‡ thin†skin ‡

[SHIVERS]

Okay.

OK.


You can handle this.

Salem's alive. 
You're heading somewhere where you'll supposedly get help.
This whole thing is temporary.

And once you look like yourself again, this guy and his media company will have no idea what happened to you.
You'll be back in Eva Sierra. With Salem.
Like nothing ever happened.





Just enough to get him gone.

Don't agree to anything.
Avoid anything personal.
Ramble if you have to; you just need to last two minutes.


You think a moment longer, 
then look up at him.







"Hey."
You are still very not used to your high-pitched voice.
You clear your nonexistent throat on instinct.

"I... appreciate the help with the medical bills.
I definitely couldn't pay that when I've... just... 'spawned', is what I think I heard them call it."

shit, dial it back a bit

"Life is... going way too fast for me right now;
I don't wanna be a big media thing, I don't wanna be famous,
I don't wanna be like... a Spectacle.
More eyes on me right now is... the last thing I want.
So like--" He reaches a paw out suddenly;
you flinch,
even though he didn't even Try to touch you. Apparently just a hand gesture.

"Oh, no no, nothing like that.
It's more just that,
you'll likely need more help, won't you?

I admit, I didn't know much about flexins prior to this,
but I've been researching, some; purely on my own.
It seems like you're having a rough go of it, I'm sure.
Not exactly a fair way to end up here, is it?"

He looks at you, for a response.
You just nod.
You wish you hadn't.

"Right.
You'll need to find housing,
and a job - one that suits you,
and consistent company; all of that.
It's a lot to help get you on your feet,
and likely a lot of money; which, how could you have that, yet?

After all, 
you don't know who spawned you...?"

He looks to you for confirmation.

You think about the thing in the warehouse.
Your head goes blank.

"Uh... yeah, no, I don't-
Like, how could I?"



The cat watches you carefully.



He's smiling, still.
As friendly as can be.



"Exactly.

Well, from what I understand,
they're usually the ones that help you out.
...I've heard flexins who're spawned without knowing who did it
can sometimes piece it together from the information they've inherited.
Familiar names, places; that sort of thing."

Again, his eyes swivel to you.



You shake your head and shrug, feeling more nervous than ever.

"Yeah, I-
...Nothin'... useful, really.

 . . . 

O-Other than like-
Walking, talking, all that.

I dunno if that's even, like... Normal, it just-

yeah, it-



...yeah."





surely its been two minutes right???
did he even set his watch?

or am i just-

im panicking. im panicking.
calm down
fucks sake

get me out of here






"Well, I'm sorry to hear about that.
I'm sure it's a lot.

What I'm offering, though;
I can help.
We can.

The medical bills are already taken care of, of course.
For housing, I already have a few potential houses and apartments lined up.
You could look at units and have the keys in your pocket today, if you wanted.
Plenty of privacy when you need it.
For jobs; we're always hiring at Gradient, and I'm sure there are plenty of career opportunities that are out of the spotlight.
...Between you and I, we do pay well. 
And our salaries are competitive.
Even company - there are local flexin communities you may not know about.
I've done some digging, I can help.
...All of this at your own pace, of course.

...I won't lie and say it's not in my own interest, too.

You see, I'm sure your doctor explained that permits are necessary here,
when spawning flexins.
While we still don't know who spawned you, or why, 
I very much doubt they had a proper permit.

...Regardless, without any knowledge of who they are,
there isn't much that can be done about that.
I doubt they'd be able to help you out, anyway.



I'll be honest.
Everything that's happened? It's likely not good for public perception.
And, my company is currently under investigation.

That's part of why I want to help.

It'd be a simple exchange:
You agree to a few interviews, just to help clear the air,
and you get... to be frank, more support than you ever could at the ICSD.

That's where you're headed now, isn't it?

They're a very important public service, 
of course,
but they unfortunately don't have the funding we do.
And I've heard they're stretched thin at the moment; overcrowding and such.

...My own interests notwithstanding,
I'm very prepared to help you with anything and everything you could need.
You would be getting personalized support;
I'd offer suggestions, but you'd choose what you want.
Immediate independence.
...I'm sure that's important, for any newly-spawned flexin.

