from their fibrous limits and take flight. He must have spent hours carving the scene etched into the top: a wave breaking on the shore, the crash and spray of surf.\n\n[[Take it]].\n[[Leave it]].

You were always good with electronics. The alarm system that's been sporadically flashing is a rudimentary system, patched together from whatever parts were on hand. You're surprised it works at all, given how many redundant parts and extra wires are in the box.\n\nIt takes you the whole afternoon, but you manage to get the alarm functioning. It will still die soon. But for now, it [[serves|interlude]].

The doorknob rattles. Your heart seizes. Louder this time. Insistent, ineluctable. The world narrows to the sound and your breathing.\n\nIt looks human, in this light. But then again, so do you.\n\n"So hungry," the voice rasps. "If you can spare something - anything - I'll leave you alone after. You have my word."\n\nAre you going to [[relent]]? Or [[refuse]]?

You slip the photograph into a jacket pocket, close to your [[heart|choose 2]].

Cat Manning

You could tell it you [[know what it is]]. Or you could respond as if it really were a [[child]]. Or you could open the window and [[hurl]] the sacrifice out.

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You slip the box into an outer coat pocket, and [[turn back|choose 2]] to the clearing.

What is there that you can offer it? You've given it so much, have been bled dry.\n\nIt will have to be something cherished: the more precious, the better. \nYour [[ring|ringgiveup]]. The future you could have had with Lakshmi. How much you loved her. How much you love her still. \nThe [[locket|locketgiveup]]. You'll forget to worry if your mother's safe. You'll forget sometimes you ever had a mother.\nYour [[car key|carkeygiveup]]. The last bit of freedom you had. That ingenuitive spark that's kept you alive. Will you remember what you're capable of, the next time one of these decides it wants you?

You've been over everything you could have done a thousand times, a litany of your failures that you can recite by heart. You should have gone to her first, before anything else. You should have kept calling her even though the signal was choked with everyone else trying the same. You should have driven faster, run that red light, asked her neighbors, gone back to your quarters.\n\nTonight, you [[do]].

extra stuff:\n\nThe house doesn't //feel// particularly safe. Everything is coated in a thick layer of dust, as if it hasn't been inhabited in a very long time. You can't help thinking if it were at all useful, someone would have moved in a long time ago. \n\nWhen you have children, you'll understand." You had swallowed, said nothing.\n\nThat had been an uncomfortable topic between you two. She'd started asking you when Lakshmi was going to make an honest woman out of you, when she could expect grandchildren, and you'd tried to explain heteronormativity and ( ), and she'd nodded as if she understood and then you found four pamphlets about IVF in your purse when you got home.\n

Something that isn't yours. You've given up so much of yourself. Other memories will soothe it. You think you might as well try.\n\nThere's a [[pocket watch]] on the bureau in the bedroom, or you could take one of the [[picture frames]] from the hall.

"Invasion is a structure not an event."\n--Patrick Wolfe, //Settler Colonialism//\n\n[[start|new start]]

<<set $veladora to 1>>You'll have to carry it; you'll pick it up last. There might still be other possessions you [[want|choose 2]].

Your grandmother's, filigree silver and worn prongs holding the diamond. It's been in the family for generations. Your mother always said she'd give it to your husband when he proposed. Then she said she'd give it to your wife, when she proposed. It felt like a small victory.\n\nThe week before the invasion, you'd asked her if //you// could have it. The ring tumbled around in the pockets of your jeans, waiting for the right moment. You were going to ask Lakshmi. You never got the chance.\n\nYou [[slip|choose 2]] the ring on your left fourth finger. It might help you remember her.

<<set $notes to 1>>You pocket the scrap, and turn back to the [[papers]].

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<<set $uselocket to 1>> It will work. You know this instinctively, the same blind knowledge that's kept you safe since the world ended. But it's the last piece you have of [[home|use locket]].

You slip the veladora awkwardly into your last remaining side pocket. You leave what you can't carry, try not to think about the bear and book and so many other reminders of people you've loved and people you barely knew and people you couldn't help and just //[[run]]//\n\n<<stop_timer>>

You map the house, its weaknesses, its points of entry. Vulnerabilities.\n\nAs the sun sinks lower, you try not to think what will happen if you fail. Sarah's [[face]] floats at the edges of your consciousness.

