Admittedly, this was not quite what you were expecting to find when you finally reached the center, but at this point, you figure that you shouldn't really be surprised by much of anything. Instead of a solemn cathedral or temple like you were expecting, it's just a regular old department store, neon letters flickering idly across the front and speakers on the rooftop blaring a cheerful tune that your ears picked up from about a hundred meters away. When it's coming over the television set at home or over the din of a crowd of people, it's not so bad. Annoying, at worst. But here in the emptiness of the Cloud, with nothing but Shadows around to hear it, its presence is just eerie and unsettling. It gives the entire store a sense of being recently and urgently vacated.

You recall what the voice said about the Cloud being the dreamer's "perfect world". A world with nobody in it, where all the houses are the same and a department store jingle is the only sound to be heard for miles – is this really what she wants? It seems bleak for a girl like her, but then again, you've barely known her for an entire day. You take a deep breath to clear your mind, and step inside.

The doors slide closed automatically behind you as you enter the lobby, a small space tiled in a checkerboard pattern with a couple shopping carts hastily pushed up against the wall. To your right, there's a door to the stairs, and to your left, a couple elevators. Pushing the call button doesn't seem to be working – neither of the elevators' doors open. Stairs it is.

Each of the floors turns out to be just as deserted as the rest of the Cloud – you don't even find a single Shadow as you comb each one for Mariko. One floor is a grocery, although all the bins and shelves are stocked with food that's long since rotted. Another features clothing and shoes, and as you pass by each mannequin, you instinctively grip the neck of your guitar in anticipation of attack. Eventually, you make your way to the electronics department, which is relatively benign, save for the fact that every single television screen looks to have been smashed in. The rest of the floor's inventory, however, is untouched. The scene reminds you of the Enforcer, and you quicken your pace towards the next flight of stairs. But before you even make it halfway across the floor, the PA crackles to life, and a familiar voice begins to speak:

"Welcome valued customer! We thank you for choosing us, but at the moment we are currently closed. Please vacate the premises immediately, and have a great day!"

A short version of the jingle you heard outside follows the announcement, and then the PA goes dead. That was definitely Mariko's voice that you just heard, but there was something about it that didn't quite sound right. It reminds you of a 3D picture viewed without 3D glasses – easy enough identify, but hazy and out-of-focus around the edges. That and the nature of the announcement seems out of character for her. Remembering what the girl in the wetsuit told you, you figure the Dreamweaver must have something to do with it. At any rate, at least that tells you that you're going in the right direction. Ignoring the warning, you sprint across the floor towards the next flight of stairs, dodging piles of broken glass strewn across the floor.

The PA comes back on the moment you set foot into the kitchen goods department on the next floor. Mariko's voice sounds decidedly more agitated, and whatever cheerfulness remains sounds forced.

"Attention, uninvited guest! We do our best to provide you with service and a smile during our regular hours of operation, but we cannot extend the same courtesy to trespassers! Vacate the premises now or we will be forced to remove you."

When the PA goes dead again, you become acutely aware of the security cameras on the ceiling tracking you as you make your way around displays of knife sets and hi-tech blenders. Their whirring is unnaturally loud in the silence. You take two steps forward. The cameras follow you and stop when you do. You take two steps backwards. They move back to where they were before. An idea pops into your head.

You turn, stare directly into the lens of one of the cameras, and start to dance crazy! To your amusement, the cameras follow each and every one of your moves until you finally stop, out of breath. It feels a little dumb and silly, but at least it's helped you relax. The Dreamweaver is clearly trying to freak you out, and you're not going to let it while Mariko's still in danger.

The door to the next flight of stairs you find turns out to be locked, but after a few well-placed kicks, you manage to bust it open. The crash the door makes as it collides with the wall echoes throughout the stairwell, and you instinctively tense up. However, after a minute passes, nothing has happened - yet - so you decide to carefully press onwards.

When you emerge, it's into a long hallway illuminated only by softly dying fluorescent lights overhead. Doors with brass nameplates line either side of it. They must be offices for the management – or at least that's your best guess. On one of them you can make out a couple characters – a "na" and "ra" – but the others are completely blank. As you carefully creep down the corridor, your mind begins to play tricks on you. You hear sounds, incredibly faint sounds that you couldn't possibly be hearing – a distant horn, the whoop of sirens, a child weeping.

Then, you begin to feel a pressure on your throat, soft at first, as if someone was taking your pulse, but growing tighter and tighter the closer you get to the end of the hall. You drop to your knees, clawing at invisible hands clamped tight around your windpipe. Your diaphragm contracts frantically, seeking even the smallest gasp of air. And it might be that lack of oxygen reaching your brain, but you swear you can also feel someone's hot, ragged breath at the nape of your neck. And just when the edges of your vision become tinted black, spreading like film burn, the grip vanishes. The sudden rush of air into your lungs and bloodstream sends the world spinning, and it takes some time before you stop spluttering and coughing enough to stand upright again. You start to wonder if this is the Dreamweaver's way of punishing you for your little performance earlier, but your thoughts are quickly interrupted by another message from the PA system.

