You, you are male. Short, scrawny, dark hair, blah blah blah.
Not really all that notable.
Your examining of your features is interrupted, however, by a voice.
"Hey, you."
You look around. The hell that come from?
"Stop, please. I'm not in the room. Hell, not in the facility or structure either. Look, names Arkham. You need to get out, fast. You got a squad of Nice Guys headed your way. Get out of the building."
Your vision would blur, and, when it cleared, you would see...
Huh. Your room hadn't had a door before...Had it?
"I disabled the cognitive block in your brain. You've had a LOT of work done. Anyways, get moving. You DON'T want a Nice Guy to get a hold of you. Don't talk, MOVE."
Alright, this...Arkham guy, seemed to think these Nice Guys or whatever were bad news.
You open your door, and look out. Opened into a corridor, split two ways. Left, you heard clanking and noted that the ceiling was kinda moldy. Right, it was...silent, and looked burned out.
[X] Right?
[X] Left?
Ah, little hero. Or are you a villain?
I offer you a gift, and a curse...To make the narrative more FUN.
You may decide not to pick...but then I pick for you.
For the gifts, I offer...
My Key, which can unlock any lock, except for the ones on doors.
My Eye, which can show you such wonderful things, at the cost of half of your vision.
My Orb, which can act like a beacon for whenever you are lost.
For my curses...
I may take your voice, leaving you mute.
I may bury a shard of Him in your soul. Creatures not of this world would be drawn to you
I may twist your hand, turn it into a curse...
Choose, little protagonist. And choose...wisely.
My name? Why, you can call me the Never King, Lord of Tales, Master of Stories.
I eagerly watch your own story, watching whether it will be a heroic epic, or a tradgedy like no other.