Displacer Beast

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<<set $ending_counter to 0>><<set $ending_overpet to false>><<set $ending_abel to false>><<set $ending_solipsism to false>><<set $ending_kipling to false>><<set $ending_recursion to false>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/9o73avwk732olk9/cover-c.png?raw=1"> [[(Wake.)|Prologue]]</center> WARNING: This game contains written descriptions of gore, animal death, emotional abuse, and fleshy abominations.

You unfurl your arm from the warmth of the bedding to touch the hair with your fingers. [[(But Alma left two years ago.)|Thoughts 2]]

Pinpricks of static. A cobweb of gray-black fur clings to your fingertips. [[(Oh.)|Adoption]]

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/ja74d2r4trgllhf/image0-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> 'We don't normally adopt out black cats during October,' the volunteer explains, as the cage lock comes undone with a rusted squeak. 'No shelters do. Too many weirdos want them for Satanic rituals and shit.' 'I thought that was just an urban legend,' you say. 'Have you ever actually had that happen?' The volunteer shrugs. 'Call it an abundance of caution. Anyway, we don't have a lot of people coming to take a look at [[Old Man Moses]], so we thought we'd make an exception.'

Old Man Moses is massive. 23 pounds, left ear clipped, a single impassive eye visible beneath the amorphous clouds of black fur. 'I heard that the vet gave him six months to live, but that was more than a year ago,' you say. The volunteer regards you carefully. 'You can give him a good home, keep him comfortable, but that's about it. He's [[living on borrowed time|Brother]].'

Your older brother is waiting outside when you return with the carrier, cradled like a baby's casket in your arms. He takes a look at Moses through the wire grate as you get into the car. 'The hell is that? I thought you were getting a pet.' You cast about mentally for a reason your brother would accept. '[[He looked lonely|Brother 2 b]],' maybe, or '[[he was cheaper than the kittens|Brother 2]].' <<if $ending_counter is 1>> (Some options in the game won't affect the endings, but will affect your relationship with Moses.)<<endif>>

Your brother shakes his head, already starting the ignition. No reason you give could ever actually meet his approval. You're a year apart and all he's ever felt for you is contact embarrassment. 'Next time you wanna throw your money away, have someone else drive you,' he says, like you've done all this to inconvenience him. 'Don't worry,' you say. '[[Moses is going to live forever|Home]].'

At home. You set the carrier down in a quiet corner and open the wire door. Nothing sticks its head out. You stoop to peer inside. In the far back of the carrier, a furtive mass of undifferentiated darkness suddenly ripples, and you see a flash of tarnished silver reflection, twin fish-scales of sickly underwater phosphorescence. Satisfied, you leave Moses to get adjusted and [[go update your Twitter followers|Twitter]].

Or rather, you try, but all the photos you took at the shelter are just slightly off. In some, Moses's head is out of focus. In others, the lighting is so bad that he appears as a dark smudge in a corner. They're not even good-awful. Just boring-awful. [[(Choose the one with the blurred face.)|Twitter cursed]] [[(Choose the one with the phantom second tail.)|Twitter nerd]]

<<set $trust to $trust + 1>>The internet man is not swayed by this argument. [[(Close phone.)|Twitter angry 3]]

'Actually,' your junior colleague tweets back, '<<if $nerdroute is true>>I think if you read the source material you'll find that Nick Fury himself isn't actually a superhero, he just runs this thing called the Avengers Initiative, which is sort of like<<else>>studies have shown that Potterheads are more literate than the average internet user. Your attempts to shame me for my interests only reveals that<<endif>> [1/??]' [[(Get into a whole thing with him.)|Twitter angry 2]] [[(Softblock and mute.)|Twitter passive 2]]

You go to your junior colleague's profile, note in passing that his bio contains a few more acronyms than it had previously, and hit the cog button. You block him. You unblock him. It does nothing, really, except you've forced him to unfollow you, which he doesn't even notice because he's still able to tweet at you like normal. [[(Shut off phone.)|Twitter angry 3]]

'And that's why,' the tweet man concludes, 21 minutes later, '<<if $nerdroute is true>>Fallout 76<<else>>Dragon Age 2<<endif>> is a perfect metaphor for the economics of the late Weimar Republic. [39/39]' [[(Shut off Twitter.)|Twitter angry 3]] [[(Block, mute, and report.)|Twitter passive 2]]

There. Unfortunately, with the guy muted, your notifications tab has become a barren wasteland of distracted likes and pornbot solicitations. You close Twitter. [[(Shut off phone.)|Twitter angry 3]]

By the time you've switched off your phone, the migraine is oozing through the tissues of your face like runny egg whites, seeping from the crease in your forehead down through your left sinuses. You sigh and press your arm over your eyes. You're useless to the world until this thing passes. Moses will just have to wait. [[(Nap.)|Realization]]

Thoughts unmooring, they leave ripples in the air around your breath, shuddering to gradual, crystalline stillness. [[(But.)|Realization 2]]

--you think, as you slip beneath the surface, as the atmospheres compound on your [[skull|Realization 3]]--

You could swear that you saw your new one-eyed cat blink back at you with [[two eyes|What is a cat]] in the dark.

<<set $horrorroute to true>>'Everyone meet OLD MAN MOSES!' you tweet with the photo. You don't have the energy to add emojis. 'Come on,' reads the first reply, 36 seconds later, from that one junior colleague who is always vaguely passive-aggressive at you on social media. 'Mad Eye Moody was right there and you didn't take it?' Who even does this? You could give the neutral response, that [[the shelter named him|Twitter honest]], or you could yell at the guy about [[reading literally any other book|Twitter angry]]. Or just [[softblock|Twitter passive]] him, you suppose.

<<set $nerdroute to true>>'Everyone meet OLD MAN MOSES!' you tweet with the photo. You don't have the energy to add emojis. 'Come on,' reads the first reply, 36 seconds later, from that one junior colleague who is always vaguely passive-aggressive at you on social media. 'Nick Furry was right there and you didn't take it?' Who even does this? You could push back and say [[the shelter named him|Twitter honest]], or you could just tear into the guy and his [[fucking superhero movies|Twitter angry]]. Or maybe just [[softblock|Twitter passive]] him.

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/0gt9vmdkrtt8g1u/image1-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> 8,000 years ago on a North African farmstead, a low-slunk shape stretch-ripples across the dry grass. The humans in this area, not knowing any better, keep weasels as mousers. In that black tar night etched away by the glow of a torch, that's probably what the farmhand thinks this new creature is -- just a stocky, large-skulled weasel with [[foxfire eyes|What is a cat 2]].

You drag yourself from unknowable molasses dreams, joints crackling like a thawing insect as you unbend from the chair. Outside, the last shard of sunlight is vanishing behind the rooftops. You hear a plastic rustle from the kitchen and a raspy, plaintative meow. Crepuscular. That's what cats are: most active at dawn and dusk. [[Magic hour|Food]].

To the cat, the human must look even stranger. Top-heavy, reared up on its hind feet, nearly hairless. Stretched beyond elasticity into a lumbering, pathetic, half-blind giant. The human must look like it needs [[all the help it can get|Waking]].

Moses's sense of smell has brought him as far as the cans of tinned wet food you left in a bag at the foot of the fridge. He watches you with a kingly swish of his tail as you peel open one of the tins and spoon some of its [[deboned contents|Food 2]] into a shallow saucer.

Moses sinks his whole squished face into his food as soon as you set it down in front of him. Well, it's good that he has an appetite. And the vet at the shelter was right: the old man will take any medication so long as there's enough gravy covering it. [[(Pet him.)|Pet that cat]] [[(Try to get a look at his face.)|Eye check]]

<<set $petting to $petting + 1>>You pet the cat. <<if $petting gte 3>>Moses's tail flicks back and forth in wider and wider arcs.<<endif>> [[(Pet.)|Pet that cat 2]] <<if ($petting gte 3) and ($petting lte 10)>>[[(Check his face.)|Eye check bad]]<<elseif $petting gt 10>>[[(Check his face.)|Early bad end]]<<else>>[[(Check his face.)|Eye check]]<<endif>>

You crouch down and, politely as you can manage, brush the tufts of fur out of Moses's face so you can get a better look. He gazes up at you with his single eye, flatworm tongue lapping ineffectually at the brown-pink globules of meat by-product smeared around his mouth. You feel your chest cave in on itself with a relief you can't define. 'Aw,' you tell Old Man Moses, 'what a [[messy eater|Leave kitchen]] you are.'