"What's the angle, trespasser? What do you think you're trying to do? There's no one here that needs saving, no one that needs your help. I'm finally strong enough to solve all my problems all by myself, so turn around. If you're looking for a damsel to save, the only thing you're going to find is despair. Consider this your warning."

With that, the PA clicks off, and there's a low shoom as the power shuts down throughout the entire store. Total darkness envelops you, broken only by a small sliver of light streaming in from a crack in the doorway at the end of the hall. It should lead to the rooftop food court, the only place you haven't checked yet.

Mariko's last message still echoes in your head. You don't buy into what she's saying, at least the part about her not needing any help. You've experienced how hostile the Cloud is firsthand – it's no place for any human being; not you, not her, not even someone truly tough like Shibutani. Hell, without your Persona, you'd have been eaten a long time ago. You know Mariko doesn't like relying on other people – that's probably why she's saying the things she is – but she's obviously gotten herself in over her head. If she's got a problem with it, she can take it up with you later. You're her guide, goddammit! And more importantly, you're her friend. It's time to get her the hell out of here.

You push open the door to the roof slowly so as to avoid making any noise that might alert the Dreamweaver (which you're sure must be close by), but unfortunately, you can't prevent it from making an ear-screeching squeal as it swings outwards. Subtlety all but destroyed, you rip your guitar out of its case and dart into the midst of the food court, pivoting about in all directions so you're not caught unawares. However, there appears to be nothing and no one up here to attack you.

Then you see her.

Suspended in midair several meters off the ground, Mariko appears to be trapped in some sort of invisible coffin, its outline traced in gently pulsating strings of some wispy, blackish-blue substance. The way her body is positioned adds to the impression, stiff like a board with her arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed.

"Mariko!" you shout, but she doesn't respond. You run under her and jump as high as you can to see if you can't grab on to one of her shoes and pull her down, but she's just out of your reach. "Dammit…Mariko! C'mon, wake up!" you yell again, but you still can't elicit a response.

"Mariko! Mariko! Mariko!" a voice from across the food court calls out mockingly. "Jeez, you really are some kind of stupid, aren't you?"

"What the…?"

There was nobody there before, you're sure of it. But now, a near-perfect doppelganger of Mariko leers at you from beneath her hovering, prone form. It's strange: although they look so alike, at the same time it'd be impossible to get them confused. Aside from the differences in wardrobe (this new Mariko looks like a salaryman come home from a day at work – dark slacks, grey shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a red tie), something in her demeanor is violently at odds with the person you know. There's a cold, aloof edge to her stance, a sensation that's only enhanced by a pair of bright, golden eyes.

"I was trying to be nice. I was trying to take the high road. You heard me, right? You shouldn't be here. You don't need to be here. But you've awakened to your Persona, and now you figure it's your chance to play the hero, huh?"

You snort, not fooled in the least. The way this thing's acting, it must be the Dreamweaver. "If you think that I'm not gonna beat your face in just because you look like a person, you're in for a rude awakening. I know all about you," you say. Hopefully it doesn't call your bluff.

It laughs, high and scathing, causing you to wince involuntarily. "Oh you do, do you? What a typical human!" The other Mariko begins striding towards you, its steps slow and deliberate.

"You don't know a thing about me. You think I just look like her – soon enough, I'll be her, too."

Her words snap something in your brain, and you rush her down, ready to drive your guitar into the imposter's smug little skull. You swing downwards with all your might – but your guitar never reaches her. With lightning speed, her arm shoots out and clamps around your wrist with a crushing grip, preventing you from delivering the blow. You push against her even harder, but she doesn't even budge an inch.

"This…this has gotta be a joke," you say.

"I know I think it's funny," she says, and drives her foot right into your stomach. The force of the kick immediately drives all the air out of your lungs and sends you flying backwards across the food court, toppling over numerous tables and chairs. Flipping yourself over onto your hands and knees with a low groan, you clutch at your stomach to keep yourself from puking. This can't be how strong a Dreamweaver is. Didn't the wetsuit girl say it should be weaker without its Enforcer?

It doesn't look like the Dreamweaver is finished yet. She reaches around behind her back, and from her waist, she removes a sleek, heavy-looking black handgun. Your eyes widen in shock, and the Dreamweaver must notice, because she starts cackling again.

"You like it?" She levels the weapon at you briefly, then flings it aside, laughing even harder. "Don't worry, I don't plan on using it – human weapons are so clumsy and boring. Perfect for humans, but a Shadow has no use for them. Where'd I get it, then? Why not ask her?" she says, pointing to Mariko. "She had it on her the entire time, holstered in her jacket like some kinda cop! Who would have guessed, a sweet girl like her? Not you!" The corners of her mouth turn up into a cruel grin. "After all, when it comes to poor little Mariko, no one knows her better than me."