<<silently>>\n<<set $TimerAddon = \nfunction()\n{\n\tvar div_timer_container = document.createElement('div');\n\tdiv_timer_container.setAttribute('id', 'timer');\n\n\tvar div_timer_canvas = document.createElement('canvas');\n\tdiv_timer_canvas.setAttribute('id', 'timer_canvas');\n\tdiv_timer_canvas.setAttribute('width', '150');\n\tdiv_timer_canvas.setAttribute('height', '150');\n\tdiv_timer_canvas.width = div_timer_canvas.width;\n\tdiv_timer_container.appendChild(div_timer_canvas);\n\t\n\tvar div_timer_text = document.createElement('span');\n\tdiv_timer_text.setAttribute('id', 'timer_text');\n\tdiv_timer_text.innerHTML = "It's coming.";\n\tdiv_timer_container.appendChild(div_timer_text);\n\n\tvar Timer_Active = false;\n var Timer_Paused = false;\n\tvar Timer_Mode = 'none';\n\tvar Timer_Param = "";\n\tvar Timer_Max = 0;\n\tvar Timer_Now = 0;\n \n\tvar div_jonah_floater = document.getElementById('floater');\n\tif(div_jonah_floater) \t\tdiv_jonah_floater.appendChild(div_timer_container);\n\n\tvar div_sugarcane_menu = document.getElementById('sidebar');\n\tif(div_sugarcane_menu) div_sugarcane_menu.appendChild(div_timer_container);\n\n\tfunction StartTimer(val)\n\t{\n\t\tTimer_Active = true;\n Timer_Paused = false;\n\t\tTimer_Max = val;\n\t\tTimer_Now = val;\n\t\tdiv_timer_text.style.display = 'block';\n\t\tdiv_timer_canvas.style.display = 'block';\n\t}\n\n\tfunction StopTimer()\n\t{\n\t\tTimer_Active = false;\n\t\tdiv_timer_text.style.display = 'none';\n\t\tdiv_timer_canvas.style.display = 'none';\n\t}\n\n\tfunction PauseTimer()\n\t{\n\t\tTimer_Paused = true;\n\t}\n\n\tfunction ResumeTimer()\n\t{\n\t\tTimer_Paused = false;\n\t}\n\n\tfunction SetTimerText(text)\n\t{\n\t\tdiv_timer_text.innerHTML = text;\n\t}\n\n\tfunction SetTimerMode(mode)\n\t{\n\t\tif(mode == 'display')\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tTimer_Mode = 'display';\n\t\t}\n\t\telse if(mode == 'restart')\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tTimer_Mode = 'restart';\n\t\t}\n\t\telse Timer_Mode = 'none';\n\t}\n\n\tfunction SetTimerParam(param)\n\t{\n\t\tTimer_Param = param;\n\t}\n\n\tfunction OnTimerEnd()\n\t{\n\t\tStopTimer();\n\t\tif(Timer_Mode == 'restart')\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tstate.restart();\n\t\t\tif(Timer_Param) alert(Timer_Param);\n\t\t\twindow.location.reload(true);\n\t\t\t\n\t\t} \n\t\telse if(Timer_Mode == 'display')\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tstate.display(Timer_Param[0]);\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tfunction OnTimerTick()\n\t{\n\t\tif(Timer_Active && !Timer_Paused)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tTimer_Now = Timer_Now - 0.1;\n\n\t\t\tif(Timer_Now <= 0) Timer_Now = 0;\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\tvar context = div_timer_canvas.getContext("2d");\n\t\t\tdiv_timer_canvas.width = div_timer_canvas.width;\n\n\t\t\tvar x = div_timer_canvas.width / 2;\n\t var y = div_timer_canvas.height / 2;\n\t var radius = 65;\n\t var startAngle = 1.5 * Math.PI;\n\t \n\t var endAngle = (1.5 + (2 / Timer_Max * Timer_Now)) * Math.PI;\n\t var counterClockwise = false;\n\n\t context.beginPath();\n\t context.arc(x, y, radius, startAngle, endAngle, counterClockwise);\n\t context.lineWidth = 15;\n if(div_jonah_floater) context.strokeStyle = "black";\n\t if(div_sugarcane_menu) context.strokeStyle = "#BBBBBB";\n\t context.stroke();\n\n\t\t\tcontext.font = 'bold 30px sans-serif';\n\t\t\tif(div_jonah_floater) context.fillStyle = "black";\n\t\t\tif(div_sugarcane_menu) context.fillStyle = "#BBBBBB";\n\t\t\tcontext.fillText(Timer_Now.toFixed(1), 55, 85);\n\n\t\t\tif(Timer_Now <= 0) OnTimerEnd();\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tsetInterval(function(){ OnTimerTick(); }, 100); \n\n\tmacros['start_timer'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tStartTimer(val);\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tmacros['stop_timer'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tStopTimer();\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tmacros['pause_timer'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tPauseTimer();\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tmacros['resume_timer'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tResumeTimer();\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tmacros['set_timer_text'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tSetTimerText(val);\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tmacros['set_timer_mode'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tSetTimerMode(val);\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n\tmacros['set_timer_param'] =\n\t{\n\t\thandler: function(obj, fnc, val)\n\t\t{\n\t\t\tSetTimerParam(val);\n\t\t}\n\t}\n\n}\n>>\n<<print $TimerAddon()>>\n<<endsilently>>