Moses flinches, tossing his head. You see a flash of his lopsided gaze, one pale-green circle around a dark well. In the same moment, you see his mouth open. [[(Yank hand away.)|Eye check saved]] [[(Let it happen.)|Eye check old man]]

Moses's teeth make a click as they close around a hand-shaped pocket of air. 'No,' you say. The elderly cat stares at you, blank and uninterested, any overstim response already completely forgotten. He laps at his messy chops with a wriggly tongue resembling chewing gum and goes back to the business of eating. [[...I'll leave you to it, then.|Leave kitchen]]

<<set $trust to $trust + 1>>You hold your hand still and allow Moses's elderly canines to dig into your flesh. There is the lightest of jabs, like being poked with a blunted pencil. Then Moses backs away with his teeth, gumming harmlessly at the fat of your palm instead. You wait until he's licked your hand to his satisfaction to [[leave him to the rest of his meal|Leave kitchen]].

While Moses absorbs the rest of his dinner through his beard, you go to set up scratching posts, a litter tray, a stepstool near the foot of the bed. You make your apartment into a home for two again, like it hasn't been since [[Alma|Alma biography]] left. 'Look at you.' Your inner voice always sounds like [[your older brother|Brother biography]]. 'Someone could almost mistake you for a functioning adult.'<<if ($ending_counter is 1) and ($ending_overpet is false)>> (This is where the game diverges into two routes. <<if ($ending_kipling is true) or ($ending_solipsism is true)>>You followed Alma's route last time, so why not try the [[brother route|Brother biography]]?<<else>>You followed the brother's route last time, so why not try [[Alma's route|Alma biography]]?<<endif>>)<<endif>>

<<set $ending_overpet to true>>Somehow, in the course of your petting, Moses has become less of a cat and more something... else. Beneath your fingers, his fur grows grainy, then crumbles into thick clouds of black mold. His legs -- if they're still legs -- have spread in countless directions over the kitchen tile, sinking into the cracks and the disintegrating foundation beneath. His jaw unhinges, yellow fangs fanning out in every direction from his ever-widening mouth. Rows and rows and rows of them, growing from soil-black gums like a foul harvest. [[Maybe you shouldn't have pet him so much.|Early bad end final]]

<<set $ending_counter to $ending_counter + 1>><<set $ending_overpet to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/gu83ez4gdjvgisn/image7.png?raw=1"> Displacer Beast - Bad End [[Rewind|Prologue]] | [[Credits]]</center>

<<set $petting to $petting + 1>>You pet the cat. <<if $petting gte 3>>Moses's tail flicks back and forth in wider and wider arcs.<<endif>> [[(Pet.)|Pet that cat]] <<if ($petting gte 3) and ($petting lte 10)>>[[(Check his face.)|Eye check bad]]<<elseif $petting gt 10>>[[(Check his face.)|Early bad end]]<<else>>[[(Check his face.)|Eye check]]<<endif>>

<<set $brotherroute to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/2wabv2ymmb68gb8/image4-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> You had been inseparable until school age. Nursed together. Mistaken for twins. Then you were suddenly among others, and any places where you and he diverged became a source of embarrassment. You started growing into the wrong shape. You started speaking with the [[wrong voice|Brother biography 2]].

<<set $datefriendroute to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/2wabv2ymmb68gb8/image4-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> It was all a lie anyway, the thing with Alma. A misunderstanding. You thought you were in a relationship and she... ...[[you don't know what she thought|Alma biography 2]].

'In gemology, twinning refers to the parallel growth of two or more crystals sharing lattice points,' says the professor atop the sculpture garden. 'Their existence is governed by the Twin Laws, which regulate propagation and harshly punish all instances of false twinning.' He beams a slide onto the tree canopy. 'False twinning is characterized by: -Unbalanced proportions -Discoloration -Divergent interests -[[Voice changes|Interlude 2 dream end]]'

'I think,' Alma tells you on a park bench, 'that all human relationships are about forcing our traumas on one another. Without warning, without even realizing that's what we're doing. We press these festering open wounds against each other's flesh, in the belief that somehow doing so will make us whole again.' You look up from where you are stitching your and her thighs together with <<if $nerdroute is true>>[[catgut|Interlude 2 dream end]]<<else>>[[a length of red string|Interlude 2 dream end]]<<endif>>. 'I'm sorry,' you say. 'I don't know how else to make it work.'

Moses takes naturally to his new home, understands how to navigate the ledges and stepstools intuitively. He has trouble cleaning himself, but he's very tolerant of being groomed. There are a few [[strange things|Escalation 2]], for lack of a better term.

His new friends had laughed, jabbed their fingers in your direction. <<print either("'Is that your sister?'", "'That's your sister, dude?'", "'Is that your brother?'", "'That's your brother, dude?'")>> You'd met his eyes, their watery ambivalence. Afraid to admit it but not strong enough to deny you right to your face, and so resentful of you for all of it. [[(We're adults now. It doesn't matter.)|Escalation]]

That's just the thing, isn't it? That's what your therapist said. What you know of a person is just an incomplete, reverse-engineered algorithm of them running on a virtual machine inside your head. 'Solipsistic nonsense,' Alma had said, right before she tried to get you to kill yourself. [[(It was two years ago. I'm over it.)|Alma biography 3]]

<<if $datefriendroute is true>>You thought you were braced for it, but the dreams are like splinters digging under your skin. Moses running away to join another family. Moses refusing to eat. Moses cringing from your touch. Alma is never there by name or by voice but you can feel her in the icy indifference behind Moses's spider-eyed gaze.<<else>>You knew to expect some of it, but nothing could prepare you for how raw the dreams felt, every night chasing after Moses as he bolts from an open door, out into the thresher of passing traffic. Sometimes your brother is there, wearing a thin-lipped smirk and holding Moses by his grimy, lifeless tail in a rain-soaked gutter. He's never a murderer in these nightmares, your brother. Just an opportunist.<<endif>> More than once you've surged awake in a panic, held down only by Moses's [[liquid weight|Distortions]] on your chest.

When it happens, you touch his fur. Static numbness bubbles against your skin as you stroke a hand down his side. Moses's purrs are too faint to be heard, though sometimes you think you can feel them, a weak [[vibration|Humming]] through your ribs.

There's a new hum now, and it doesn't sound like purring. It sounds like the absence of noise. The whine of a television set tuned to an auxillary channel. You would not think it was coming from your cat at all, except you feel it in your teeth whenever you stroke him with both hands. 'Oh well,' you think as you [[drift back under|Interlude]]. 'It's not really that weird, all things considered.'

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/21te6j6eq5g8269/image2-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> You dream of other heartbeats. Other rooms. A hundred thousand scents and movements and the faint chittering of creatures too small for weak simian senses to perceive. You stretch across infinities, your uncountable legs and whiskers [[crackling with static|Dead bird]].

You wake again. The weight is absent from your chest, and Moses is nowhere to be seen. You stir your lungs. A [[fetid raw meat smell|Dead bird 2]] crawls into your nostrils.

You look down at your chest. There are streaks of bright blood across your bedspread. A twisted mass of fragile bones, mangled feathers, [[rubbery purple entrails|Investigation]] laid out venerably on your stomach.

