Who Are You?

You're in a place that's silver-gray and endless. No walls. No ceiling. Just mist, cool and light, that twines around your legs and wisps between your fingers. And a horizon that goes on and on and on. There's nothing here. Is there even a floor? Your feet stand on something solid, but it feels like a trick. This is a place where people come, but none can ever stay. This is a place of transitions. So. One question. [[Who Are You?]]

In another world, you run a shop of curiosities. Buying and selling trinkets and odd items that somehow serve to make and break the lives of the patrons who come to your shop. But that's the nature of these things, isn't it? Only a fool dabbles in the shadows of magic not expecting the fallout. No one who buys something from you ever does so a second time. *** This evening, it's a friend. One that's never felt the need for your services before, until tonight. You glance up as the shop's door inches open, a man in a black hood slipping through. "Ross," you say. "Hey, Colby." He pushes back the hood. Thick, dark hair sticks out, ruffled by the outside wind. Ross glances around. "You already closed up for the night?" "That's what the sign on the door says." You set down the soul gem you'd been examining on the counter. "But that's never really stopped you from coming by, before." Ross grins. "Perks of being your friend for so long." All at once, the good humor drops from his face. He approaches the counter. Ross's voice quiets to a whisper. "Do you have it?" Your hand slides to a package beneath the counter. It's unassuming, wrapped in brown paper and tied with coarse string. But as your fingers hover above it your skin prickles with the sensation of ambient magic. You know what this is. What he wants to do with it. The dangers involved with his plans. Do you give it to him? [[Yes->RossDie]] [[No->RossLive]]

In another world, you paint the land in rich colors. You give it a burning sunset, a gentle night. The grass glows in spring and snow glitters a diamond array in winter. They call you many things. Painter. Wanderer. Life. Quietly, you call yourself a simpler name made by the humans whose forms you mimic: Kristin. It's the destiny of every human to meet you. At their birth you're there, whispering color into their skin and brushing hues over their eyes. Without color, these beings would fade. And in their end, you take them back, and give them anew. His name is Colby. He comes to you with a child in his arms. The child is fading. Skin paled to gray, hair transparent at the tips. You'd have come for this one soon, had Colby not brought her. "Please," he begs. "Painter, save her. Give her new colors." "I can't." //"Please."// "That isn't how it works. I only have so many colors to give, and they must all go to new life." Your heart aches. "Soon, I'll have to take hers." (He looks at you with horror, and it reminds you why in their saddest moments humans also call you Death.) He squeezes the child in his arms. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they are tragically bright. "Give her mine." When you don't respond, he continues. "You can't give her new colors, but these colors are mine. Give her those." This has never happened before. "You'll fade." "I don't care." And suddenly, there's a choice. [[Take his colors.->ColbyDies]] [[Don't take his colors.->ColbyLives]]

In another world, there are beasts that would call you 'Mother,' could they speak. They range in all sizes, from a mouse to a mountain. They live in scorched forests, where the ground is burned black and ash clings to tree bark. No one touches these forests. To enter is crazy. To live there is madness. It's good, then, that you've never been entirely sane. You aren't sure where you came from. Maybe you're human. You //look// human. But that's not enough to quell the whispers behind market stalls as you pass. //"A beast in human form,"// they say. //"Come to test us of our morals. Come to judge. Come to feast."// Whether the food and supplies they offer is given out of fear or respect, you take it either way. *** She's tall. Blonde hair, bright eyes, slim frame. She sets foot in your scorched lands one day in spring, and by summer she's become a permanent fixture. Her name is Kristin. She never says why she came. She follows you from one blackened forest to the next. You teach her things. How to ride the boulder-beasts and sleep in the warm cradle of the fire-bellied creatures. She learns well. But she was never meant to stay. Exposure to the scorched lands blots her skin with black, colors her coughs dull gray. With every day that passes her condition grows worse, and you know she's closer to death. "There's a town in the green lands near here," you mention one day. "You should go there." "I want to stay," she says. You let her, until one morning she's too weak to rise. "I'm taking you to the town." "I want to stay," she repeats. [[Let her stay.->KristinDies]] [[Take her to town.->KristinLives]]