"Stay //back//," you say, your heart thumping distressingly fast against your ribcage. The shuffle of footsteps down the porch steps, the creak of the gate. You pick up one of the photo albums on the table; temporarily deactivate the alarm; unbolt the door.\n\nThe slurping sounds you hear shortly are distressing. After a while, though, there's only silence. You can't recall the last time there was [[silence|encounter 2]].<<set $fedCreature to 1>>

You set it down, retreat to the living room. It hunches over, unhinges itself around your offering. You can't bring yourself to watch it feed.\n\nEventually, there is <<print either("[[silence|success]]", "[[silence|failure]]")>>.

You're halfway up the stairs before you think better of it. The window's glass, yes, but it couldn't get in yesterday, and you're only fixating on it because you saw it there. It's probably better to start with one of the //real// problems. [[So]].

The Timer has been stopped\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>\n<<stop_timer>>

A bottle of sand from the beach in Southern California--you can't recall which one, anymore--where you and your college girlfriend (Leslie? Lucy?) spent your junior year spring break. She wanted a souvenier, so you got matching charms and hung them round your necks.\n\nIt's shattered in the fall, white grains spilling over the leaves. You won't be able to gather up the memories [[again|choose 2]].

A good gamble. It's polished to a sheen. Someone loved that watch. You'd wonder whose it was, what it meant, but you don't have the energy. You haven't slept in so [[long|wait]].

A tapping sound at the bedroom window again. But this time it's a dull thud, flesh against glass.\n\nThe girl's hands leave bloody streaks on the windowpane. Her eyes blaze with accusation.\n\n"You left me to //die//," she whispers. Despite the weatherproof glass, you can hear every word as if she were next to you. Dried blood is caked at the corners of her lips.\n\n//Sarah.// \n\nHer name was the first thing you'd asked, after //"where else are you injured?"// and //"I'm going to put pressure on your abdomen, and it's going to hurt--can you be brave for me?"//.\n\nShe's dead. And she's at your window. She's hungry; she wants what you have. Safety. Life. Not that it's much of one.\n\nDistantly, you think, //I should let her in//.\n\nYour hands move to the [[latch|no face]].

It isn't much--a ramshackle farmhouse that's been mostly undisturbed by the chaos you've somehow lived through. The cream paint is peeling from the boards and the windows are covered in dust. Still, it's shelter.\n\nA long porch wraps around the front of the house. The moon shines over fallow fields to the east of the building. A [[home|House]], of sorts.