<<set $investigate_closet to false>><<set $investigate_bed to false>><<set $investigate_doors to false>><<set $investigate_counter to 0>>A gift. Except that Moses has no way of getting outside, and you doubt he could kill anything with those teeth of his anyway. You bundle up the bird and shove it, bedspread and all, to the very bottom of your kitchen trash can. Wash your hands up to the elbows and then brace yourself at the edge of the sink, nausea clutching at your throat. [[(Check the closet.)|Investigate closet]] [[(Check under the bed.)|Investigate bed]] [[(Check the doors.)|Investigate doors]]

<<set $investigate_closet to true>><<set $investigate_counter to $investigate_counter + 1>>The closet's inner dimensions are the same as what you remember, rows of clothes belonging to a person you no longer are<<if $datefriendroute is true>>, two of your ex's shirts still hanging uncollected at the end of a rack<<endif>>. You find Moses's preferred corner, the warren he's made atop your luggage with dust bunnies and a wool sweatshirt. But no Moses. <strike>(Check the closet.)</strike> <<if $investigate_bed is false>>[[(Check under the bed.)|Investigate bed]]<<else>><strike>(Check under the bed.)</strike><<endif>> <<if $investigate_doors is false>>[[(Check the doors.)|Investigate doors]]<<else>><strike>(Check the doors.)</strike><<endif>> <<if ($investigate_counter is 3)>>[[(Call for your cat.)|Call for Moses]]<<endif>>

<<set $investigate_bed to true>><<set $investigate_counter to $investigate_counter + 1>>You check under your bed. <<if $nerdroute is true>>But it's not that kind of story, so there's nothing there.<<else>>Dust and boxes, gray wefts of shed fur gathered into clouds of negative space. But no Moses.<<endif>> <<if $investigate_closet is false>>[[(Check the closet.)|Investigate closet]]<<else>><strike>(Check the closet.)</strike><<endif>> <strike>(Check under the bed.)</strike> <<if $investigate_doors is false>>[[(Check the doors.)|Investigate doors]]<<else>><strike>(Check the doors.)</strike><<endif>> <<if ($investigate_counter is 3)>>[[(Call for your cat.)|Call for Moses]]<<endif>>

<<set $investigate_doors to true>><<set $investigate_counter to $investigate_counter + 1>>You check all the doors leading from the apartment. There are only two, and both are shut fast. Same with the windows, the bathroom vent, the plastered-over hole where the unit's heater used to be. Unless Moses has learned to somehow reset locks behind him, there is no way he could have gotten outside. <<if $investigate_closet is false>>[[(Check the closet.)|Investigate closet]]<<else>><strike>(Check the closet.)</strike><<endif>> <<if $investigate_bed is false>>[[(Check under the bed.)|Investigate bed]]<<else>><strike>(Check under the bed.)</strike><<endif>> <strike>(Check the doors.)</strike> <<if ($investigate_counter is 3)>>[[(Call for your cat.)|Call for Moses]]<<endif>>

'Moses!' you entreat the cramped, cluttered apartment, the cold blank walls, the empty litter box. 'Come on out, old timer!' There is nothing. [[Then --|Call for Moses 2]]

'Please,' you say as the call connects. 'I wouldn't call you if it wasn't important.' <<if $brotherroute is true>>Your brother sounds bored. 'I told you this would happen.' 'You said my cat had three feet in the grave, not that it <<if $horrorroute is true>>would haunt me<<else>>could phase through solid matter<<endif>>.' You try to think what might convince him to at least humor you. [[Bribery|Brother bribery]], maybe, or an invitation to [[mock you|Brother mockery]] as much as he wants.<<else>>You've kept your distance for more than two years. No texts, no Facebook likes, not a casual word exchanged at a party. Even now, your stomach twists just trying to speak to her. 'I don't know,' says Alma, voice made from surgical steel. 'You say nothing for ages and all of a sudden -- this.' '[[I have your shirts|Alma shirts]],' you try, grasping at anything. 'Please. You're the only one I know who [[knows about this stuff|Alma knowledge]].'<<endif>>

'How much are we talking?' your brother asks. Money has always been his first and truest love. He's more than [[two hours late|Investigate brother]] and he charges you for gas.

'Oh, I'm gonna do that anyway,' he assures you. 'Fine. I'll come over, but you're covering gas. And wear-and-tear on the car.' 'What wear-and-tear? You only live eight miles away.' 'You left my back seat smelling like [[dead cat|Investigate brother]],' he explains.

You hear a far-off sigh. 'Fine,' she says. 'But only because of the shirts.' She names a time to come over and then misses it by [[more than an hour|Investigate alma]], saying you must have misheard her.

You're not even sure what this is, and that's exactly why you need Alma. She'd know if this is <<if $horrorroute is true>>a haunting<<else>>someone's idea of a prank<<endif>> or just a byproduct of your own mental distortions. Whether she'd [[care|Investigate alma]] is another matter. But at least she's fond of cats.

<center>CREDITS</center>Designed and written by <a href="https://twitter.com/krisligman">Kris Ligman</a> in Twine 2. Cats by <a href="https://thehauntedboy.wixsite.com/portfolio">America Jones</a>. Additional art by Kris Ligman. Passage from The Soft Machine by William S. Burroughs, 1971. Paraphrase from "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot, 1925. This game takes inspiration from Colin Spacetwinks's <a href="https://spacetwinks.itch.io/can-you-come-in">Can You Come In?</a> and my cat Jason, the real displacer beast. <center>SPECIAL THANKS</center>Cynthia S., Richard Lemarchand, and all my supporters on Patreon: Unni, Darshana Jayemanne, Ted DiNola, Raymond Neilson, Line Hollis, Laura Michet, Dillon Skiffington, Cristian Alvarado, Charles MacMullen, Rowan Kaiser, Rachel Bauer, Bryant Francis, Jake Rodkin, Brock Wilbur, espio, Travis, Joel, Rob & Jenny Haines, Edward Burnell, Colin Spacetwinks, James O'Connor, Emma Bowers, Arkaan Semere, Catherine Marie Day, Jonathan, Andrew and Kate Barton, David Gian-Cursio, Eric Swain, Harry Mackin, Cassie Jones, Lee, Steven Toyoshima, Alex <center>[[Rewind|Prologue]]</center>

This page shows which of the game's endings you have unlocked. There are five in total. <ul><li>Recursion <<if $ending_recursion is true>>- Get trapped in a cognitive loop ✔<<endif>></li><li>Abel and Cain <<if $ending_abel is true>>- Commit a grave sin ✔<<endif>></li><li>Solipsistic Bitch <<if $ending_solipsism is true>>- Get over your ex ✔<<endif>></li><li>Rudyard Kipling <<if $ending_kipling is true>>- Become one with the cosmos ✔<<endif>></li><li>Not Good with Animals <<if $ending_overpet is true>>- Ignore your cat's boundaries ✔<<endif>></li></ul> [[Back|Prologue]]

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/rgnpfnljyb2h8yk/image5-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> When he arrives, you brother does a cursory sweep of the apartment. 'How are you still living in this dump?' he asks. 'This is like a student apartment.' It is your student apartment. You just never found a job that paid enough for you to [[get out|Investigate brother 2]].

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/rgnpfnljyb2h8yk/image5-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> When she finally appears in your doorway, she looks thinner than you remember, hands jammed inside the pockets of a wool coat meant for somewhere with weather. 'I want [[my stuff|Investigate alma 2]] first,' she says, before she's even over the threshold.

'Probably left a door open,' your brother says. 'I didn't,' you say. 'Or a window.' He pushes at a torn flap of screen above your kitchen sink. It's not much, but a cat could conceivably wiggle between the screen and the bars and make it out over the back walkway. If that cat weren't a senior citizen with arthritis. 'Not the window,' you say. 'Could he have gotten [[into the walls|Investigate brother 3]] somehow?'

Your brother's eyes shine, crooked teeth grinning. 'You have a college degree,' he says, 'and you're asking me how a full-grown cat might've gotten into your walls. Like a mouse.' 'It's an old building,' you argue. 'And [[don't you hear that sound?|Investigate brother 4]]'

It's been intermittent since this morning. That tortured, high-pitched wail, coming from behind one wall and then another. 'So one of your neighbors has a baby,' your brother says. 'Student neighborhood,' you remind him, bitter taste on the roof of your mouth. 'It's Moses, I'm sure of it. You know they <<if $nerdroute is true>>[[mimic babies|Investigate brother 5 dnd]]<<else>>[[mimic babies|Investigate brother 5 baby]]<<endif>> so we'll take care of them.' 'Well, don't sound so proud about it.'

