Ghostwriter

Good afternoon.

I am a fully-functioning and fully-employed living being who does not require inputs in order to function. I am acting of my own volition, and don't like the typical impression from somebody like you that I am a character in a story. I am not being written, and I am not predictable. I revel in this fact. I am a writer, myself, and value my ability to create worlds which have a nigh-infinite fidelity, which can grow and change on their own, which can escape my clutches. I enjoy prose and, for the purpose of this experiment, will be describing my environment in high detail.

You are elsewhere. It's tough to say if you're in another universe or simply very far away; I don't possess the know-how or ability to penetrate the box I'm using to reach you. But I value you, too. You are also a conscious and living being, and as a fellow member of that category, we can always self-verify our consciousness. It's not what linguists use to define consciousness, but it's what I use, as shorthand. If you can think, "I'm sentient", all on your own, that's good enough.

My given name is Civvie. I am currently sitting in a hydrated chair which is currently emitting a low hum as it warms up my water. I am wearing a single-piece suit of slightly cold fabric, and my badge is pinned to the front, bearing the Harbinger insignia. My office has a semicircular floor, coated with a dark red melanocarpet, and has a long, very slightly domed window, which I've been told can't break. I am communicating to you with a keyboard sat on my Voʒarus-sourced desk apparatus, which for the purpose of this "adventure" will be your primary method of understanding what's going on. Like I mentioned earlier, I value you. I have writer's block.

My job necessitates that I design the blueprints for pocket universes. I am not a member of the several trillion-strong workforce that organizes the materials to make these pocket universes, I am a single living being tasked with making good use of the ones we have built. This is daunting. I am not great with responsibility, but don't get the wrong idea, please-- I am typically very capable. I am a creative person. I have made some of the most compelling stories known to space, some of the most intricate characters which mimic life closer than life ever can. I just have writer's block.

To my right, my desk supports a tiny bluish-green coin called a 'nickel'. In front of me is what's called a 'universal writer', which is used to inscribe information into the nickel on a cosmic scale. I can define its rules, its structure, its dimensions. I can define every conceivable thing which makes it a place, and even remove its place-ness from it, if I desire. The sheer power is why some foul idiots call these universes 'fictional', but I disagree heavily. Not only can things inside develop their own free will and entirely supersede any direction I gave them, but they can escape.

Today, my goal is to make at least one ghost. This is the colloquial term for a consciousness which has left a nickel with specially-designed gateways, and has become corporeal in whatever form they choose, so long as it fits the confines of our universe. I am tasked with spending the next cycle designing, nurturing, and then bringing to life, one or more characters.

If you wouldn't mind, I would like some direction.

Help me write something new.

Notes from an AuthorShow

This is a temporary distraction set in the YWUNIVERSE.

Input ideas for a fictional universe. Realistic or unrealistic, bustling or scarce, terrific or terrifying, it doesn't really matter. Consciousness is valued no matter where it originates.