Even when you do manage it, it's ragged and broken. <<if $knowledgeLakshmi eq 1>>Lakshmi's voicemail. "I'm sorry. I'm needed at work. Some sort of--well, they aren't sure. They've never seen it before." You didn't hear from her [[again|Lakshmi1]].<<else if $knowledgeGirl eq 1>>The wet rattle in the girl's throat as she drowned in her own blood. Her frantic eyes. The iron grip of her hand on yours, then [[slackening|Girl1]].<<else if $knowledgeMother eq 1>>The open door. Her keys abandoned. You let her down. You always let her [[down|Mother1]].<<endif>>

You crack the window open; in a flash, it's pressed up against the pane, glutinous palms staining the glass. You slip the <<if $noteweapon eq 1>>note<<else>>photo album<<endif>> out and bang the sash shut. It hisses, low and satisfied, and curls around the <<if $noteweapon eq 1>>note<<else>>photo album<<endif>>.\n\nA wet slurping sound. Your gorge [[rises]].

You burst into the kitchen just in time to see a ghost-white limb disappear behind the shed. The door gapes wildly. It's been <<replace "here">>inside<<becomes>>inside your space<<endreplace>>.\n\nWell, your space //now//. It was someone else's space first. \n\n(Is your presence in this space any difference than its? Is there time for philosophy when something out there wants to rip you to wet meat?) \n\nYour heart pounds. You feel <<cyclinglink "exhausted" "righteous" "heartsick" "old" "violated">>. You'll have to [[do|decision]] something.

You rummage in the cabinet, come up with a can of nutripaste. It's one of the easy-open kinds. The nutripaste has an unpleasantly smooth texture, but you manage to choke it down. It's good to focus on something that isn't <<if $knowledgeLakshmi eq 1>>your lover's dark eyes, and what might have happened to her<<else if $knowledgeGirl eq 1>>how you had to pry the girl's cold fingers from your own because you'd waited so long weeping over her<<else if $knowledgeMother eq 1>>whether she was waiting for you, if she'd gone to look for you, if you could have protected her the way she had done for you<<else>>how you're going to keep yourself safe<<endif>>.\n\nYour spoon hits the bottom of the tin. You hadn't realized you'd [[finished|day 1 part 1]].

Your university graduation, your mother's arms wrapped around you, her exultant smile. You're squinting in the sunlight, embarrasment and pride shining in your face.\n\nSomething in your mind stirs, a rusty engine turning over. Your mother. Yes. You wonder where she is. You hope she's safe.\n\n[[Pocket the photograph]].\n[[Leave it]].

You spend an afternoon hunting for a piece of metal to secure your improvised lock to the door, and painstakingly drilling the hinge to the jamb. It's done, finally: a gruesome twisted steel contraption that will likely rip the wood apart before it gives. \n\nDo you feel any [[safer|interlude]]?

<<set $usekey to 1>> It will work. You know this instinctively, the same blind knowledge that's kept you safe since the world ended. But it's the last symbol you have of [[your sparking mind|use locket]].

Do you want to work on the [[broken alarm system]] or the [[back door]]?

The door bangs closed behind you. You shrug out of your coat, let it fall to the floor. Mementos jangle and clatter against the hardwood of the entryway. The [[locket]] at your neck feels clammy on your skin.\n\nYou're bone-weary, but you've done it. You're safe.\n\nThe narrow hallway is panelled in fading wainscotting and peeling wallpaper. Portraits still hang on the walls, glass cracked, frames askew. An older couple; several children. A golden retriever lounging happily at their feet. You try not to think about what's happened to them.\n\nThe narrow [[stairway|hallway]] rises to the second floor. A [[door|living room]] to your left is slightly ajar; through it, you can see the living room. There is a [[door|kitchen]] ahead of you, and a [[door|dining room]] to your left as well.

Your pockets are full of weapons.\n\nEveryone knows they fixate on people's jewelry, clothing, photographs. Their memories.\n\nWhatever you offer it will buy you time. But it's //yours//.\n\nYou could drop the [[bracelets]]. Or you could loosen the [[sweatshirt|sweatshirtsacrifice]]. <<if $veladora eq 1>>And there's always the candle, unless you want to [[reconsider]].<<else>>Unless you want to [[reconsider]].<<endif>>

You wake.<<if $bag eq 1>>Your sleep wasn't restful, but you feel better than you have in a long while.<<else>><<endif>>\n\nYou have no idea how long you've slept. Your mouth is dry. Your stomach rumbles. You don't feel hungry, precisely; but you should [[eat]].

