Use it.

Looking at the icon, you laugh at yourself and shake your head, and find yourself relaxing completely.

Personality? Mind? Memories? It's just a file. Carrie's file, sure, but it's just ones and zeroes. And here you are fretting over it like it's the most important thing in the world.

Your day with Nick was phenomenal. Your day before that as the new you was awesome. And tomorrow is going to be awesome, too, so long as you've got this body. You feel young, vivacious, passionate. No wonder Carrie wanted to ride the high of doing anything you asked her to do. No feeling could be better than living a little recklessly. Now that you're her, you understand completely.

You meant what you said to Nicolas. You didn't know if you'd ever be able to give this body back. But maybe...

Carrie's personality was amazing. And the snapshot on your computer is a static image of who Carrie was at that exact moment - willing to do anything for you.

She actually meant it when she said it too, 100%. You talked about it some before she agreed to the helmet body swap. If you wanted her to jump off a bridge, cheat on you, or quit her job and college career to be a classy escort, she would have.

Carrie would have died for you. She would have killed for you. So in a way, you didn't just have Carrie's body under your thumb, you had her personality at your beck and call too, just as much as you did your old body. Except that personality was a file on your computer, not flesh and blood like Automaton Dave.

Your thoughts wandered to include another problem you'd have to deal with.

You told Nick that you could figure out her friends and family, that you had Carrie's diaries, but right now to you, that sounded like a ton of work. You'd have to read everything, study it for months, to keep your new life straight. Not just diaries, but old college papers, social media posts, old keepsakes and letters you (Carrie?) had stored in boxes.

That's what it'd take if you wanted to do a good job. Of course you didn't care too much about doing a good job, but could just half-ass it, but with Carrie's file on your computer, you suddenly realized you had a way to kill two birds with one stone.

If slipping into somebody else's life was really that doable, why couldn't you have somebody else do it for you? Somebody you loved, and trusted, and who was a hard worker? They could deal with this whole big 'friends and family' thing so you wouldn't have to.

You moved Carrie's file to a more secure location, placed your special personality helmet comfortably against your naked hip, and grabbed Carrie's phone - your phone - from the coffee table. Then you kicked up your feet and made a call from her (your) contacts.

"I'm Carrie. I'm Carrie," you reminded yourself, taking up the mantra while the phone rang.