Your brother wouldn't dare lower himself to playing something as frivolous as games now that he's an adult, but you both remember that time when you were six and five respectively, sitting rapt in front of the cathode ray television as your brother opened up a treasure chest that sprouted tentacles and teeth. Mentioning it won't [[do you any favors|Investigate brother 6]] though.

'It's where we get the stories about changelings,' you almost say. Fairy tales about white cats turning into princesses. Women finding their infants replaced with a squalling, hairy beast. But you [[can't mention|Investigate brother 6]] any of that to your brother.

Your brother checks behind a door leading between the living area and your tiny kitchen. He does a double-take. 'Is this a spare closet or something?' You don't have a spare closet. But when you join your brother in the kitchen hallway, you see there's [[another door set into the wall|Investigate brother 7]], maybe five feet high and carved from dark wood.

You're fairly certain it was not there yesterday, or even this morning. For one thing, this is an outer wall -- any door set into it would just lead out onto your neighbor's porch. Either your brother is unaware of this or he's goaded on by your hesitation. He tries the knob and it turns easily under his hand, the door giving way [[into --|Investigate brother 8]]

-- it's not a closet, or a porch. You're not sure whether it even has walls or a floor. The light from the hallway terminates just a few inches past the threshold, absorbed into undulating black flesh which twists and pitches every time you try to look at it. And somewhere in there, you hear your cat [[bawling|Investigate brother 9]].

Your brother kneels down for a closer look, but he's distracted by the dirt on the tile. 'Ugh. Don't you clean around here?' <<if $nerdroute is true>>'Do you... do you not see the Narnia shit that's happening in my wall right now?'<<else>>'Is that really what you're worried about right now?'<<endif>> you ask. Your brother rolls his shoulders in a drawn-out shrug. Kneeling at the very edge of the doorway, he leans against the jamb and sticks his arm into the writhing black. [[(Let him.)|Investigate brother bite]] [[(Try to stop him.)|Investigate brother try to stop]]

Your brother shouts. His mouth contorts, shoulder twisting, shadows lapping at his skin as he snarls through the pain to get a good grip on whatever he's landed his hand on. Moments later, he draws out a furious bundle of dark fur with its claws hooked into the [[flesh of his forearm|Investigate brother 10]].

'Don't--' You grab his shoulder when it becomes apparent he isn't listening. He throws it off easily. 'Quit being a baby,' he says, real contempt crossing his expression for a moment. He leans his whole body against the door jamb, rummaging around sight-unseen in the velvet black. 'You wanted me to fix this for you? [[I'm fixing it --|Investigate brother bite]]'

He pushes Moses into your arms and rises to go wash the blood off. 'Your plague rat better not have rabies,' your brother calls from the kitchen, as the water hisses and your very normal, one-eyed, elderly cat shivers against your chest, not a hint of the hellion you heard earlier. Beside you, the door is gone. Only white wall and a window looking out on your neighbor's porch [[remains|Interlude 2]].

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/h30673b9kw08915/image6-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> <<if $brotherroute is true>>Your brother<<else>>Alma<<endif>> doesn't linger after that. As far as <<if $brotherroute is true>>he<<else>>she<<endif>>'s concerned, you've done nothing but waste <<if $brotherroute is true>>his<<else>>her<<endif>> time<<if $brotherroute is true>> and left him covered in scratches<<else>>. She always knew you were delusional<<endif>>. After <<if $brotherroute is true>>he<<else>>she<<endif>> leaves, Moses paws at your face with cotton swab toes. You [[sigh|Interlude 2 b]].

You have her shirts in a bag for her. 'You know,' you start, 'I went through a friend about getting these back to you two years ago--' 'I don't remember,' Alma breezes. And maybe she really doesn't. Maybe you just dreamed up that mutual acquaintance. Who knows. She plucks the bag from you and sets it aside by the doorway, like overnight luggage she can grab and run if need be. 'Thanks.' You take her [[through the apartment|Investigate alma 3]].

She presses her ear to the plaster, trying to <<if $horrorroute is true>>suss out the energies<<else>>pinpoint the source of noise<<endif>> coming from within. 'You sure it's not just a neighbor's kid?' she asks finally, though you know she knows better. What few families used to live in this area were driven out long ago to split up the units into college student cubicles. <<if $horrorroute is true>>'There's something in there, but I can't place it. Don't think it's malevolent, just scared. You got any candles?' 'You want to do a [[seance|Investigate alma seance]] to get my cat out of the wall?' Alma shrugs. 'You wanted my help.'<<else>>'Any loose baseboards? Cats can squeeze into anything they can fit their head through.' 'Not Moses,' you say. 'His body is eighty percent arthritis.' Alma shrugs off this information. 'Maybe he got in and [[can't get back out|Investigate alma baseboards]]. Do you want my help or not?'<<endif>>

You dig through your dresser until you find a handful of candle stumps with some wick left on them. Alma has already cleared the surface of your kitchen table and laid Moses's arthitis pills in the center, as a 'focus' for his spirit. 'Hey,' she says, spotting the wad of red wax you place in one of the four cardinal directions. 'I [[wondered|Investigate alma seance 2]] where that one went.'

You do another sweep of the apartment, pushing furniture around, until finally Alma finds what you're looking for: a wedge-shaped hole in the baseboards, directly behind your bed. It wasn't there before. You're sure that it wasn't, but you're afraid what [[Alma might say|Investigate alma baseboards 2]] if you mention it.

Back when you did these in college, Alma's seances had been fun. A playful prelude, generally to something handsier. She never asked you to believe in anything, not gods, not ghosts, just the warmth of her hands. Alma's hands are freezing now, so cold that they burn. Your fingers, stiff and shivering, threaten to tear themselves out of her grasp the entire time she [[speaks|Investigate alma seance 3]].

The words change every time, but the deep resonance in her voice is always the same. When you were together, you could imagine it seeping into you like eyedrops of sunlight, until your head was heavy and your eyes didn't exist. Now it feels like a weight bearing down on your skull, pushing you beneath the surface of [[roiling black water|Investigate alma seance 4]].

'Well?' Alma prompts, apparently finished with the introductions. 'Call him.' You draw a breath, pushing your nerves and skepticism down into a tiny captive bubble at the bottom of your lungs. 'Here, Moses.' This is stupid this is so stu 'C'mere, Moses. Come on. [[Follow my voice|Investigate alma seance 5]].'

You wait, shifting on your feet. Alma still won't let go of your hands, you're certain she'll leave blisters in the shape of her fingerprints all over your skin-- the cries are between your [[ears|Investigate alma seance 6]] now

you feel Moses's throat inside your own, his rough tongue scouring the roof of your mouth and then he is outside, he is through, and the cries are not strangled desperation but [[ordinary grumpiness|Investigate alma seance 7]]--

You snap your eyes open. Sitting on the kitchen table, looking roughly as confused as you feel, is [[Moses|Investigate alma seance 8]].

You pick at the crumbling baseboard and try to imagine Moses fitting his head through a gap like that. Even a mouse would have a tough time of it, and you're (fairly) certain you don't have those in this building. Cockroaches, crickets, and brown recluses, sure -- not mice. 'I really don't think this is it,' you say. 'I'm pretty sure I'd notice any cat-sized holes in my walls.' 'Cats can squeeze into almost anything,' Alma insists. 'You have any [[treats|Investigate alma baseboards 3]] we can lay out?'

You lay out scraps of cold cuts while Alma scratches at the wall, her nails producing the chittering noise of countless small legs. It sends an unwelcome chill up your back. The sound of your cat's bawling continues to bounce around the room, first overhead, then right next to your ear, and then away again, like a trapped-- --[[bird|Investigate alma baseboards 4]].

You remember the bird on your bedspread. What if Moses didn't need a hole to get through a wall? What if the senile old cat had just ambled his way straight through one, and then gotten stuck coming back? You pick yourself up, leaving Alma to the hole in the baseboards while you follow the cries through your apartment. There's still no pattern to the movements that you can detect, but what if there's no way to detect it? On [[this level of reality|Investigate alma tesseract checkin]], at least.