Written by Cat Manning as a Grand Guignol entry for Ectocomp 2015.\n\nCredits:\nMade in Twine 1.4.2\nCSS and macros by Leon Arnott.\nThe title image is [[Abandoned House|https://flic.kr/p/4dBt72]] by Flickr user [[DanielSTL|https://www.flickr.com/photos/danielsphotography/]] and is used under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license. \nBeta reading by Andrew\n\n(bonus points to the first person to catch the Hamilton reference)\n(n.b.: there are no bonus points)

Now that you've eaten, your gut is churning with fear, nutripaste sloshing around your insides. The [[back door]]. The [[upstairs window]]. The [[broken alarm system]]. So many ways it could get in. Which do you want to secure first?

It was a gift for your quinceanera; your mother fastened it as you held your long black tresses out of the way, and you haven't taken it off [[since|House]].

<<set $album to 1>>Years of vacations, reunions, weddings. Smiling faces frozen in time forever. If the creature consumes the album, you will forget all of these people existed. There will be no one left to remember them.\n\nBut it's what you have at hand.\n\nClutching the album, you ascend. Your footsteps [[creak|ascend]] on the old stairs, impossibly loud to your ears.

The Timer has been resumed.\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>\n<<resume_timer>>

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The Timer Mode has been set to "display"\nWhen the timer runs out, a custom Scene is displayed\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>\n<<set_timer_mode "display">>\n<<set_timer_param "Timer Ended">>

You've been lucky. You've been so lucky. Has Lakshmi been lucky? Has your mother? Sarah wasn't lucky.\n\n...have you been [[lucky]]?

you can't you can't you can't you can't you can't not another second not one more you can't its guttural rasp its screeching talons no you can't bear one second more of its presence and you'd scream if you weren't so exhausted and so you take a strangled breath and half crazed from <<cyclinglink "fear" "hate" "panic" "exhaustion" "relentless misery">> you turn and [[stumble up the stairs]]

Too painful to see how much you've lost. You stopped writing in it; you couldn't bear how it made you feel. But you carried it around anyway.\n\nYou can't take it. It's too heavy. It will weigh you [[down|choose 2]].

The next page is dotted with tear stains.\n\n//I was right.//\n\n[[Forward|page7]], or [[back|page5]].

The page, and all the pages after, are blank.\n\nYou could go [[back|page6]], or [[close]] the book.\n\n

//Lakshmi\n\nShe is -- was my girlfriend.\nShe was a scientist.\nHer eyes crinkled up when she laughed, which wasn't often.\nI liked making her laugh.//\n\nA blot on the page, as if you'd left your pen there as you struggled to remember.\n\n//She took too much sugar in her tea.\nThe way she touched my back//\n\nYou could flip [[forward|page5]], or [[back|page3]], or [[close]] the book.

//I read the list I made about Lakshmi yesterday; it was like reading a stranger's thoughts. I remembered how she smiled, how she liked her tea //as// I read my words, but until then I had no access to the memories. \n\nI miss her. Today I remember her perfume (Mitsuoko), and how I would bury my nose in her neck to smell it, and how for a moment our long black tresses would mingle and be indistinguishable from each other. Some days I would imagine braiding them together, as if that might bring us closer.\n\nI won't remember this tomorrow.//\n\nYou could go [[forward|page6]], or [[back|page4]].

//A list of people I want to remember\n\nMy mother\nLakshmi\nGraham\nChristine\nSarah\nSophia\nGraciela\nKatie\nMichaela\nMy idiot boss who was incompetent but brought me coffee\nwhen I was having a bad day\nthe friendly redheaded neighbor whose name I can't recall\nwe would watch soccer together when we had the time//\n\nThere aren't any more names. There should be more names. You know there were more people you wanted to remember. But even some of these stir only dull recognition.\n\n[[Forward|page3]], or [[back|page1]]. Or [[close]] the book.

//I'm having trouble remembering things. Not directions, or what the barter for a loaf of bread is this week, but people. What they looked like, what they sounded like. I'm not the only one who's having this problem.\n\nI traded a liter of water for this notebook. I figure if I can write down what I remember, that could help.//\n\nYou could go [[forward|page2]], or [[close]] the book.

You don't have much time. But surely a few [[pages|page4]]...