Just say the word, and it's yours."





did



did he say

houses.

like Houses houses.



like you could
own your own hou-

I

I WONT. AGREE TO ANYTHING

BUT LIKE--



You wince as your brief fantasizing finds itself at odds with your rational thought.

He's still watching you.
You know he noticed.



"I-

That's-


Th-Things are like
a lot-
A Lot, right now, I--"

You can just feel that he's waiting for you to finish talking,
so he can sweeten the deal.

"H-How about like-
Like if I had-
I need some time to... think about it.

Like-

Like a lot of-
Like a week.

...or so."



am i even talking anymore
i cant think straight

get it TOGETHER



"Absolutely.
Take some time to think it over."

He smiles.
You hate it when he does.

He checks his watch.

"By the way,
you were given a flexin-friendly phone by your doctor, right?

I've heard that's standard.
Could I take a look at it?"






FUCK-
I-



You don't feel like you can lie.
If he picks up that you're lying, it's over.
He's just going to pick apart Everything You Say at that point.

So, what can you-





Your phone is in your paw.

You give it to him.



You don't know why.
Panic move, probably.

You feel so stupid.






He looks it over carefully.

"...Here."

Then, deftly taps away at its buttons,
his eyes darting across the screen.

He pauses for only an instant, at one point,
as if noting something.



Before you can protest,
he's already handing it back to you.




"I've put my number in your phone.
Number one on the speed dial.

Feel free to call me with anything you need,
even if you're still thinking things over;
I'd like to help where I can."





"...I--"

A simple string of beeps emit from his watch,
and he stops the timer without looking at it.

"Two minutes.

Not so bad, right?"
A friendly smile.


You can't think of words.


"Well, I'm sure they have a car out front for you.
No need to keep them waiting any longer."

He turns, beginning to make his way back down the hall.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of the cameras.
I'm sure you've had enough of prying eyes for the day.

Give the offer some thought, okay?
Call anytime."



He's gone.



You look at your phone.



'Wolf Wedmore - Gradient' is in your contact list,
right below Salem.







He probably saw her name, in the contacts.
How could he not?

And what would he think?
'What would a freshly-spawned flexin be doing with someone in their contacts?'





You feel like you've betrayed her, somehow.

It eats at you.










that


couldve gone

much better.








i screwed up.









at least hes gone




Someone passing in the hall gives you a stray look.


You feel exposed.





just go get in the car










You walk to the end of the hallway,
taking a quick peek towards the entrance.


No cameras.

No Wolf.





You hurry your way to the entrance and out the door.


























There's a robot in the driver's seat.





Everything is kind of hazy, right now.

You don't feel good.

Exhausted.
Headache.

What is there, exactly, in your head to ache?







The construct - a kind you've never seen before - 
is trying to strike up friendly conversation with you in the car.

Trying to be accommodating.




You're too busy trying to get your belt buckled to listen.

No matter what you do, you can't latch it,
let alone grab the belt properly.



You think about the TV remote in your hospital bed.

It'd been kind of difficult,
but you'd managed that.

Why is everything else so hard?



Then again,
it was small, and fairly simple,
with only a few buttons.

Not much more complex than your phone.












You can feel yourself getting frustrated.







The construct reaches back 
and buckles it for you in an instant.




You suppress a scream.

You say 'thank you' instead.






They strike up conversation again.
You feel bad for them.



And you can't really handle more talking.

You just want to be alone.





You mumble out something about being tired.
Not wanting to talk much.




The car moves in silence.
















































The rest of the events are a blur.




You remember getting to the building.

It was bigger than expected.




There are so


so



so many people

inside.


Flexins, other constructs, mostly.
Some non-constructs.










You're led carefully and patiently along by your driver.

Then to someone else.


Then to another flexin.



There's a chain of explanation between them

That you're tired.
That you're 'having a hard time'.
That this is 'normal'.

None of this is normal.








You don't want to be here.
You don't want to waste these people's time.



You should've taken the deal.

How is it fair to them, anyway?
Wasting resources on You?

You're not even a real flexin.



You're not much of anything, really.