A tesseract is another name for a four-dimensional cube. It isn't blue, and it doesn't look like a cube. Actually it's not easily visualized at all except by way of analogy. That analogy usually goes [[thusly--|Tesseract explainer 2]]

Eyes closed, you extend your hands palms-out, feeling the wall part like a current as you slip your arms inside. Ammonia fills your nose. Your fingers pass through moldering wood beams and ancient wiring with all the resistance of gelatin. You close on warm fur, the pronounced ridges of a a spine, the cool velvet skin of triangular ears. 'Got you,' you tell Moses softly, as -- eyes still tightly shut -- you start [[pulling him out of the wall|Investigate alma baseboards 5b]].

Before I continue, would you like a primer on [[tesseracts|Tesseract explainer b]]? >[[Yes.|Tesseract explainer]] >[[No.|Investigate alma baseboards 5]]

You clicked the word, so you probably require a definition. A tesseract is another name for a four-dimensional cube. It's not easily visualized except by way of analogy. And that analogy usually goes [[thusly--|Tesseract explainer 2]]

Once when you were children, you burped and said 'Excuse me.' Your brother, distracted by the TV, only heard the second part. He thought you wanted him not to sit so close, so he scooted over politely. That's the last time you can remember him acting without self-regard. By college he was demanding payment to drive you to the emergency room. You want to believe that somewhere inside your brother [[sleeps|Interlude 2 sleep]] the ghost of the kind boy he used to be, but you know you'll never see it.

It had only hurt a little, the first time you broke up. Because you were still friends, the best of friends. Linked minds, cowriters, soulmates. This break was only temporary. It hadn't even hurt much when she started hanging out with someone else, except that she lied about it. She would make out with someone in front of you at a party and then the next day tell you that you were drunk and seeing things. Losing it. [[Turning into a crazy ex|Interlude 2 alma 2]].

You drift off again. You don't mean to, but Moses is heavy and warm on your chest and his soundless purring seeps into your bones<<if $datefriendroute is true>> and all the places that have never fully healed<<endif>>. He stretches out, spreads his interminable flocculent limbs over your entire body, embracing you with [[reassuring totality|Interlude 2 dream]].

--cross the wounded galaxies we intersect, poison of dead sun in your brain slowly <<if $brotherroute is true>>[[fading--|Twinning]]<<else>>[[fading--|Alma codependency]]<<endif>>

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/dnno886hbyfn10a/pawprint.png?raw=1"></center> Your nose and throat are dry with soot. Above you, the ceiling is black. No light shines from outside. You fumble for your phone on the nightstand, but you feel nothing but your cat's warm fur, his bent legs, the ridges of his spine. You reach for the [[lamp--|infested with cat]]

Wefts and mats of light-sucking black hair cover every available surface under the sallow incandescent glow. It trails down onto the tile, into the grout and baseboards. Crescent moon [[claws|Infestation claws]] retract and extrude over rippling flanks of [[loose skin|Infestation skin]], dozens of [[notched ears|Infestation ears]] fluttering at the slightest touch of air.

Your brother sighs. 'Will you stop bothering me with this dumb shit?' he asks. '<<if $nerdroute is true>>I'm turning into a Brundlecat<<else>>My legs are dissolving<<endif>> and you're treating this like I'm coming to you with a papercut,' you cry, molten anger spreading through capillaries and intestines. 'You're overreacting. Look, I'm [[too busy|Infestation brother hangup]] for this bullshit. I got a movie to get to.'

Alma makes a noise of disgust. 'I'm not falling for this again,' she warns you. 'You need help, and I'm not the one who's able to give it.' 'I'm not making this up!' 'I don't know all of what's happening, but I know it isn't my job to clean up after your [[breakdowns|Infestation alma breakdowns]].'

You force yourself to remember differently The hot anvil sun on your neck. Your brother (playmate twin other half) lips red with strawberry popsicle, waiting on the path for you to catch up, patient lake-colored eyes. You remember the shudder in the wild grass next to him, the appearance of the long black limbs, vaguely simian you thought, each digit twisting into a [[cruel white sickle|Recursion route 2]]--

You sink onto the former floor of your apartment. If you rest your ear against the tile, you can hear the soft roar of your cat's breathing, feel the soft rise and fall of his stomach. Bit by bit your old memories dissolve, boiled away on the surface of black depthless waters as new ones surface to take their place. Your brother's smiling cherubic face in the photo at his memorial service. The closed casket. Your parents' arguments -- same as they ever were, just louder, [[coming to a head much sooner|Abel and Cain route 2]].

<<set $nerdroute to false>><<set $horrorroute to false>><<set $brotherroute to false>><<set $datefriendroute to false>><<set $petting to 0>><<set $trust to 0>><<set $investigate_closet to false>><<set $investigate_bed to false>><<set $investigate_doors to false>><<set $infestation_claws to false>><<set $infestation_skin to false>><<set $infestation_ears to false>><<set $mercy to false>><<set $investigate_counter to 0>><<set $infestation_counter to 0>><<set $tesseractexplain to false>><<set $solipsism_hostile to false>>You break the surface of sleep and roll your head onto its side, shapes glimpsed through a syrup haze. Long black hair, gently tangled, spreads over the pillow beside you. [[(But Alma left two weeks ago.)|Thoughts]] <<if $ending_counter gt 0>> [[(Check completion progress.)|Endings checklist]]<<endif>>

You let what is going to happen, happen. Even from within the softly-undulating walls of your apartment, you can sense it. Moses is spreading everywhere now -- not just your home, not just you, but everything you care about, [[Alma included|Kipling listened]].

You don't know what Moses is trying to do<<if $trust gte 2>>, but you can guess why he's doing it. 'I wish I understood her,' you told the dark, and the dark [[listened|Solipsism god]]<<else>>. Maybe he's just lashing out at pain he's perceiving as his own. But you do know you're the only one who can [[stop it|Solipsism apartment]] now<<endif>>.

<<set $ending_counter to $ending_counter + 1>><<set $ending_recursion to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/yt6pg45vrj22zrn/image_bed-recursion.png?raw=1"> You are hollow... Shape without form, shade without color, paralyzed force, gesture without motion. Displacer Beast - End [[Rewind|Prologue]] | [[Credits]]</center>

<<set $ending_counter to $ending_counter + 1>><<set $ending_abel to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/n5jgil2rlykhr82/image_stars_red.png?raw=1"> And God said unto Abel, Where is thy brother Cain? Displacer Beast - End [[Rewind|Prologue]] | [[Credits]]</center>

<<set $ending_counter to $ending_counter + 1>><<set $ending_solipsism to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/fxo6j73xryt7q06/image_bed.png?raw=1"> How peaceful, to simply exist as oneself. Displacer Beast - End [[Rewind|Prologue]] | [[Credits]]</center>

<<set $ending_counter to $ending_counter + 1>><<set $ending_kipling to true>><center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/sbp766plj5zwrjk/image_stars.png?raw=1"> You are the Cat that walks by itself, and all places are alike to you. Displacer Beast - End [[Rewind|Prologue]] | [[Credits]]</center>

Imagine you hold a three-dimensional cube above a sheet of paper, and shine a light down on it, so that the cube casts a shadow. The shadow is two-dimensional; if you had no concept of a third dimension and saw the shadow, you would only perceive it as a possibly weird-looking dark oblong. Say there is a small bug walking around the surface of the cube. It is large enough to cast a shadow, but only visible when it is walking along certain planes of the cube. Otherwise it can seem to vanish from one side and reappear at another, with no evidence (in two-dimensional space, anyway) of [[how it moved|Tesseract explainer 3]].

<<set $tesseractexplain to true>>Now say that the bug is walking along a four-dimensional cube. To a three-dimensional perspective (your room, or the surface of a planet), it doesn't appear to move in a straight line. It is walking along axes we can't perceive, intersecting with our physical world in different points of time and space. Of course, four dimensions isn't really all that many, as tesseracts go. [[Black cats|Investigate alma baseboards 5]] operate on way more than that.

