I had this idea for a really odd kind of role-play. It might work best with Stock characters or characters that have been used repeatedly before but not all of us has one of those...It shouldn't matter either way. The role-play in my head centres around characters dealing with massive changes to who they are, increasing in bizarreness and complexity of change to the character. All of them artificially changed and meddled with.


The best laid plans of mice and men, often derail in the most spectacular fashion.

Once upon a time, in a place your unlikely to have heard of, money appeared to be pouring out of everything. Those who gained the increasing wealth used it to float away from the masses below in their simplicity and dirt. They built to the clouds and made their own heavens on their top floors. Their civilization had reached its golden era, those lucky few peered down every so often. Sometimes to spit, or maybe to throw away left-overs.

But then these heavenly people realised that their forms let them down. Noses too long, face too wide or something sagging too much. Sound familiar? Vanity is, sadly, universal. Now, this became a market that a particular company could exploit the elite of the sky. The profit gained would raise the companies shareholders above everyone else.They could build several towers into the sky. A monumental dream of these people, despite the trouble of filling just one skyscraper. The company had to go big, setting their brightest minds to create ways of going past mere 'cosmetic surgery'.

Eventually, three monoliths of science, technology and achievement were designed and put into production.

The First was dubbed 'The Right To Beauty'. Sometimes referred to as 'the surgeon-o-matic'. This was cosmetic surgery far further developed than that of simple cutting. This machine was able to sculpt flesh, cartilage and bone. Molten marrow could be made into a statue of The Virgin Mary at prayer if you wanted. It could create limbs, weld skin and put most creation deities to shame. For a fee of course.

The Second was dubbed 'The Right To Clean Thought'. It seems that the first machine was changed into that of a neurosurgeon because everything else is easy in comparison to a brain, it appears. Phobias, habits, nightmares and terrible memories can be purged from the client. New languages, knowledge, social graces, confidence and even new skills could be downloaded. It was thought to be very popular.

The Third was dubbed 'The Right To A Good Life'. The device was thought of to be the most dangerous and so had the highest of prices. It was planned to be put in the highest security that could be afforded for the device was a surgeon of history. A bizarre machine that wasn't fully understood: they knew it would work, they didn't know how. This was marketed as a way of swapping lives with another. The two would be transplanted into each others' lives, sometimes causing changes in the events simply for being a different person. This was the most feared machine. People were to be hired to investigate the client's entire life and hypothesise how the second person would live that life and its consequences. Finally, a machine for the jealous to take what they desire.

The next part of the story is simple: Revolution. Their equivalent of Marxism spread through the billions on the surface. They took the towers in the sky with their forceful numbers, declaring them their new home, kicking the elite from their perches to become a smear on the ground rather than a dot in the sky.

The company moved their almost complete machines to a new location. They new that the greed and vanity they wanted to take advantage of will grow again in the new order of things. So they finished their machines. These three machines, from scrap and springs and sharp things. They're creatures of vanity's salvation were built, half glittering shine and half rust and blotchy scarlet.

"The history lesson is fascinating but I don't understand what it has to do with us?" Pads made dull thuds as they stormed in front of the prisoners. The occasional sweep of black, white-tipped brushes on the cool floor.
"Sarcasm and no hint of picking up where I'm leading. Rather stupid, aren't we? Have you no sense of narrative? No idea what a lead-up is?" He said without actually looking towards his captives. Its an intimidation thing...
"Be quiet! Our top men have been alerted! They will hunt you down within the hour. You cannot get away with this." The squat, red-faced man looked like he'd blow his top. His large cheeks wobbled as he shock his head.
"No. The correct answer is 'Yes, we are, My Lord'." His flat tone showed his distaste. They all passed through sliding glass doors. The prisoners were made to halt before the mangled majesty of three machines. Axels, pistons, gear levers, wheel hubs, metal scraps all sat in awkward juxtaposition with brand new, just blown glass domes or tubes with state-of-the-art terminals or polished chrome panels. Their computing brains chimed together in random melodies as his men continued to check, tinker and maintain these bizarre machines.
"What in all of creation are these?" Piped up the self-appointed leader of the captives. At least we was still up to talking. He thought it was stupidity or bravery coming through. Its a fine line.

"A fairy tale of business. Each machine is a way of changing oneself." His metal plated hand gestures towards the machine to his left. "His first machine that was intended to revolutionise cosmetic surgery operations. It is a marvel of engineering and your modern surgery techniques. It is part robotic surgeon, part Deity as it carves and remakes your body a-new."

The hand moves to in front of him to what looks like the worlds most frightening dentist chair.

"Von Damm, one of the minds that built this said it was an attempt at curing personality traits the owners found unsavoury, ladies and gentlemen. A Neural mechanic that can isolate the part of your tiny little psyches and remove it. Forgetfulness, Jealousy, Wrathfulness, Sloth can all be pulled out of your little heads, never to be worried about again. We can even put traits back. New ones that we might find useful, like Wrathfulness, Obedience, Depression, Insomnia, Paranoia or even another personality altogether. "

"But," He paused for the dramatic effect. Intimidation is a show, after all. "These are nothing but complicated pairs of scissors in the complexity of -"

The lead up was larger than he liked but his heavy and swift rush towards the final machine would have to do. Three tubes, one with a console inside with a constantly throbbing grill, pumping energy round the pipes of the machine like a heart within a heath. He beams at his captives.

"This! This is a machine that will surgically transplant your time-line to someone else while placing you in there's. One past is replaced slowly with another, causing simple ripples though your own time-line. Sometimes nothing major happens but you need the right pair, or so I'm told. This hasn't been tested yet. I'm sure you'll help. It was sold eventually after no-one paid to use it as a way of making an alternate universe to physicists."

"Your, your 'toys' don't scare us!" The short, fat one was getting to be rather good fun. He put up a little fight at least.

"Maybe my toys will when we send you through the first of my machines and stop it halfway." The grin slit across his face like it had cut open his lips.

Velice is the technological centre of centres, if that makes sence. Its constantly kept in a pretective shield that filters air, making things clean and safe. Machine slaves build more machines, all made with some level of sense. It would be stupid to waste full blown AI on everything, even though its always readily availiable. An uprising is not needed at all. Everything is reasonably peacful. Most jobs are rarely anything too manual, usually something simple behind a desk. The 'flying car' is common place and so, to a lesser extent at least, are robots.

However, Velice has been invaded and appears to have been invade by an army of mtyth and legend this society ignores as gibberish. A purple flag flutters in the breeze in Nevolio Technologies: a resonable machinery company that has been turned into the invaders' HQ. The Council of Velice has either died or sits at the summit of the HQ building after being tested on.

A band of shop keepers have bravely sent a message of help after a mass excecution, in public, after Halfis Hardwares refused to make weapons for the inavders.

Obviously, you've answered and are willing to help.

The GM of this roleplay hasn't created any rules! You can do whatever you like!

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