//My mother. I have her veladora. I'm glad it was in my car when I left the city. It's ironic; if I'd taken it inside like she wanted me to, I wouldn't have it now. Protecting me.\n\nI hope//\n\nYou could go [[forward|page4]], or go [[back|page2]], or [[close]] the book.

//Samantha,\nI hope to God you never read this, that you turned the truck around and drove away the second you noticed something wrong. There are four of those creatures now prowling the property. I'm going make a run to the shed for the shotgun, but they're not like anything I can even imagine--they just don't die when you shoot them. I don't know it'll work. I do know it's all I can do.\n\nThey broke a window in Mark's room. Took something, too. Damned if I can remember what, though. Isn't that strange? I don't understand what they want. They're toying with me, I think, like that old grey mouser we used to have.\n\nI hope you never read this. I'm writing this more for myself than for you, I guess. I don't expect I'll see you again, Sam. And I'd like to say I love you, however I//\n\nThe last several words are barely readable. You blink, conscious of having intruded on a man's last private moment, and look back at the [[papers]].

A scattered handful of yellowing pages. A letter from Marie; the children are doing well, growing up fast. They miss their grandparents.<<if visited ("Take the paper.")>>A [[note]], half finished, in increasingly frantic writing.<<else>>A handful of numbers written on a [[scrap]] creased down the middle. A [[note]], half finished, in increasingly frantic writing.<<endif>> \n\nThey're surprisingly undisturbed, given the mess on the [[kitchen]] floor.

<<set $usering to 1>> It will work. You know this instinctively, the same blind knowledge that's kept you safe since the world ended. But it's the last piece you have of [[a future snuffed out|use locket]].

But it's not just you, not only your raw bellowing agony, but an unfamiliar high keen of pain. It's dying\n\nand then everything goes [[dark|CREDITS]]

You're too methodical to start upstairs. You want to ensure the [[first floor|House]] is secure before going up.

Surely you don't need to give anything else up? Not when there's so much you've left in the clearing.\n\n...but you know what will happen if it catches you. You're too cautious to take that risk. The [[bracelets]], then, or the [[sweatshirt|sweatshirtsacrifice]].

Your grin is savage. You'll be gone too, soon. But you'll take it with you.\n\nAnd then it's on you, and the world collapses to a bright bloom of pain, and you hear screaming, and you realize it's [[you]]

A skinny boy, sixteen, maybe. Face hidden in shadows; moving slow, every movement carefully chosen. You strain to catch a glimpse of waxy flesh sagging from weakly-constructed scaffolding, or a missing feature with no corresponding scar to mark its absence, but you can't see anything. You need to be sure.\n\nYour own white teeth are a grinning memento mori in the [[dark]].

This is a custom scene displayed when the Timer has finished.

It takes you a moment to see the pale face pressed flush against the window, the pliable flesh flattened to one pulsing purple sucker that pulses rhythmically on the glass.\n\nYour heart seizes. The radio waves must have attracted it; you dimly recall hearing that warning long ago. You should have been more careful. You only wanted to reach out, to know <<replace "how other people are living">> that other people are living<<endreplace>>.\n\nYou should have known it would attract attention. You were always more careful. But <<if $knowledgeLakshmi eq 1>>the military broadcast let you drift, imagining Lakshmi in the background, running samples and tests and //living//, and the fantasy held you rapt.<<else if $knowledgeGirl eq 1>>hearing the coordinates of rescue missions split the usual static crackle of the radio lets you drift into daydreams of frightened children saved by a humvee spitting turret fire the way you never could.<<else if $knowledgeMother eq 1>>the broadcaster's voice sounds like your mother's when she sang opera, and you could close your eyes and imagine her on the other end, a Siren on shortwave.<<endif>> \n\nIt sees you're awake. With a satisfied slurp, it detatches from the pane, ambles towards the [[door|encounter ]].

A bulky spiral-bound book. The nights when you can, you've sat down with it, written everything you can possibly remember about the people you've lost.\n\n[[Open it]].

It keeps returning. You've tried ignoring it, reasoning with it, giving in to its demands. It never works. It's still hungry. Still waiting. Nothing you have done will ever be enough. The creature won't be satisfied until it rips you to red ribbons, until it can cradle your flayed bones to its carapace.\n\nIt wants your blood. Now you want its. Someone's going to get what they want tonight, finally.\n\n[[Wait|blood 1]] for it.