'...He was in the wall,' you add, with rising urgency. Alma's face is shutting down in stages, turning into a hardened mask of itself. 'You saw me pull him out.' Out of what appeared to be solid drywall. Alma doesn't blink. '[[I don't know what you're talking about|Investigate alma baseboards 7]].'

'But you saw it,' you say. Alma shakes her head in sad, world-weary disappointment. You know that look. It's her 'wellness check' look, the veneer of concern over smug self-satisfaction. 'I can't do this anymore,' she says. 'I came over because you said you needed my help, not because I wanted to [[play therapist|Investigate alma baseboards 8]] again.'

Your mouth opens, but the rest of your body, the body that remembers the hospital, the five days with a barcode, stops the words from coming out. Instead, you find yourself saying, 'You're right. I must've imagined it.' 'It's good for you to admit it,' Alma says, with something that could be [[mistaken for kindness|Interlude 2]].

You curl up with Moses in bed, petting plaster dust and cobwebs from his fur. He settles on your chest just as he had this morning, before everything got strange. 'Don't freak me out like that, okay?' you say. 'I don't want to <<if$brotherroute is true>>[[ask someone for help|Interlude 2 brother]]<<else>>[[ask someone for help|Interlude 2 alma]]<<endif>> again.'

Later, when you were out of the hospital, she admitted that yes, she had done it all on purpose. The lying, the winding you up. That had hurt. You'd felt it in your chest, the groan and pop of your heart as it snapped in half like a chunk of ice. 'I used to think we fit together perfectly,' you say to Moses, running slow fingers through his fur. 'Now it's like [[I never understood her at all|Interlude 2 sleep]].'

<<set $trust to $trust + 1>>Your brother shakes his head, already starting the ignition. No reason you give could ever actually meet his approval. You're a year apart and all he's ever felt for you is contact embarrassment. 'Next time you wanna throw your money away, have someone else drive you,' he says, like you've done all this to inconvenience him. 'Don't worry,' you say. '[[Moses is going to live forever|Home]].'

<<set $infestation_claws to true>><<set $infestation_counter to $infestation_counter + 1>>You push at the many-toed paws kneading into the flesh of your stomach and taste ancient grasslands, scent the furtive fear of rodents twitching in the <<if $infestation_ears is false>>[[bright dark|Infestation ears]]<<else>>bright dark<<endif>>. You feel the paralysis lance through your joints when the torchlight catches you, and flatten under the farmhand's shouts. '<<if $infestation_counter is 3>><<set $mercy to true>>[[Call out|Event Horizon]]<<else>>Run away<<endif>>,' you think, <<if $infestation_counter is 3>>millennia of instincts not yet evolved crowding to the front of your awareness, <<endif>>a crackling <<if ($infestation_skin is false)>>[[electrical impulse|Infestation skin]]<<else>>electrical impulse<<endif>> zig-zagging across the midline of your brain matter.

<<set $infestation_skin to true>><<set $infestation_counter to $infestation_counter + 1>>You tug at the blankets, the warm liquid pliancy of mammalian flesh like soft inner ribs, <<if $infestation_ears is false>>[[mother's milk|Infestation ears]]<<else>>mother's milk<<endif>>, knitted proteins. You feel yourself on <<if $infestation_claws is false>>[[all fours|Infestation claws]]<<else>>all fours<<endif>>, spine cameling one crackling vertebra at a time, the <<if $infestation_counter is 3>>[[sensuous entropy|Event Horizon]]<<else>>sensuous entropy<<endif>> of your rabbiting heart.

<<set $infestation_ears to true>><<set $infestation_counter to $infestation_counter + 1>>You touch sallow-veined ears and hear galaxies, the far-off thunder of supernovae and <<if $infestation_claws is false>>[[salt-rose threads|Infestation claws]]<<else>>salt-rose threads<<endif>> of radiation. Millions of years compress to an instant; a moment dilates into eternity, the <<if $infestation_skin is false>>[[bruising emberscorch lip|Infestation skin]]<<else>>bruising emberscorch lip<<endif>> of a black hole's <<if $infestation_counter is 3>>[[event horizon|Event Horizon]]<<else>>event horizon<<endif>>.

You see yourself from the outside, beyond breath, beyond voice, beyond waves and particles. You are clumsy, half-blind, [[in need of all the help you can get|Waking Nightmare]].

It takes you many millennia to cross the distance to your phone, centuries more to fumble with its slippery screen using leathery paws. [[(I can't ask for help again.)|Waking Nightmare 2]]

The tears well up in your many eyes, St. Elmo's fire flashing in the expanding dark. [[(I should be able to solve this on my own.)|Waking Nightmare 3]]

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/23s9ac752pdssiz/phone.png?raw=1"></center> The infant's wail is rising in your throat before the call even connects. 'I'm sorry,' you plead into the phone. '<<if $brotherroute is true>>[[I promise this is the last time|Infestation brother]]<<else>>[[I promise this is the last time|Infestation alma]]<<endif>>.'

He disconnects, and furious tears burst streaming from your face. You throw your phone as hard as you can across the apartment and push your face into your hands. Countless small tongues lick at your fingers in drowsy interest. The walls creak and swell outward, air vibrating with white noise. Moses's [[purring|Infestation brother kindness]] felt from the inside.

You drop your hands into your lap and gaze into the absence of your apartment. 'What good is family,' you ask Moses, 'if this is what it does to you?' Molecules shudder, lines and strings rippling out through [[crystalline time and space|Infestation brother kindness 2]].

You don't know what to do. You call the shelter. The volunteer says, '[[I'm sorry, I'm just not finding the name in our records|Shelter call b]].'

You call the shelter. The volunteer says, '[[I've worked here for years. We've never had a cat called Old Man Moses|Shelter call c]].'

You call the shelter. The volunteer says, '[[Anyway we wouldn't adopt out a black cat in October|Shelter call d]].'

'Oh, right!' you erupt, frustration reaching its peak. 'Because it's too dangerous for the cats. Show me one news article where Satanists actually--' 'No, I'm sorry, you don't understand,' says the volunteer. 'It's not because it's too dangerous for the cat. [[It's too dangerous for the people|Call for Help]].'

You hang up. The crying is still coming from the walls. The sound doesn't seem to be coming from any one place. It caroms through the apartment, sounding anguished and lost. [[(I don't want to have to ask for help.)|Call for Help mental loop b]]

What if Moses is stuck? What if he's in pain? What if he gets an infection? [[(I should be able to fix this on my own.)|Call for help b]]

Why did the cat <<if $mercy is true>>call out to<<else>>help<<endif>> the farmer in the grassland? Why did it [[choose us|Infestation brother kindness 3]]?

We bred dogs to purpose, but we accepted cats as they were. We didn't mold them into a shape that could read us, anticipate us, understand [[right or wrong|Infestation brother wish]].

'I wish my brother had never stopped being kind,' you told the dark, and the dark [[listened|Infestation brother memory loss]].

It begins as an icy chill in the back of your awareness, glacier snowmelt running ropey and thick down your spine. It spreads to the edges of thought, into valleys of blood vessels and ozone and hot asphalt, cut grass in summer. The [[memory|Infestation brother dead realize]] filters up through your feet into your lungs.

Your brother has been dead for a long time. He died bleedingscreamingshittinghimself rolling on the ground as a black cat tore at his throat, skin and sinew pulling apart like warm bread, thick purple sprays of arterial blood ribboning out over the dust under hot Montana sun and you had run, sobbing, retching, acidic tears and gelatinous pink-brown snotvomit streaming together down your chin and onto your clothes and you hadn't found anyone to [[help|Infestation brother big no]].

The old scar lays atop your recent memories, flattening, melting them into the new, agreed-upon shape. In your stardust extremities you feel the change rippling backward and forward in time, smoothing the creases, straightening lines. You brother died at the age of six. Your brother who spoke to you not ten minutes ago. Dead and died screaming, before he could grow up to be cruel. You stumble toward your apartment's bathroom, but it no longer exists, not really. What pours from your stomach into the remains of the toilet is [[more hairball than bile|Infestation brother amorality]].