In another world, you are the greatest champion of the gods. The Last Warrior of Old. A blade in one hand, shield in the other, armor decorated with the stories of your patrons draped across your chest. You have beheaded tyrants. Slain multi-headed creatures with fangs the size of your arms. Raised the people up in rebellion against their tormenters. And for their last act before they leave this world entirely, they ask of you one thing. //Kill this man.// *** He's unassuming. Brown hair, stubbled chin. The most striking thing about him is his eyes. Bright blue, intelligent. You come to his home expecting a thief, a vagrant, someone vile enough to be worth staining your sword with blood. But he isn't. He's sarcastic, and witty, and carries a sharp tongue, but not a cruel one. You'd rather be his friend than his killer. He gives you his back for a moment. [[Kill him.->WillDies]] [[Spare him.->WillLives]]

In another world, you were born to pilot an airship. The ground couldn't hold you the way the sky did. So the day one's captain pressed his gun to your temple and said, "Either come with me, or die here," you never hesitated to answer, "Yes." The captain was good at what he did. Pillaging supply ships and royal envoys came naturally. Within a few months, you had more money to your name than your entire family'd ever had at once. But he was also cruel, and indiscriminate in who he attacked, and more than a dozen of the crew were those who'd been forced to join as you had. When the day for mutiny came, you were the first with your sword at his neck and your gun at his chest. Now, the ship is yours. It sails the slipstreams in a streak of hulking quick-silver, wings stretched to catch the winds. You start your mornings above deck. Thin, stringy clouds pass and disperse around the bulk of the ship. You drape your hand over the side, letting the clouds dampen your skin in cool beads that drip from your fingertips. Beyond the gentle rush of wind and hum of technology and magic that keep the ship's feathered wings propelling forward, you hear her footsteps. "Mornin', Bee." Abbey, often called 'Bee,' crosses to your side. Her hair is to her shoulders, framing a face that's soft at the cheeks. A silver-purple scar cuts into one side of her face, and lends a certain sort of dangerous attractiveness. No one knows how she got that scar. Many have asked, and each received a different response. //"Oh, this? Had a run in with a sea-beast." "Cats are vicious when you forget to feed them." "I was fighting one of the warriors from the east for the heart of the fairest maid." "Had a tussle with a wayward god after a game of cards." "A friend gave it to me."// Sometimes, you wonder which one is true. "Captain." She nudges your shoulder. "I wanted to confirm our plans for today." "We're raiding an imperial airship." You nod north. "Rumor has it they're carrying the King's own jewels." "Where do you want me?" You consider. [[The front, at your side.->BeeLives]] [[The back, guarding your exit.->BeeDies]]

[[...]]

So. You've made it here. Tell me, given the chance, did you ever undo your choices? Go back, and try again? [[Yes]] [[No]]

Must be nice, the ability to go back on a decision. Try another choice. Make up for mistakes. Did you save anyone by doing it? Did you protect them? All of them? But then, what is your definition of 'save'? [[Yes->Yes2]] [[No->No2]]

Oh? A purist, then. Accepting your decisions, for better or worse. Did you manage to save them, then, despite your acceptance? All of them? But then, what is your definition of 'save'? [[Yes->Yes2]] [[No->No2]]

How sweet. [[...->Who]]

No one asked you to, anyway. [[...->Who]]

But, perhaps you'd like another chance. Try once more. Or maybe, you'd simply like to take a look into someone else. So, I'll ask-- Who Are You? [[Colby]] (if: (history:) contains "Yes2")[[[...->Ariel]]]

There are dice on the table. You look around, and find a room full of misfits. They chortle, and snicker, and guffaw. Paper and pen litter the table, in a game of make-believe. A world of escapism. This world is duller than the others. There's no magic, no airships or stardust. But you're all safe in this world, for the moment. Together. Friends. It's not a bad place to exist. [[...->End2]]