"The hell you do," you snarl, but the Dreamweaver rolls her eyes.

"What? Does that bother you? I'm not doing anything but telling the truth." She turns back to look at Mariko. "She's shared everything with me: every struggle, every tragedy, every single little thing she hates about herself. She's lived a pretty miserable life, you know. But what else can you expect? She's only human!" The Dreamweaver begins laughing at her own joke again. You're tempted to try and catch her off guard while she's having her moment, but you're not terribly confident about that right now.

"Deep down, you're all like that. Neurotic creatures with a hundred dreams, a thousand little fantasies, and a million flaws that keep you from realizing any of them. That's why she came to me."

"I…I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, human. You don't think I just forced my way into her dream, did you? No, I'm here because I was invited. I'm here to make them come true."

It's an innocent enough phrase, but the way she says it sends shivers down your spine.

"What are you doing to her?"

The Dreamweaver puts her hands up in a disarming gesture. "So accusing. I'm just giving her what she wants. You know, it doesn't make sense. Why are humans the ones that get to live in the real world when they're just so bad at it? When you're human, all you can be is just…you. If you're doomed to an ugly life, there's not a thing you can do about it. We Shadows are different. We can be everything humans aren't – clever, strong, charismatic, beautiful.

"You've seen her dream world. It's a nice, perfect little town with nobody around to shelter or coddle or protect her. She's only got what she needs to survive, and that's it." The Dreamweaver then sneers, an expression that drips with contempt. "But even still, she can't let go of others - there's still all sorts of reminders of the people she's tried so hard to leave behind. How sad is that, to not even be able to commit to your own dream? This kind of crap is exactly why humans don't deserve to exist."

"That's bullshit. Since when do you get to decide who should exist and who shouldn't?"

The Dreamweaver's face screws up with disgust. "Why shouldn't I? Humanity's had its chance, but you've screwed it up every single time! The verdict is clear –your time here is just about up."She jerks her head towards Mariko's body.

"I'm grown-up! I can take care of myself! I wish everyone else would leave me alone! Let me do what I want! Isn't that hilarious? She wants to make her own decisions, yet she runs away from home to go live with another adult! She wants to take care of herself, but she hangs onto you like a little lost puppy! Let me do what I want! But live my life for me! How hopeless! How pathetic! How utterly and completely human! She doesn't have a clue. Once I take her place, I'll be doing her one hell of a favor!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, and the Shadow rolls her eyes.

"You sure ask a lot of obvious questions. Pity you didn't ask to be put out of your misery, too, you could stand to be a lot smarter. What I mean is that I'm replacing her. As a Shadow, I'm much more suited to take charge of her sorry situation than she is. What's the point of becoming a gun-toting vagabond if you're not even going to do it right?"

"You can't do this to her! You're right – I have no clue what she told you or what you know about her. But there's no way this is what she wanted! There's no way that any sane person wants this!"

You're not doing a very good job of masking your emotions, because she starts giggling snidely at you. "Oh, wow! What are you getting so angry for? If you hadn't been snooping around here, you'd never even know! Besides, it's not like she really gets the short straw. Everything that I do, say, and feel, her consciousness will experience. It's like she's having a fantastic dream that she never has to wake up from. Now ask yourself this: would it really be fair to take that away from her? We've already established that you don't know anything about her, so why do you think that you get to decide what's right and wrong? Isn't that exactly the kind of thing she would absolutely hate?"

"Oh, so you're just taking her to a better place, is that it? Pretty sure that's the exact same logic kidnappers and serial killers use."

Her eyes narrow, and she heaves a frustrated sigh. You're hoping that it's just your imagination, but the whites of her eyes appear to darken, and bluish-black smoke begins to roil around her form like steam from a boiling tea kettle. And when she speaks, it's as if her voice takes on several different pitches at once.

"I should have known that trying to reason with a human was going to be an exercise in futility. Your self-righteous attitude makes me wanna puke. A world of dream trumps reality in every way possible! She won't even know it's not real! Better for her, better for me! A real win-win!"

Your hand reaches for your guitar once more. It doesn't matter how easily she countered you last time, you're running out patience.

"Yeah, see, this right here? This is the kinda thing that makes it hard for me to take you seriously. I can't imagine anyone in real life who'd prefer you over the real thing. I'm not playing this game with you anymore. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another Shadow. I'm here to bring Mariko home; if I need to smash your face in to do it, then that's fine with me."

"Your ignorance is really starting to piss me off now! This is the way things were always meant to be! Shadow over human! Mind over matter! Fantasy over reality! I've waited too long for an opportunity like this, and I'll be damned if I let some pigheaded white knight like you get in my way!"

The Dreamweaver doubles over and clutches at the right side of her face. From under her palm, the smoke begins to stream forth in long, ropy tendrils of dark miasma. Then, she slowly drags it down, revealing half of a sunburst mask underneath with one golden eye leering murderously from under it.

"I think it's time you learned your place!"