Moses did this for you. He had felt your pain and understood<<if $trust < 2>>, if not its contents then the transitive property of suffering<<endif>>. And this is how he had removed it. You press your hands to the sides of your skull, squeeze the creaking bones as they threaten to spill outward in all directions. [[(I don't want this.)|Recursion route]] [[(I don't care anymore.)|Abel and Cain route]]

You remember your small body being three steps closer than it was. Close enough to dive toward the shape in the grass, your brother turning in wide-eyed red-lipped surprise as your chin meets fur-covered bone and keratin fish hooks plunge into your upper arms. You remember pain like dry ice under the surface of your skin. Falling, the liquid nightmare twisting its countless limbs out from under you and pushing off before you hit the grass, tail vanishing through a hole beneath your neighbor's fence as dirt rocks gouge into your bleeding arms. You remember, very belatedly, [[screaming|Recursion route 3]].

You remember no one came to help you up. Your brother, when you finally got back to your feet, was too busy laughing, strawberry popsicle dribbling down his knuckles. 'There was a monster,' you remember saying, but your brother registered the words like you were speaking them in another language. 'There was. I saw it.' 'You're so dumb. You're a water buffalo,' your brother had said, delighting at not being either of these things. 'I'm telling Mom [[you tripped on your own fat feet|Recursion route 4]].'

You remember showing your brother your torn and bleeding arms, spread in religious supplication. 'Please. It hurts. Help me.' Your brother had licked idly at the stub of his popsicle, unmoved. 'You wouldn't'a fallen if you weren't fat. [[You should walk back on your own|Recursion route 5]] and burn it off.'

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6tim7og5kohk48x/mold.png?raw=1"></center> You blink, feel the memory receding, synapses sliding between raspy boson-thin sheets of causality as the new sequences click into place, and always had been. You are seated in bed. Wan autumn sunlight streams through the western windows of your [[apartment|Recursion route 6]].

White walls, tile floors, age-yellowed blinds. You sit atop your bed, the bedspread you had thrown away yesterday for the mess of blood drying on it now clean and smooth under your [[fingers|Recursion route 7]].

Moses is not on the bed. He is not in his favorite quiet spot in the closet, or the kitchen. His litter tray and scratching posts are gone. You search your recent memories. No visit to the shelter, no adoption. You never brought Moses home at all. Why would you, after all? You hate cats, [[you've hated them since you were a child|Recursion route 8]].

You sink down onto the bed, inhale the scent of stale sweat and detergent and dust. It's lonely again. Quieter. As though the air has been hollowed out somehow. You would love to hear another human voice, to go out somewhere, enjoy a dinner, a movie, something to occupy this sucking void growing in your skull. But the only human voice you hear is your brother's, inside your head. '[[Waste of money. Stop inflicting yourself on others. Be more self-sufficient. Quit whining.|Recursion route 9]]'

There are no other voices to counter it, and so your brother's wins. You stay where you are, where you've always been. Motionless, curled up on your side in an empty apartment, crushed under the weight of judgments [[you've accepted as your own|Recursion end]].

You remember Dad's accident less than a year later, on a long haul to Washington state. How the company had refused him disability because the investigation found he'd been drinking at the helm, and how Mom had cried, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, bent over stacks of papers on the dining room table. You remember the divorce and the move back to North Dakota, your grandmother's scent as she wrapped arms around you and your two younger siblings, like dried roses and old potpourri. '[[You're the oldest now|Abel and Cain route 3]],' Grandma had told you. 'So you've got to look out for the little ones.'

You remember the hollow plywood walls of the trailer house, the seam running down the middle of your splintered family's existence. And you remember that in those hard years you rarely thought about your brother at all. Even when you did, his memory gave you no comfort. But at least you remember him [[smiling|Abel and Cain route 4]].

It's your fault. Moses did this at your behest, decades before you ever saw him in that cramped wire cage. You are the one who cheated your brother out of a well you can't say if it was a happy life, [[can you?|Abel and Cain route 5]]

Possibly you cheated him out of an unhappy life, but what then? [[What does that make you?|Abel and Cain route 6]]

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/9dq06xelwssjgt3/image3-small-invert.png?raw=1"></center> Humans aren't capable of these things. Cats shouldn't be either, but Moses was never entirely a cat at all. Even lying there on his massive body, you feel the tendrils of his awareness reaching out beyond suns and farthest stars, the whisper of a [[hundred trillion nows|Abel and Cain route 7]] laid atop each other like tracing paper.

Yet even if Moses did all this because of you, it was not for you. You feel this innately as your physical body dissolves into his unending form, as you feel the shape of your own thoughts dispersing into undifferentiated particles. [[He is something much grander than you.|Abel and Cain route 8]]

Really, even this is more than you [[deserve|Abel and Cain end]].

Cold electricity shudders up your left arm, your skin puckering with gooseflesh. Static burbles in your inner ear. A human infant wails from [[within the walls|Shelter call a]].

Sometimes you hear Moses wandering the apartment while he's fast asleep on <<linkreplace "top of you." t8n>>top of you. Other times you feel him brush against your leg and look down to find <<linkreplace "nothing there." t8n>>nothing there. Once you find him on the window sill watching squirrels and realize you've parsed his silhouette backwards, that he's actually <<linkreplace "watching you.">>watching you. And then of course there are the [[nightmares]].<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>>

Alma yanks her hands away like she's snapping off a pair of rubber gloves. 'If you're going to make up a story to get me to come over, at least hide him somewhere better than a cupboard.' She should sound disappointed, but all you hear in her voice is satisfaction. Your mouth opens to protest. Didn't she see-- didn't she [[sense|Investigate alma seance 9]]--

'You haven't been skipping your meds again, have you?' You don't remember skipping your meds a first time, but there's no point in saying so. There are a lot of places where her and your memories diverge. 'I swear to god,' Alma continues, without waiting for a reply, 'I should [[bill you by the hour|Interlude 2]].'

Behind you, Alma gasps. You turn, Moses cradled like a squalling infant in your arms. A cold draft of neutrinos brushes your elbow as the seam in the wall starts to mend. 'I found him,' you say simply, as Alma's jaw clicks shut and [[her eyes turn to ice|Investigate alma baseboards 6]].

'Isn't there?' Alma challenges. 'You call up your ex out of the blue after two years to tell her that your apartment is being taken over by a vengeful cat ghost, and you think that's stable behavior?' You know how it looks. You just hoped she'd understand you wouldn't reach out to her unless you needed it. But you never understood anything about each other, [[have you?|Infestation alma have you]]

'Why won't you go away?' Alma continues when you stay silent. 'The <<print either("girl", "guy", "sophomore")>> at the party, you know that was all to get you to take a hint, right? We were never going to go back to being friends.' The words cut into you beneath your ribs, cold and caustic like raw bile. 'I know that now,' you say at last. 'It's fine. I'm over it.' 'And yet here you are, trying to [[infect my life|Infestation alma have you]] again.'

'You're sick,' Alma says. 'You've been sick since before we met, and I'm not taking responsibility for it anymore. It shouldn't have been put on my shoulders in the first place.' You hear her break off with a scoff, the sound of her hand brushing over fabric, trying to wipe something off. 'And don't you dare say sorry,' she adds. 'Just stop calling me. I don't want to deal with your weird drama ever again. It's bad enough I got your cat's hair on me and now it's -- ugh! -- [[all over my apartment|Infestation alma apartment]].'

'What?' you ask, but she's already hanging up with a moan of disgust. You look around at the remains of your apartment, the black-furred walls thrumming with their subsonic purring. It could just be ordinary cat hair at Alma's place. But nothing about Moses has been ordinary. [[(I need to save her.)|Solipsistic Bitch route]] [[(I don't care anymore.)|Rudyard Kipling route]]

She saw the same things you did. You know she knows it isn't all in your head. '[[There is nothing wrong with me!|Infestation alma wrong]]' you want to shout back at her, for all the good it will do. Maybe you're better off [[not saying anything|Infestation alma silent]] at all.