You give him the package. "Be careful," you warn. "These kinds of things are dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt." Ross takes the package. He holds it tight to his chest. "You know me. I'll be //fine//." *** But he isn't, necessarily. Three days later, they find him on the floor of a rented room. His body is fine. No wounds, no poison. It's as though his soul walked off and left his corpse behind. Wherever it went, it left with a smile. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You pull your hand back, and leave the package there. "Sorry, man," you say. "I searched everywhere I could, but I'm afraid I couldn't get my hands on it." "Oh." His shoulders droop, but he perks up again with a half-smile. "That's fine. You did your best, dude." *** Ross sticks around. He pops in every so often to visit, all relaxed humor and boisterous laughs. It's nice. But sometimes, when things get too quiet, he looks tired. His eyes wander to the window, searching the street for someone, something. Beneath the counter, the package gathers dust. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You are: [[Colby]] (if: (history:) contains "Colby")[ [[Kristin]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Kristin")[ [[Abbey]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Abbey")[ [[Zach]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Zach")[ [[Kat]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Kat")[ [[Will]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Will")[ [[Ross]] ] (if: (history:) contains "Ross")[Or maybe, maybe... It doesn't matter who you are. This is a place of transitions.It may be time to go. Are you scared? [[Yes->Yes3]] [[No->No3]]]

In another world, the sea runs its course through your lungs. Your breaths are the tide, heartbeats the current that push and pull the waves. You mold reef-beds in your hands and your blood pours from sea floors in cracks of molten rock. If your body had form, you'd want it to shine like the sands. *** Well, this is curious. You feel him in your tide, pulled along the currents and rolled in the waves. A human, wounded, separated from his people. Short haired and short bodied. His blood mixing with your waters and attracting the predators that swim in your bones. On the surface are two ships. One of black sails, one of white. You decide to do him the courtesy of returning him. Which ship do you return him to? [[The White Ship->ZachDies]] [[The Black Ship->ZachLives]]

In another world, you create universes in beakers and test tubes. They swirl, almost liquid in their glass confines. Shimmering black and points of white with thin streams of gold, blue, red, green, purple. They have names, these universes. Labeled in neat, brick lettering on rectangles of white paper. You've raised them from tiny bits of compressed, super-heated matter. In years, they grow to fill the confines of their beakers. At this point, they're given to the Universal Creation Commity to be placed in an open area of space, to cultivate into a full-sized universe. Of all the universes you've cultivated, one is your favorite. A lovely swirl of blues and silvers, nebulas wreathed in gold, a multitude of stars that are the brightest of any universe made. You name it Katrina. *** When Katrina's ready for placement by the UCC, you glance through the current options for available space. Only one is up for offer. A no-man's land of emptiness. Though virtually the same as any other area where universes are placed, this one has been up for consideration many times. No explanation has come to light for why universes can't survive there. "Doctor." A UCC representative enters your lab, and holds her hand out to shake. "I'm here to collect the specimen for placement." You stroke your thumb over the label. "Are there any other places besides the Universe-Killer to put it?" "There's...one." She purses her lips. "But it's smaller than we'd like, and hasn't been completely cleared. We're calling it Delta-Space. I'd let you hold onto it until another place came up, but even I can tell that universe is close to overflowing from its beaker. "So, which would you like it placed in? The pre-approved area, or Delta-Space?" [[Universe-Killer->KatLives]] [[Delta-Space->KatDies]]

That's fine. I would be, as well. It's a frightening thing. [[...->End]]

Perhaps you should be. But then, great things can come from bravery. [[...->End]]

The world is silver-gray, and misty. The floor is a solid lie beneath your feet. Many people come here. None stay. It's time for you to go, as well. [[Okay]] [[Wait]]

[[The world fades away.]]

Hm? [[Nevermind->Okay]] [[I have questions.]]

[[You wake up.]]

... Made by ASC. With thanks to friends. I hope you enjoyed. [[Play Again->But They Refused]]

I will answer one. [[Where is this?]] [[Why am I here?]] [[Who are you?->I am]]

A place of transitions. A thing of impermanence. Neither Heaven, nor Hell. Nothing so solid as Limbo or Purgatory. We are simply between. [[...->Answer]]

The same reason everyone comes here. To transition. To //learn//. You are no different. You will change, and shift, and distort into something wonderful and tragic. This is the nature of things. [[...->Answer]]

I? Does it matter who I am? [[It doesn't.]] [[It does.]]

