Whose blood is this?

At last, you are a body. A strange one, but a body nonetheless. It moves as you move. Stitches run along your corpus and your head seems to feel heavy. It aches. You assume you are capable of speech, independent thought, and mildly impressive acrobatic feats. A tag poking almost imperceptibly out of you reads, "DECEPTIVELY AUTONOMOUS PUPPET THING".

[Look around].