Day 2,155

It started off as a cold spot in his bedroom that seemed to follow him up to the door. Over time it began to follow him just past the door frame, then to the landing to the top of the stairs to the kitchen to the front door and before he quite understood what was happening he was looking at his body smiling up at him.

Everything made sense after that. All those little hints of another person in his home - the creaking floors and slamming doors were never the house settling or the wind. The hands he saw in his peripherals when he was especially tired had always been there, waiting for him to finally slip up.

And now that he had, he was left practically untethered - just a floating set of memories vaguely tied to the meatsuit he once called his body like gently deflating balloons. Whoever was puppetting him was changing everything about his life, making and breaking friendships and crafting his life into theirs.

The worst of it was that he could see his life improving. Better job, kinder friends - the intruder was a better him than he'd ever been. What cut the final tie was when his parents said they were proud of him, setting him adrift and careening with the wind until he found himself stuck in an apartment in another country.

His chance to make someone better than they'd ever been - to continue the cycle of improving humanity one possession at a time. At least, what's what it was meant to be. All he saw was ameatsuit he could take and use to get his old body back so he could reap the rewards of that better life.

He started off as a cold spot in their bedroom that seemed to follow them up to the door.