There. I have answered your question. Are you ready to go now? [[Okay]] [[One more question]]

Then let that be your answer. [[...->Answer]]

Then I am nothing. I am like this place. Impermanent and gone. Lines of code and text to make a voice that never has and never will exist. One day I, and the rest of this, will be gone, forgotten. In time you'll forget about me, too. [[...->Answer]]

No. It's time for you go. [[Okay]]

"I want you at my side, helping lead the assault." She nods. "Yes, Captain." "Wake the crew." You make for the ship's helm. "Get everyone ready. We attack soon." *** But the rumors were a lie. At first, it's almost too easy. The two of you cut your way through the imperial forces, and only when the bulk of the crew has boarded the other ship does the fire come. Your ship burns. The wings catch flame and drip and burn in strings of living metal, the stench of ruined magic heavy all around. It pops and hisses, the technology giving out, and spirals out of the sky to crash into the earth far below. Only then, escape route gone, do the real enemies make themselves known. They come through charmed doors in seemingly flat walls, from hidden hatches in the floor. Your crew dies around you, but through some miracle, you and Bee escape on a small emergency ship. The first night, Bee drinks herself to unconsciousness. The second, you do. The third, you wake up to a goodbye note. You get another ship. It's better than the old, a newer model, but doesn't feel the same. Years pass. You think you see Bee once, in a crowded city market with someone nice on her arm, but she's gone before you're sure. Wherever she is, you hope she's happy. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

"I want you to stay back, guard our escape route." She nods. "Yes, Captain." "Wake the crew." You make for the ship's helm. "Get everyone ready. We attack soon." *** But the rumors were a lie. At first, it's almost too easy. You cut your way through the imperial forces. Only when your search comes up empty and the bulk of the crew has made it aboard does the trap become apparent. "Get back to the ship!" Imperial soldiers come through charmed doors in seemingly flat walls, from hidden hatches in the floor. But the attack loses its surprise, and your crew fights to the death to get back. A handful of you make it. On your ship's deck, the corpses of those meant to guard the ship are strewn about with those of the enemy, their bloods mixing. Only two still stand. A soldier from the other ship, and Bee. But not for long. You arrive just in time for the soldier, bleeding from the gut and one eye slashed, to throw her over the side. Your sword slip between his bones moments later. His body falls, lifeless. You lean over the side, a cold sweat on your skin. But Bee isn't to be seen. She's already fallen through the clouds. The few remaining crew guide the ship to safety. You escape. It takes three days to find her. A mangled thing of blood and muscle, dropped through a canopy of trees. A leg and part of an arm are gone, eaten by some hungry beast. You take the time to bury her before returning to the ship. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

Your heart beats. It beats red and black and blue and as you place your hand upon him, your skin is dyed those colors as well. It leeches from his body and collects in your palm, an ever-swirling mass of color. When it's over, there's nothing left of him but gray. He smiles as you place your hand over the child, and let them seep into her. Her skin luminant and rosey, hair rich brown, eyes shining blue behind her eyelids. Her original colors are changed, adapting to these older ones. He sets her down before his arms begin to fade. He takes your hand in his, but he has no red to warm it. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you." He's gone in moments. When the child wakes, you're nowhere to be found. *** That night, you use your tears to color frost. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

