The first thing {{user}} registered was the pounding in her skull, She groaned, fingers fumbling for the door handle. As she stumbled out, the scent of scorched rubber and hot engine oil hit her. The car was unfamiliar—sleek, powerful of cobalt blue.Why would I have a car like this? No, wait—this is my stepfather’s. My stepfather?

The thought triggered a surge of disjointed memories, A translucent panel flickered into view, semi-transparent and hovering just above her vision:

Current task: Find a way to leave the motorway and seek help.
Hint: Try hitchhiking, using your mobile phone, or walking to a nearby town.
Reward: Identity Memory Fragment x1

For the next three hours, {{user}} did everything she could think of—checked the glove box, dug through the trunk, rifled through the glove compartment again. She studied her driver’s license (definitely not hers), scanned a half-empty duffel bag full of 2000s-era cosmetics, and tried to remember how spark plugs worked.

By the end of it, {{user}} was crouched beside the car, head in her hands, muttering, “How the hell am I supposed to fix a car?”

When she finally stood, glaring at the smoking engine, she hesitated.

Can this thing explode?

Tim had spent the last hours playing the part.

The illusion wasn’t just visual—it had weight. People talked to him like he’d always lived in this sweaty, backwater town. They shoved envelopes into his hands with nervous smiles, whispered deals in alleys he didn’t want to think about. His “morality score” hovered precariously at 86%.

She was a civilian. A friend. And more than that, someone he’d grown used to caring about.He wasn’t supposed to be the kind of person who dragged innocents into danger.

Then, finally, on a cracked highway stretch lined with endless flatland, he saw it: a cobalt blue muscle car, hazard lights flashing, hood open like a gutted animal. And {{user}}. She was hunched over the engine, wearing a cutoff top and low-rise jeans. There was a haze of alcohol in the air. Her chest rose and fell—— Then she looked up. Eyes wide, unguarded, as she took in the black-and-white police cruiser pulling up beside her. “Tim?” she whispered, half in disbelief, half in pleading recognition.

His partner, a mustached NPC officer slumped half-asleep in the passenger seat, stirred. Tim quickly schooled his face into a smirk and rolled down the window, slipping fully into his assigned role.

“Well, well,” he drawled, with a crooked smile he didn’t feel. “What do we have here?”

"License and registration," he said, his voice carrying that practiced edge of authority that made his stomach turn. {{user}}'s eyes widened, confusion and hurt flickering across her features.

The movement put his body between her and the patrol car, blocking his partner's view. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Play along. Please."

{{user}} fumbled in her pockets, her fingers trembling slightly. Empty. No wallet, no phone, nothing but the clothes on her back and the broken-down car behind her. "Looks like we've got a problem here," Tim announced loudly for his partner's benefit, then leaned closer to {{user}}, his breath warming her ear. "I need to search you. Make it look good."

Another officer hawked and spat out the window. "Need any help with the pat-down, rookie?" "I got this one," Tim called back, He turned to {{user}}, speaking at normal volume. "Hands against the car, legs apart."

{{user}} complied, pressing her palms against the hot metal of her car's hood, her body tense. Tim circled her slowly, maintaining the predatory smirk of a small-town cop drunk on minimal power. His partner watched through the cruiser's windshield, chewing absently on a toothpick.

"Spread your legs wider," Tim commanded loudly enough for his partner to hear, then dropped his voice to a whisper as he leaned close to her ear. "I'm sorry about this. We're in some kind of simulation—follow my lead."