{"type":"location","location":{"title":"Your Apartment - Early Morning","description":"You wake in your bed, disoriented. Pale Tokyo dawn light filters through the blinds of your modest apartment. Your head throbs with a dull ache you don't remember going to sleep with.\n\nAs consciousness settles, fragments of someone else's memories flicker at the edges of your mind like corrupted data—a woman's face, rain on dark streets, the smell of cigarette smoke in an unfamiliar room. You've heard about Cascade Grief on the news, seen the warnings about the new neurological condition sweeping through the city. Memory contamination. Identity dissolution. But that happens to other people.\n\nYour apartment is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning. Your clinical notes from yesterday sit on the desk. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror looks tired—more tired than you should after a full night's sleep.\n\nWhoever these memories belong to, they don't feel like contamination. They feel urgent. They feel like a warning.\n\nYour phone buzzes on the nightstand. A message from your clinic receptionist: 'Several cancellations today. People are scared.' Below that, older notifications you haven't read—news alerts about a woman's death six months ago, ruled a suicide.","suggestedActions":["Check your phone and read the recent messages","Examine your clinical notes on the desk","Go to the bathroom and try to remember the fragments of memory more clearly","Search your apartment for anything unusual","Head to your clinic to see what's happening"],"conversation":"l0h1izzgjgdn5p39whnhi"},"conversationLength":1,"maxFreeConversationLength":10}