<<if $tesseractexplain is true>>How does a creature living across untold dimensions understand the concept of 'this far and no farther'? If space, time, and information are all the same to you, how do you respond to the unknown, except [[bring it into yourself?|Solipsism absorption]]<<else>>The way he passed through walls. Occupied two places at once. Spread into your apartment and now into you... Moses, if he was ever a cat at all, clearly [[isn't one anymore|Solipsism absorption]].<<endif>>

He's like a<<if $nerdroute is true>> galaxy-spanning, celestial<<else>>n<<endif>> amoeba. Amoebas don't worry about minds, <<if $nerdroute is true>><<else>>souls,<<endif>> personalities. They only know how to [[eat|Solipsism apartment]].

<center><img src="https://www.dropbox.com/s/6tim7og5kohk48x/mold.png?raw=1"></center> You reach her apartment as fast as you can. 'I can't believe you,' Alma says in the doorway, the chain lock bisecting her narrow profile through the gap. 'Go away right now or I swear to god, I'm calling the police.' You can see, even over Alma's head, that Moses's fur has already spread to her ceiling fixtures. [[Black spore particles|Solipsism snap]] drift down from the slow-sawing fan blades.

'I know you see what's happening,' you say. 'Stop turning this around on me, it's not my illness this time.' It was [[never about your illness|Solipsism accusation prior]], not really. But that [[doesn't even matter|Solipsism to the point]] now.

You say: 'You fucked with my head because that was easier than telling me what you wanted.' Alma's eyes widen, bright and shiny in the doorway. 'Because you wouldn't listen!' '[[That makes what you did okay?|Solipsism gaslighting]]'

'I was immature, you were immature, we both handled it badly,' you say. 'But I'm not the one who gaslit my <<print either("boyfriend into a tailspin till he", "girlfriend into a tailspin till she", "datefriend into a tailspin till they")>> got hospitalized.' A strangled scream dies in Alma's throat. 'I just wanted you out of my life!' 'And now I want you out of mine!' you cry. 'I can't believe I came here thinking I [[wanted to help you|Solipsism door slam]].'

'Let me in,' you insist. 'I can get him to -- to release his grip on you. Something. He's only doing this <<if $trust gte 2>>to try to [[help me|Solipsism rejection]]<<else>>because he doesn't know how else to [[deal with human pain|Solipsism rejection]]<<endif>>.'

'I'm deleting you off my hard drive!' you yell at the door. 'All the Alma subroutines -- gone!' 'Leave me alone, you basic solipsistic bitch!' <<if $solipsism_hostile is false>>Her voice is muffled through the wood.<<else>>she shouts back from the other side.<<endif>> A neighbor comes out to investigate, but you're already [[done anyway|Solipsism tendrils]].

You leave. Beneath your feet, you feel roots withdrawing, veins emptying from the building's foundations as your cat's consciousness pulls away in disinterest. Moses has no reason to care about her if [[you don't|Solipsism return home]].

He is lying on your bed when you return to your apartment. The walls no longer bear his traces. Now he lies in a sunbeam, stretched over your pillow, his single green eye slanted almost shut. You recline yourself on the bed [[beside him|Solipsism ending]].

When you pet him, he purrs loud enough that you can [[nearly hear it|Solipsism ending 2]].

Your head feels light. You can't even remember what was weighing it down before. 'What do you think?' you ask Moses. 'Think I should just stay in and get some reading done today?' Your cat creases his eye shut and dozes. That seems to be a [[yes|Solipsistic Bitch end]].

Why did you come here? What were you hoping to prove? She was always just going to call you [[crazy|Solipsism accusation prior 2]].

'It doesn't matter what I say, does it?' you ask. 'You're just going to let <<if $trust gt 2>>that thing<<else>>my cat<<endif>> eat you rather than admit you were wrong.' The urgency you had felt on the way over here is leaching out through your skin as silver steam, leaving you hollow. 'Wrong about what?' Alma counters. 'That you're an obsessive stalker currently [[harassing me outside my home?|Solipsism accusation]]'

You spent so much energy on trying to understand her, but there was nothing to understand. She was just afraid, and disgusted, and didn't know how to end a relationship any more than you did. She slams the door on you. <<if $solipsism_hostile is false>>You beat on it with the full strength of your arm, letting the [[icy streaks of pain|Solipsism bitch]] numb your hand.<<else>>'I just wanted you out of my life!' she cries, her muffled through the wood. '[[Fine, then!|Solipsism bitch]]' you say.<<endif>>

'Go away!' she cries. 'I knew this was how you were going to end up. Just another crazy ex stalker.' That's right, that's what you've turned into: a story for Alma to tell over drinks one day. The time my ex tried to kill me with a <<if $nerdroute is true>>parasitic wall cat<<else>>devouring cat spirit<<endif>>. 'Just let me fix this,' you beg, trying to fit your arm through the [[gap in the door|Solipsism hostile entry]].

<<set $solipsism_hostile to true>>Alma screams. She pushes back against your invading arm, tangles of long black fur clinging by static to her knuckles. Even if you were blind you could feel her terror crackling in the air, the extensions of Moses's awareness <<if $tesseractexplain is true>>threading through her nervous system<<else>>bleeding into her own<<endif>>, blackpowder firecrackers flaring white-purple behind your eyelids. You pull back. [[It's not worth it.|Solipsism door slam]]

'I just wish I could understand her,' you said into the dark, and the dark listened. Your awareness spreads as Moses does, the electric impulses of your thoughts diffusing through [[undifferentiated ectoplasm|Kipling consciousness]].

You taste it in your fingertips as Moses, miles away from you, reaches into Alma. You feel her revulsion giving way to terror on your many-layered tongue, as his fur spreads through her apartment just as it did yours, massing like an aggressive [[black mold|Kipling alma merge]].

<<if $trust gte 2>>Moses isn't as gentle with Alma as he was with you. He<<else>>Moses<<endif>> lashes through her walls and floorboards, great white claws sawing through physical matter in sprays of stardust. She falls to her knees as he enters her flesh, gouts of terror streaming from her body bright as search beams in the devouring dark. [[(I'm sorry.)|Kipling remorse]] [[(She deserves it.)|Kipling revenge]]

You try to pull against the tide, but <<if $trust lt 2>>you're incidental to Moses now, just a dusting of particles drifting through the magnificence of his being<<else>>a wish, once granted, isn't easily undone<<endif>>. All your pent-up emotions, your obsession with Alma, all Moses understands of it is you have [[a hole in your heart|Kipling merge complete]].

Maybe she was right to want to get rid of you. Maybe you clung more than you realized. But that doesn't mean what she did to you was right. It doesn't mean that she can keep hurting you now, turning everything back on you, making it all about your illness. She never cared that you were sick. She just saw an opening to [[hurt you|Kipling merge complete]].

Hot tears boil from the waxy shell of Alma's face. Moses is in her brain now, her thoughts, everything that she iswaswillbe. It laps at your awareness, unbidden, enters into you as inexorably as you entered into Moses. The memories of your relationship from her eyes. The frustration she felt at you, the fear, and finally the [[contempt|Kipling merge terror]].

'How could you?' scream the remnants of her. You reply because you can't not. The knowledge is there in her mind as much as it is in yours, in whatever Moses actually is. '[[I just wanted to know if you ever cared about me at all.|Kipling love]]'

The answer, like yours, comes instantly. But by the time it reaches you, it's no longer remarkable. It's not profound. It moves the world not at all. The moment you know it, [[you have always known it|Kipling wrong]].

Humans are spoiled for perspective. You are each so vast, but within one another you were only ever motes of dust. <<if $nerdroute is true>>Moses exists on a scale much grander than humanity was ever meant to perceive.<<else>>Moses is a thing older, deeper than time.<<endif>> <<if $tesseractexplain is true>>This is true of all black cats.<<endif>> In the face of such vastness, humans and their agonies amount to a crackle of static. And now Moses and you are [[the same|Rudyard Kipling end]].

A philosopher once said, 'For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love.' [[He was wrong.|Kipling universe]]

You can tell yourself that, anyway. [[Some scars are slow to heal.|Escalation]]