You aren't worth this.
All this effort.

At their expense.



For something like you.


















If only you'd bled out in that warehouse.













You don't want to think about that anymore.

You can feel yourself getting emotional.



You can't
have it be visible.

Not another thing for these people to worry about.
Because of You.






You suck it up.














































Somehow, you end up in a bed.


There's another bunk to the side of yours.

But every other bed in the cramped bedroom is empty.





You're too exhausted to let everything out.






You fall asleep.







































































Your eyes slowly open.



There was a knock, you think.

You think you heard one.



A knock on 

your?

door.



A knock on A door.
The door.

Whatever.









You feel like shit.

Sleep barely helped.

You have barely any energy.
Your body feels

duller.

Half numb.
Sensations are less there.

Vague sense of pins and needles.




Your head is
swimmy.

Pounding like a bad hangover - everything hurts a little more -

while also just feeling

distant.





You feel




something.






A horrible, horrible pang in the back of your mind.





You miss Salem.

God, you miss Salem.







Loneliness.

That's what this feeling is.

But
different from how you've felt it before, somehow.



Fear, too.
Like something is going to physically hurt you
if you stay in this room by yourself.

You feel smaller than ever.









Another knock on

some door.
Outside the room you're in right now.





You ignore the pit in your stomach,
and find your phone.

It's on a charger by your bedside.

You fumble with it a moment,
then check it.



No missed calls.
No text.

Nothing from Salem.





You feel awful.





You need





somebody.



You hate that you do.

You want to bury that feeling.
But you can't.


It feels

like more than just your raw emotions, somehow.






Another knock.
















You can't stand it anymore.






You pull yourself out of the bed - 
still in the clothes from yesterday; you don't care.



The door is easy to open;
lever handle, not a rounded knob you have to turn.



You move into the next room;


It's a simple, but oddly wide room.

There's a couch and television,
as well as a small dining table pushed against the wall;
sporting three chairs.

There's a kitchenette in the corner with hardly anything;
a mini fridge, a sink, and a hot plate.
Not even a full oven.





You



brush past all that.







You open the door.












There's




There's a wall-



There is a wall-sized






dragon?

Or
a very dragon-like


lizard

thing.



Thick, tough-looking, cream-colored scales.
Two long structures atop their head; almost like ears, or... weird, scaly 'frills'.
Some of their scales are chipped or otherwise damaged, especially around their face and left arm.
There's a long scar trailing from the right side of their forehead, across one eye, down to their snout.

They've got on a long, brown coat - the kind with light fluff around the neck;
sweater underneath.
Matching brown pants and boots.


More importantly:
They are taking up almost the entirety of this doorway.

They are having to STOOP to get their head fully below the top of it.

They are Twice your size.
At Least.

Built like a fucking house.









You forget how shitty you feel.


Just staring at them.







"Hello."




" . . . "



"  .  .  .  "



"   .   .   .   "



"...I'm--"

"Could y-



...can... can I help you?"


"...I'm your support worker.
Support person.

They assigned me to you."




"...sorry?"



" . . . 
I'm your support person. Wyn."









i


honestly i
forgot about the whole 'support person' thing


but i was expecting like


another flexin????

maybe like a robot cause this is like
Constructs and all that but


they look like they could bust the fucking wall down



why are they SO MUCH TALLER
THAN
ME?????



At over six feet,
you've been used to being taller than most.
In Eva Sierra, at least.

You can't get used to this feeling, instead.





You realize that Salem is 
likely 
at least a couple of feet taller than you, now.


This does not make sense.

Reality does not work that way.







You see them glance at you
with what looks like concern.

They're looking away now, though; staring aimlessly down the hallway you can't see.
Seemingly giving you a moment.



okay


okay.



FUCK me-

OK. okay.



im short now.
im short for a little while

like a couple days at least and then i go to the appointment-
i fix this, its fine.

everyone in the goddamn world is taller than me now and its

its fine.
its fine.





Salems alive.


so get yourself the fuck together



You can do this.


You can handle one conversation.

You have to, anyway.
Those feelings are still in the back of your head.

You can feel it.
This body is not going to let you back out of this conversation.