You watch as it lopes away. No human moves that sinuously. You wonder for a moment what you'd find if you could open it up, examine its entrails like an augur.\n\n(it marked you out that day, its programming swerving in that moment to recategorize you as 'resource'.)\n\n(the protocols for //inconvenience// are 'eradicate'. the protocols for //resource// are 'harvest'. your consent is of no consequence. you are surveyed, anatomized, categorized, mapped, according to an alien algorithm that does not account for your //identity//. the size of your heart is measured in dimensions of muscle, volume of blood.)\n\n(you do not know what it wants. but you do not consent. you do not consent. you do not--)\n\n[[try to sleep|night 2]].

The scrabble of claws on wood. Ragged breathing. "So hungry," it rasps. "So hungry."\n\nYour breath [[catches|encounter 3 resolution]] in your throat. <<if $fedCreature eq 1>>Not enough. You should have known.<<else>>You should have known refusing wouldn't work in the end.<<endif>>

A long scraping sound. Claws on wood. Coming from upstairs.\n\nNo. No no no. You'd [[thought]]--

You jolt awake, limbs stiff and creaking. How long have you been asleep? You don't feel rested. You've been running all night.\n\nSomething feels wrong. A prickle at the back of your neck. You glance at the alarm panel on the attic wall.\n\nThe light's gone dead.\n\nYou're gripping your mother's locket so tight it presses a deep groove into your palm. You inch [[downstairs]], not daring to make a sound.

Empty. You probably ought to have [[guessed|kitchen]].

"I can't spare anything." It's not even untrue. There is nothing it wants that you are prepared to give. You are not going to open the door for a monster. You don't trust it to cleave to its promise.\n\nIt makes a sound somewhere between a mournful sigh and a high wind howling through the woods, and you hear the clicking of its chitinous phalanges on the [[stairs|encounter 2]].

She cajoled you into renting a kayak, even though the lake was freezing and if you tipped over you'd both be shivering for the rest of the afternoon despite the sun. You never could resist her bright smile. That's how you found yourselves out on the lake, her paddle slicing through the water with brutal efficiency.\n\n"I'm glad to have a whole day to spend with you," she'd said, her face soft and fond. "I've missed you." The impulse to take her hand had been so strong you'd nearly dropped your paddle reaching out to run your fingers over her wrist.\n\n"Me too," you'd simply said, your throat too tight to speak another word.\n\nShe looked away at that, at the ripples from her paddle's relentless beat on the water. "Work's been frantic since the Russian meteorite crash." Guilt twisted the edges of her voice, mingled with excitement she could never entirely restrain. "No one knows what to do first with the samples: they're unlike anything we've seen before."\n\nYour lips had tightened involuntarily, and she'd grimaced. "I know it's all I talk about lately. But I'm lead on this project. You know how much this means to me."\n\nAnd you'd nodded and leaned across the boat and kissed her, because you understood, or you thought you did. And she melted into you and the force of your bodies rocked the boat and sent you both flying, unmoored, into the lake and the dark water [[below|morning 1]]--

It cocks its sightless head to the side, bares its teeth at you, lopes back to the forest.\n\nIt hasn't worked. It will be back. Again and again and again until one of you has been [[eviscerated|CREDITS]].

The [[note|note weapon]]: a man's last thought of his wife. The [[photo albums]] in the living room. Anything to keep the creature at bay.

How you find your way to the attic is a haze, but midnight finds you nestled in a corner, tucked away in a hidden alcove where you have a view of the grounds. You grip your knees and rest your head on them as the moonlight glints bright and cruel off the forest.\n\nAt some point you [[drift off]], still holding yourself like a frightened child.

