The Shop

> Imposter or not, they're a person. They're in distress. They need help. You help people. Sam helps people. So, why isn't she rushing to help this one? More importantly, why aren't you? This all feels wrong.

>I get the feeling that either decision is a trap, but curiosity wins the day. Bust it open, consequences be damned.
or
>The Sam next to you is acting out of character.

If the one next to you is the real one, how does she know that you shouldn't open that door? Why isn't she freaking out?

Sam entered the store and left.
Storeowner showed up, and eh. Chatted, I guess?
Store owner leaves.
Sam returns.
Sam and storeowner not seen at the same time. HMMMM.
>We could ask Sam only something the real one would know, but nah.
>Open that door. I mean, the shopkeep would label dangerous stuff as dangerous, wouldn't they?

>Do a lil boogie.

Sam outside. The Sam in here is acting suspiciously calm, and how would she know it's dangerous out there?

If the one next to you is the real one, how does she know that you shouldn't open that door? Why isn't she freaking out?

Sam looks at you, her tone pleading.

Sam:
"I know it sounds strange, but I just have a bad feeling.
I'm asking you to trust me. Casey, please!"

> Imposter or not, they're a person. They're in distress. They need help. You help people. Sam helps people. So, why isn't she rushing to help this one? More importantly, why aren't you? This all feels wrong.

>We could ask Sam only something the real one would know, but nah.
>Open that door. I mean, the shopkeep would label dangerous stuff as dangerous, wouldn't they?

>I get the feeling that either decision is a trap, but curiosity wins the day. Bust it open, consequences be damned.

You can't ignore a call for help, no matter what the consequences may be.
Your mind made, you wrench the doors open.
Sam calls out to you, but suddenly she sounds so far away.



Mixed with her voice—is another.

>Do a lil boogie.

You're back.

From a dream?
A memory from a lost time?
You're not entirely sure.

You feel the urge to dance, but your lack of functioning limbs impede you.

> Frank? Asche? Miss Shopkeeper-thing? Someone?

>extend hand from box and crawl away on fingertips

>Take this moment to practice your singing. If you sing long enough, someone will hear you and put a dollar in your money jar, also they'll find you.

Blink your eyes in fury

> Where are you even?

>Remember your happy place.

>Aw crap. Where are our hands. Do we still have hands? Not looking forward to getting around without hands.

Check surroundings for any threats. Paranoia mode on.

>Look with your eyes that don't exist

> Where are you even?

You don't know.

> Frank? Asche? Miss Shopkeeper-thing? Someone?

You call out, but no one hears you.

Check surroundings for any threats. Paranoia mode on.

>Look with your eyes that don't exist

The room appears empty.
The most threatening thing apparent is the cold floor beneath you.

Blink your eyes in fury

>Take this moment to practice your singing. If you sing long enough, someone will hear you and put a dollar in your money jar, also they'll find you.

Feeling slightly(?) better, you decide to sing to pass the time.
A while later, you hear the sound of an opening door.



Asche:
"Morning!
...You are awake aren't you?
No offense, but it's hard to tell if and when you're actually conscious."

"Welcome to our home by the way.
Sorry about being so rough back there, but couldn't have you going and snitching on me. You understand."

>Aw crap. Where are our hands. Do we still have hands? Not looking forward to getting around without hands.

>extend hand from box and crawl away on fingertips

Asche:
"..."

>Remember your happy place.

Asche:
"...How are you feeling?"


Things have been better.

>Annoyed. Would slap if I had a second hand.

>Didn't really give us the chance to explain before you hit us with... What did you hit us with? Eh.

>Moot point now. Anyways, you mentioned "Our" home, so I'm guessing someone else is staying here?

>And of course, I'm guessing it's safe to be honest about the shop here.

Unleash middle finger.

Give me back my wheels you bastard.

>Continuously cry out "REVENGE!" all the while angrily swiping and snarling at Asche.
>Remind Asche of a dish that is best served cold...
>Speaking of which, you're hungry, demand that he feed you.

Give me back my wheels you bastard.

Also, how come you get a body while I'm stuck in this box?

>Just as blank as always.

>Babble incoherently about the the insignificance of isolation of an individual from a greater body with parts and values personified by insects.

WHAT DID YOU DO WITH OUR DUCK CYCLE

> Wonder what would've happened if we didn't open the door...

>Seduce him into freeing us

If that doesn't work:
>Do some chin-lifts to get a huge bicep in the long haul, break out