"I won't. I'm sorry." He shakes his head furiously. "Please. Please." When you approach, he tries to back away. You stop him with a wave of your hand. He clutches her close as his legs hold him in place. You put your hand over her, and what little color was left soaks into your palm. He sobs as the fading hastens, and in moments, there's nothing left of her. You leave him there. Your heart beats red and black and blue and aches intensely. The girl is gone. But he will live. *** Decades later, after he's had a new child and a new home and a new life, you come for him, too. He never looks you in the eye. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You stay by her side until her skin is black and shiny. Her hair withers before she heaves her last breath. When her hand goes slack in yours, you wipe away the tears from your cheeks. You wait. Her body dissolves to ash. In the remnants, a tiny creature of black fur and a dozen eyes is born. It nuzzles your hand, and scurries into the underbrush. Maybe you //aren't// human. Humans were never meant to survive out here. Or if you were, you can't say if you are now. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You carry her unconscious to the edge of the forest. In the green grass and brown earth, the spots begin to fade from her skin and the cough subsides. You wait until someone finds her, and takes her in. You check in on her later, unseen. She didn't escape the scorched lands intact. One of her hands is gone, succumbed to the ash and dissolved away. She looks in the direction of the forest at times. For a while, you fear she may try to return. But the man at her side with the kind face and the dog circling her feet make her smile, and she looks less and less. It's for the best. Satisfied, you move on to another area of scorched land. There are more beasts yet to tend. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

"Okay, go with the original plan." The UCC representative nods, and accepts the beaker. "We'll do our best." Over the coming weeks, you keep track of the news on the newly placed Katrina Universe. Planting a new universe is like planting a foreign tree in new soil. You hope it takes. For a while, nothing happens. The universe doesn't expand or shrink. It goes oddly stagnant. Then, in a spark of something you have no name for, it grows. Clusters and superclusters grow, thrive, become abundant. Planets form and crusts cool, satellite bodies moving into orbit. Comets streak past stars on huge elliptical orbits. Life becomes a possibility. It's the greatest success to date. And then, suddenly, it's gone. It isn't like the other times. The universes placed there before were destroyed, reduced to little more than handfuls of iron dust and trace hydrogen elements. Universe Katrina, however, just...disappeared. The news spreads accross the galaxy, highlighted on every info-hub and holo-sphere. //'How did we lose a universe?'// You don't know. But you hope that, somewhere, the Katrina Universe is thriving. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

"Try Delta-Space." The UCC representative nods, and accepts the beaker. "We'll do our best." Over the coming weeks, you keep track of the news on the newly placed Katrina Universe. The first week seems hopeful. It's expanding, galaxy clusters growing at an accelerated rate. Two weeks in, planets are forming and their crusts cooling. Atmospheres grant habitability. But in week three, things go wrong. Katrina collapses in on itself, pulling everything back in and breaking it down to atoms. What's left is collected in a test tube and returned to him. It doesn't swirl anymore. The colors dull, faded, darker. No spark of life left to save. You poor it down the drain, a dead universe slipping into the pipes. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You sweep him in your waves and toss him aboard the ship with white sails. Hours later, he's tossed back a corpse. You feel bad, in a way. But his body feeds those that live within you, and you appreciate him for that. They strip him clean until all that's left is bones that settle at your feet. You kick them up every now and then, remember him, and let them fall. But eventually, even they are gone. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You sweep him in your waves and toss him aboard the ship with black sails. Hours later, revived and grateful, he tosses a bottle back. It's corked and carries a note of some kind, but you could never read it. He does this again, year after year. Eventually you wash the bottles ashore in distant lands, or crack them on cliffsides so that they may sink to the ocean's floor. For his last one, dropped from old and shaking hands from a passenger ship, you do something special. You break the bottle against rocks in the tide, and grind the glass to sand. You breathe it in, and find that for gratitude, this will do. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

Your blade sings through his flesh. The tip pierces his heart and keeps going, bursting through the front. You never see his face as he falls to the ground. You let go of your sword. Your body trembles. And then, you feel weak. Your shield, your armor, your sword all evaporate into mist. You are left with nothing. In a final act, the gods saw fit to give you a test. And you have failed. *** You spend your days in obscurity. It isn't a bad life. (But it is lonely.) [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]

You draw your blade halfway, and just as quickly sheath it. You can not kill a man who has done no wrong. When Will turns around, it's like nothing ever happened. You eat your meal together, and return home. You sleep. Upon waking, a pair of golden wings has sprouted from your back in the night. In a final act, the gods saw fit to give you a test. And you have passed. *** For your services and judgment, you are given the gift of flight. You discover the world. Cross great seas, soar to mountain-tops, sleep in the boughs of great trees never seen in your homeland. Eventually, you find someone to share it with. It's a good life. [[Life goes on.->Who Are You?]]