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You're in a massive glass tube along a wall in a pristine, white room. You realize immediately that you're having your first thoughts.
>Choose only one
>Who am I
>What am I
>Where am I
>>
>>1627945
>and roll 1 d20
>>
Rolled 13 (1d20)
>>1627945
>Who am I
>>
>Who am I
>13/20
Thoughts come rushing into your head faster than you know how to comprehend them. Thinking abstractly for a moment, you wonder;
>"Do I have a head??"
Your hands scramble up, groping along your firm, hairless cranium.
What a relief.
With a start, you realize a mirror has risen from the floor in front of your tube, with a cartoonish cutout of what you reckon to be a regular sized person jutting out next to it.
You're a great specimen of a human, completely colorless, and with a robust and pristine symmetrical face and body. You could be a model or a professional athlete, you imagine.
Suddenly, the fluid begins to drain from your container, and the glass encasing you lowers with it. Stepping out, the human cutout begins sliding on a rail out of the room.
Following it through a labyrinth of corrugated tunnels and and arches, you arrive in a final room where the door does not open on its own. You hear a lock snap shut behind you. The cutout waves at you, then remains still.
With a heave, you pull open the final door, exposing the outside world.
>Roll 1d20 for the world beyond.
>>
Rolled 2 (1d20)
>>1628046
>>
Rolled 9 (1d20)
>>1628046
Rolling in hope of not getting a hellscape.
>>
>2/20
Noxious fumes immediately flood into your lungs and blind your vision, sending you coughing and reeling.
Unable to take it anymore, you slam the door shut, and gradually the diseased air dissipates through the vents.
You remember nothing of the world before, but know whatever's out there is NOT normal.
Just as you prepare to brave the storm again, a gas mask drops from the ceiling above you, landing with a plop by your feet.
Sliding it onto your head you realize that you're completely butt naked. Nothing else drops.
Once again pulling open the massive metal door, you are able to breathe, but whatever the fumes are sting and scratch along your skin. It's unpleasant, but is not unbearable.
You set off into what becomes a bit of a marsh. Overgrown purple mushrooms tower above you, their bio-luminescent spores illuminating your way through the green vapor.
The water is completely still, and devoid of any animal life.
Trudging through, the swamp begins to open up to a bit of a clearing. Despite the darkness present beneath the mushrooms, it's actually the middle of the day, the sun in a position almost right above you. The burning sensation on your skin has also dissipated as you've moved further into the clearing, and you take your mask off for a breath of (relatively) fresh air.
Wet, yellow and blue moss coats the ground in front of you for miles on end, without a living thing in sight. Once again, you feel your hopes begin to leave you.
Closing your eyes, you look to the sky for a prayer, and hear something break the silence.
>Roll 1d20
>>
Rolled 5 (1d20)
>>1628165
Hoping for a friend
>>
>5/20
You hear the sound of an orchestra. The earth shakes as the deafening roar of trumpets, drums, flutes and pipes stream towards you
Patriotic banners stream down the sides, some sort of amalgamation of two countries you can't quite place your finger on.
The defeaning noise grows more intense, as you see more and more - hundreds even, of airships appearing on the horizon. Shrieking, nasally voices fill the sky in some sort of sailor tune as they sing in some sort of criss-cross strange language that sounds oddly familiar.
Crying out to the sky above you, you plead to be spotted, but they either are too absorbed in their song to bother looking down, or don't care. Hundreds of ships fly by as you look on in a mixture of awe and fascination.
>What do you do?
>Roll d20
>>
Rolled 7 (1d20)
>>1628275
Head in the direction they're going. It's a better lead than nothing.
>>
>>1628290
>7/20
Resolving yourself in the likelihood that some sort of civilization must lay wherever they are going, you sprint as fast you can after them.
Floating along at a calm pace only about two times faster than you, you're able to keep the hulking aircraft within sight for a reasonable amount of time. By the time they are just specks in the distance, and you can run no longer, the smokestacks of a massive city come into view.
Catching your breath, you continue at a brisk pace. Night is approaching, and you'd rather take your chances in there than out here. Upon closer view, there are only three smokestacks, all coming from a massive factory in the center of town.
Surrounding the factory are primitive, or at least medieval looking huts and shacks, with some more proper looking establishments lording over fields of alien-colored crops.
The airship fleet you had seen earlier disappeared across the horizon. Apparently this was not their stop.
Moving even closer, the town's economic condition becomes apparent. Half of the domiciles look completely abandoned, and half still of those left are half in ruins. Faint little dots of people mill about the fields, tending to whatever work is available as the mysterious smokestacks fill the air above in a thick layer of smog.
There are no walls to the town, and as such you walk right in. Everyone's near-naked, just like you, surprisingly, so you're not too out of place. People mumble things in what you now recognize as a queer mixture of Polish and English - some words traded out, some traded in, and new ones altogether, in an order that sounds broken and untrained to your own ears.
Passing by hundreds of worn-down homes and establishments, you eventually reach the factory - the object of your interest. There are walls surrounding it, and the guards at the only entryway eye you suspiciously.
>Try talking to the guards
>Turn back, look for somewhere to sleep
>Look around more
>Something else
>roll d20
>>
Rolled 4 (1d20)
>>1628375
>Try talking to the guards
Ask them about where we are
>>
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>4/20
You doubt whoever these people are would know much about your strange predicament, and you'd rather not get chased out of town for being an insane foreigner.
Approaching the two guards, they yell at you -
clearly to stop - and dramatically rattle their sabers.
>"Vatczic!?! Vak chleb, vork, out, OUT!!"
You're poked and prodded, not even given a chance to respond and ask what the hell is going on here, and can't contain yourself anymore. You start yelling, you just wanna know where you are.
You only make them more mad. The shorter one of the two angrily tears his uniform off and begins beating his chest, as the taller stops and a grin spreads across his face.
Little polish man takes a swig from a bottle passed to him by his bud, and his face turns purple, then black. He starts cackling insanely, body growing lanky and rippled with muscle, toes melding together to form hairy, cloven hooves.
The cackle turns into a demonic guffaw, long, curled horns sprouting from the fat baphomet's skull as a crowd has formed around you, watching eerily.
>What do you do
>roll d20
>>
Rolled 12 (1d20)
>>1628494
Kick him in the crotch
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