...What? What do You Want From Me? I Just *Gave* the Title--'You Choose the Baby
A circular chamber lies before you--a cylinder with the ceiling opening up to a blue sky above its unclimbable walls. The floor makes you jump at first--it's made of the clearest glass, fully two feet thick, and below you see thick grey clouds rolling and bumping into each other like dumplings in the stomach of a man with sudden indigestion. Lightning explodes every so often from within them, like electrical byproducts of some great device that penetrates the barrier between dimensions.
Finally there are, of course, the costumes. Sundry masks and gloves lie in neat arrangements spaced along the circumference of the walls. Most are representations of some kind of Japanese pop-culture creation, save for two: the Superman suit and some rainbow-shimmering Mardi-Gras type mask with a dragon-ish flair. Your motivation drives you to put this mask on, thinking about just how good it is not to have to go to school for awhile.
For perhaps ten seconds your breath rasps in the mask, and the smell of rubber is overpowering. Suddenly, there it is--the snap, the clench, the leech-like attachment!
"Gragh!" It's so tight... suffocating! "Mmph... urchin! Hell vacuum! Off I say!"
But it don't matter what you say; it ain't goin' off. Rather, your face stretches and twists to conform to the mask as scales ripple down your body like streams of sweat.
"Urr, urr--HUARRRRGH!" Three body spasms pop you like a kernel of corn and you spill out of your clothing in a mass of wings and tail and claws, an anthropomorphic "baby" dragon, which equates to a dragon roughly your size and frame.
"Rarrrrg..." You pat yourself down experimentally. It's going to take awhile for your brain to put the feel of a lizard's skin and your own body in the same bucket. Well... what comes next? What'd that sign say? Something about worlds and stuff? Hmm... Well, the other costumes have now spontaneously combusted, so the only thing to do it get outta this room. Hmm... it opens at the ceiling... you'll have to figure out how to fly, you reckon.
*crack*
"...rrrrrack?"
*crack* *crack* *CRACK* *CRACK!*
My word! The glass! She breaks! Already cataclysmically-sized cracks are splintering throughout the thick floor, spikes and shards of the stuff ricocheting off your scales as they explode out of the calamity! It's going to shatter!
"Rrrrrrrooooo!" you growl, clawing at the walls. You can't fly! This isn't decent! You weren't born an anthropomorphic dragon, for pity's sake!
*CRACK!* *CRACK!* *KUH-KUH-KUH-CRACKA BA-BOOOOM!*
Too late! The floor splinters into a hundred million pieces, sending you tumbling into the raging storm clouds below!
"RRRRAAAAAR!" You roar. What happens next is anyone's guess.
Written by Mr.Peaches on 20 November 2006
