The one personal touch in the otherwise sterile, bland clinic, the wall has been decorated with photographs, documents, evidence of Dr.…

The one personal touch in the otherwise sterile, bland clinic, the wall has been decorated with photographs, documents, evidence of Dr. Hugo's existence.

Examine the documents on the wall.

Light glints off the glass as you read what's under them -- multiple medical school degrees and a city of Portofiro licence to practice, issued by the Portofiro Board of Medicine.

The document has to be displayed, by law. Operating an unlicensed clinic inside the city limits is strictly prohibited.

However, due to a loophole in the city code, the canals aren't technically a part of Portofiro.

Tempo sang the praises of that particular loophole more than once.

The license is real -- but it's out of date. There's a faded stamp, half-hidden behind the frame. The renewal date reads OKTOS 91.

Hrrrmm.

Perhaps something to confront the good doctor about.

Nothing out of order about these documents.

Look through the photographs.

A collage of someone else's life begins to take form in front of you, moments caught, suffocated, pinned under glass.

Study the professional photos.

A formal photo -- class of 71, Hugo buried somewhere amongst rows of other fresh-faced new doctors. Then a newsprint clipping: Hugo receiving an award on stage.

Hugo and Gonza, their arms around each other's shoulders.

The gallery continues: Hugo asleep on a pile of medical textbooks, drooling. Hugo adjusting some sort of massive medical apparatus. Hugo at patient's bedsides.

Is medicine his whole life?

The professional photos outnumber the personal three to one. That should tell you all you need to know.

He wouldn't have willingly given up a career that meant so much to him.

A fellow Freezer-mate. This boat is his Satellite Facility B.

He's not my fellow. I escaped the Freezer.

The medical board would be the only party with that sort of power. Maybe Dr. Hugo's had some trouble with his licence.

Alternative wording

The medical board also stripped Dr. Gonza of his credentials -- maybe the seemingly-more-respectable Dr. Hugo's had trouble with his licence, too.

Poor bastard.

Okay, but did he deserve it?

Maybe he was doing surgeries drunk, or inappropriately touching patients. Or maybe this whole thing is a good person suffering for an unjust twist of fate.

He seems so different now...

He's haunted by the ghost of himself. The person he should be now, hovering just out of reach.

Hugo and a handsome bearded man, both grinning, their arms around each other's shoulders.

What about the personal photos?

There are many pictures of a much younger Hugo and a woman with a heart-shaped face:

At his medical school graduation, at a fancy dinner, both of them grinning on a boardwalk somewhere, her in a white pantsuit and Hugo in a charcoal robe.

Enough photos. (Back.)

You avert your eyes.

There's not a single photograph of Karolina here.

No baby pictures, no first day of school, no birthdays, no holidays. No sign that he has a daughter at all.

That's not true. There's one.

Look more closely.

Near the bottom of the collage, almost tucked away in a corner, is a photograph of Hugo and the heart-faced woman --his hand on her pregnant belly.

Back when she was nothing but potential.

He misses this version of her the most.

Rendered a non-person for her betrayal.

To forget is to forgive.

Those who never were can never hurt.

Could it be that Karolina never existed? Was the idea of her simply implanted in me via dream-insertion?

Her existence has been confirmed by your controller, among others, unless they're all in on it...

Non-people are the only reliable assets.

The only thing you're better at than picking them is moulding them into the shapes you like best.

Every child betrays their parents. It's encoded in their DNA, the most ancient story there is.

You're going to make a lot of people upset with that one.

Your experiences are not universal.

He's not alone in any of these.

A simulation of company, carefully arranged on the walls to keep him surrounded through the long days.

Ghosts, gathered.

Look away. [Leave.]