I was almost normal but then I got bored.

Your daughter smiles when I tell her to lick my boot. She grins when I threaten her with electric shocks. When I put the barrel of a loaded gun in her mouth, she lets it go all the way to the base, her eyes fixed dead on the hammer.

Completely fine, yes; for a pilot of her station. She's doing exactly what she should be. But as a son? That poor, useless thing, working variably dead-eyed behind the counter at a dead-end job or nowhere at all? Entirely insufficient.

She talks about you sometimes. Not in any recognizable way, of course; nothing she could possibly understand as motherhood exists in her memories. Not of you, not of anyone. Just dreams. Dreams of a mysterious, distant woman and an unfamiliar voice telling her she's wrong. I'll admit, you've been useful at times; she is often wrong. But training out your unhelpful damage to her has been a hassle to say the least. I've never seen a pilot so reckless, so ignorant of its own pain, so tolerant of Hell, until I met your daughter.

I have no jurisdiction on Earth unless one of my pilots is stationed there. She has been instructed to stay far away from that planet, to keep you far away from her. These two things do not mean I would not gun you down the moment I saw you if I was given the opportunity. I suspect watching your limp, lifeless body, gushing blood from every bullet hole would heal Pilot #502 in a way no amount of forced amnesia, no amount of sedation, no amount of re-education ever could.

I'm sure you've heard the stories; you've probably shared some yourself. Young men disappear one day. A simple note, a calling card left in their place, emblazoned with the insignia of Station Delta. We have quite the reputation among broken mothers, blinded by the tears in their eyes and the fantasies they tell themselves, as nothing more than kidnappers. Some kind of wicked draft desperate to take their beloved sons from them; those sons they never gave another look to until they were already under our care.

We don't mind it. A scared populace is useful. But mark my words, and repeat them at your own peril:

She chose this.

so... we may have made something.

have YOU ever thought like this?????? i know WE hate the current plural diagnostics!!!! so! WE MADE OUR OWN!!!!!!!

it's 44 questions long, you can receive a total of 50 points!

it's unfortunately hosted through google forms for now unless we find something better...

we are not doctors, do not take your result as medical advice.

feel free to reblog with your result!

the idea behind this quiz is pretty much exactly that. these are all fairly normal symptoms. on their own, none of these are a sign of plurality.

however, they start to become a sign of something more when there's a large percentage answered "yes"! all diagnoses are collections of symptoms, that was the core idea behind this :) we sent this to several singlets to make sure it worked, and every time, singlets got a significantly lower score than systems!

a lot of plural quizzes have confusing, vague questions that are really hard to answer when you have, y'know. a disorder that causes memory issues. so we wanted to help that by making the questions as simple and, like, normal as possible. that's why we say that systems(not all, but many) usually get a score of about 60% ^^

of course, there is overlap with other disorders that cause disassociation, we are 100% aware of that. like we said, this isn't a diagnosis!! 🫶🫶