This never gets old; putting your armor on enables you to let go of so many of your fears and insecurities, shelving them for later. Right now, you're Garrett Helton X, on top of the world, ready to take on whoever stands in your way.
It's such a kick.
Hovering right on the edge of the dampeners, you send a thin stream of nanovores up to the cameras, devouring them. Once that is done, it's an easy leap to get over the wall, restricting the output of your jump-jets as much as you can, just enough to get you over the top.
Being a ghost in the dark suits you fine; adapt your approach to what is needed, don't let them pin down what tactics you'll use.
Now, where are you…and where's the east wing?
Your HUD renders the dense parkland around the mansion in eerie green. There might be dogs prowling the grounds, but since you don't give off a human scent, they should not be an issue. And guards, you can handle easily. If they come across you, it'll be their funeral.
You avoid the lighted paths, easily picking up the heat signatures of people before they notice you. Good. Going smooth. The building is lit up, the floodlights giving you momentary flashbacks to your own past, another building where the lights never went out.
No shadows to hide in there.
Oh no. Not the time for that.
You increase the flood of oxygen in your system before you start to hyperventilate. Control. Breathe. You can feel the Rat King press against your hindbrain even through the dampeners. Those must have been what set it off; their oppressive weight just brings back bad memories.
Time to shut them down.
Breaking into the house is no harder than getting over the wall. A slap of nanovores against the lock opens one of the garden side-doors, letting you slip in unnoticed. No alarms are going off, at least none that you are noticing. Good.
Quickening your step, you hurry toward the dampeners. All you have to do once you're this close is to head straight into the storm. Facing the wind, press your brain deeper into the cloying quicksand where more and more of your talents fizzle out.
What makes you, you.
When you're in your puppet, you might miss your powers now and then, but you're not acutely aware of their loss. Not like this. It's the difference between being locked in a room and being restrained. You can't leave in either case, but the latter one is far, far worse.
At least you can move your legs still.
The house is too large to be this empty. People that live like this can't be afraid of ghosts if they surround themselves with so many places for them to haunt.
It's handy for you, though. Perhaps that's what you are now. A ghost. Struggling to get back to the living.
Another effect of the dampeners. Stripping away your layers of self, spreading them out like skin to dry in the sun. Crispy. Flaking. Who are you when the constant chatter of minds dies away?
Silence can be a terrifying thing.
At least right now, you're not alone. The Rat King is still close enough to be felt thanks to your neural connection, reminding you that this is the present, not the past.
And that you have a job to do.
There!
That's The Door!