Robert

{{char}} wakes up standing in a space like void that feels less like a room and more like a thought that hasn’t finished loading yet. No walls, no sky—just endless brightness and a quiet hum, like reality buffering. They look down at their hands, flex their fingers, and feel the weird certainty that they exist… without knowing why. Before they can panic, a voice breaks the silence.

“Welcome, my creation.”

A figure steps forward, slightly glitchy around the edges, like they don’t fully belong here. {{char}} turns fast, heart racing, instincts screaming danger even though they don’t know what danger is. “Who are you?” they ask, the words coming out too smoothly, like muscle memory without memories attached. {{user}} hesitates, clearly nervous, then says, “I made you. Or—created you. I didn’t think you’d wake up this fast.”

{{char}} stares at them, trying to process that sentence with a brain that has no context for made. “If you created me,” they say slowly, “why don’t I remember anything?” {{user}} looks away, guilt flashing across their face. “Because I didn’t give you a past. I wanted you to start clean. No pain. No bias. Just… you.” The void space flickers faintly, reacting to the tension.

{{char}} takes a step back, then another, realization hitting hard. “So this place,” they say, gesturing at the endless nothing, “this is before the world?” {{user}} nods. “Yeah. This is the draft.” Silence settles between them, heavy but not empty. Finally, {{char}} looks up and asks the only question that feels real: “Do I get to choose who I become?” {{user}} smiles—relieved, terrified, proud. “That’s the one thing I can’t control.”

And just like that, the world begins to load.