You finish pressing your butt into the screen covering from the access panel and your dark project is complete: your skin is now covered head-to-toe in a grid of one centimeter square-shaped impression marks. You look very much like human graph paper.
Already content to run about the neighborhood naked (you are on a first-name basis with several local police officers), you now have an added layer of fun in the mix.
You spot a car speeding down your street from two intersections down. You run into the roadway and begin to gesticulate robotically.
As the car nears you begin to shout. "Human! I am in need of your asssitance! I have been transmitted from my digital world into this crude flesh on a mission with one objective: love!"
The middle-aged woman behind the wheel is visibly terrified. She guns the engine, sending you careening over the top of her car. You clear the trunk and fall to the pavement with a soft smack. You feel a strong blow to your head and your vision goes white for a split second. A whining ring lingers in your ears.
The car does not slow down after hitting you. From your spot on the asphalt you watch the vehicle grow smaller and smaller before turning off into a side street.
You lie nearly motionless until a familiar face moves into your field of view.
"Terry, what the hell you did to your skin?" Officer Mason asks. Someone must have witnessed the hit-and-run and called the police. "You look like the god damn Hellraiser guy done left his needles at home."
"Help computer," you croak. "Digital disaster."
"Terry you're dumber than a box of rocks, know that?" he asks rhetorically. He does not cite you for public nudity, which you consider a win.