The Timer Mode has been set to "restart"\nWhen the timer runs out, the whole game is restarted, and a custom text will be shown.\n\n<<display "Timer Control">>\n<<set_timer_mode "restart">>\n<<set_timer_param "You have lost">>

Thirteen, or maybe older: you were never good with ages, and the apocalypse has stunted growth spurts somewhat. You'd been driving down a dirt road when you saw it crouched over her, one long pincer raised to rend again.\n\nThis was back when you still had the pulse gun, back before it shorted out and you couldn't find replacement parts, let alone afford them if you had. So you eased off the gas and fired out the window, a sharp burst over its thorax, startling it into flight.\n\nThere was nothing you could do by the time you pulled over and dragged your first aid kit out of the car, of course, though that didn't stop you from trying. (You had to throw that shirt out after--the gore soaking it would have seeped into the car.)\n\nYou don't regret stopping to help her, or to hold her as she bled out on the side of the road, even if that is--as far as you can tell--when this one imprinted on you. You're surprised it waited while you cared for the girl, tied a tourniquet, and when that didn't work, told stories to her until her eyes closed and her chest stilled. \n\nYou don't know what you'd have done differently in that moment. That's the problem.\n\n//("My dad," she whispers in your dream, in your memories, in your head, over and over. "Tell my dad...")\n\n("We'll find him together," you murmured, smoothing sweat-drenched hair off her brow. "What does he look like?" You'd wanted to distract her, keep her attention sharp.)\n\n("He's...got brown hair...like mine..." Her eyes lost focus for a moment, and you almost prompted her before she went on.)\n\n("And a bit...of a belly." The ghost of a smile broke her mouth open, teeth slick and red.)\n\n(You found him half a mile down the road, afterwards, his back ripped open and his liver gone.)//\n\nWhat else could you have [[done|Evening day 1]]?

It doesn't matter what you thought. Possibilities narrow in an instant to that inexorable rasp.\n\nYou need a [[weapon]]. A distraction.

a haze of memory\n\n<<if $dream1 eq "Lakshmi">><<timedgoto "Lakshmi flashback" 2s>><<else if $dream1 eq "your mother">><<timedgoto "mother flashback"2s>><<else if $dream1 eq "your journey">><<timedgoto "journey flashback" 2s>><<endif>>

\n\n<<if visited ("broken alarm system")>>Curled on the overstuffed chintz couch in the living room, a real antique, you stretch out, try to relax. Out of the corner of your eye, the refurbished alarm system blinks a soothing red.<<else if visited ("back door")>>Curled up on one of those horrible orange chairs in the kitchen, you're trying to avoid looking at the letter that still lies on the kitchen table. You haven't had the heart to move it. The back door is bolted snugly behind you.<<endif>> A half-finished tin of gamey nutripaste sits open on the table next to you.\n\n<<if $knowledgeLakshmi eq 1>>Lakshmi's voice has been haunting you all day. "There's so much we don't know." She was so fixated on the meteorite, and couldn't have imagined what would come in search of it. //She didn't know the half of it//, you think bitterly, and regret your disloyalty [[instantly|creature encounter day 1]].<<else if $knowledgeGirl eq 1>>The girl's eyes have been haunting you all day. Whenever you close your own for the moment, you see her face, frightened and lonely and pained. You wish you could forget, and the sour tang of guilt rises at your throat. If you forget, who will [[remember|creature encounter day 1]] her?<<else if $knowledgeMother eq 1>>The symphony. Uncle Alan's house. You trace the litany of places your mother might have gone like a rosary. You don't want to consider she might have come to you, only to find you gone. You blink back [[tears|creature encounter day 1]].<<endif>>

You wake up gasping for air. Your face is wet with tears.\n\nYou don't [[sleep|morning 1]] much more.

There's a towheaded boy at the window, his palm pressed against it as if he wanted you to let him in. He can't be older than seven. His eyes are plaintive.\n\n"Please," he begs. "Please, please, please."\n\nYour gut [[churns]].

Several, actually, for light, but there's one in particular. A //veladora//, huge and unwieldy compared to the rest of your belongings. Your mother used to light them before she prayed. Even though she knew you didn't believe, she left this one for you. To watch over you, to look after you.\n\nYou'd have to [[carry]] it in your hand, but she gave it to you. The last bit of protection you have from her.

15, 7, 31.\n\n[[Take the paper.]]\n[[Leave the paper.|papers]]

So strong you cry out. You drop to your knees and the heavy pack on your back goes flying. A sickening rip.\n\noh christ your braid's being wrenched from your skull, it will be on you in a moment, razor claws and teeth rending your tender [[flesh]]\n\n