Here's an intro I wrote for a play by post character. (His background is that he is from the 20th-21st Century and is with the Scum faction.)
...what? He'd been thinking about...? Thinking very intently... ...about... ...something. The more he tried, the further off it drifted. Like a concussion, minus the pain.
He opened his eyes (or had they already been open and he'd only just realized the fact?) and saw a white and silver ceiling, blurred by watering eyes. Blinking, the ceiling slowly swam into focus. What was it? Oh, yeah-- a ceiling. It was called a ceiling. Man, was he out of it... why? And why was the ceiling familiar?
...because it was a standard, resleeving and biosculpting ceiling in a standard clinic in The City of Carcosa. He was home, more or less, in that he called the giant, Scum craft The City of Carcosa home. It could, and perhaps did, since the Fall, hold about 100,000 physical people, and an unknown number of non-physical entities in its various virtual worlds. It was also quite probably the only Orion style spacecraft in existence since, even in this more or less enlightened era people tended to be nervous about propelling a spacecraft by exploding a series of nuclear bombs behind it. The Carcosa City Council did not care if people were made nervous, however. Hell, the City Council had named their craft after a mythical city from horror literature! Of course, Council had chosen the name more or less in the same manner as the Scum had chosen "Scum".
The Carcosa City Council. That was important. Why?
There seemed to be five members. Unelected. No one knew who they were, what they looked like, or even where they met. Their powers, however, were rarely exercised. Mostly they determined where and when the ship went, made certain that repairs were made, saw that any disputes threatening to grow serious were resolved. Still no one knew their names.
Wait. He did!
No, he HAD known their names. Now he didn't. Not even his own. Before this, he had been on the Council...
"SHIT! I'm the BETA!" he croaked out, realizing that his voice box and mouth were unfamiliar.
"Ah, you are awake," spoke a calm, gender neutral voice. A white skinned, hairless, sexless humanoid appeared in his field of vision. A standard, Carcosian clinic worker.
They all looked alike, until their wearers earned a favorable enough rep that someone "gifted" them an upgrade. Color more or less indicated field of work. White was medical. Black, security/conflict resolution. Green environment. Etc. The "Standard Issue" models were the most common amongst the refugees from the Fall. The City issued them, and the refugees worked for the City for a set length of time until they were paid off. At least the City issued decent quality morphs-- they wanted the people to complete their contracts, and not to have hard feelings over the long term. In Old Earth terms, the Standard Issue morphs were the V.W. Beetle of morphs. The other option for the penniless refugees was to work in one of the Virtual worlds until they could get better. In some ways, the virtual work could be more attractive....
Damn. His mind had wandered, and the worker seemed to want a response.
"I hope so, or else both of us are confused," he replied, getting a bit more used to his mouth and voice box. He's resleeved before, although he couldn't recall how many times or as what, but didn't think he had ever been seriously pruned before... No, he had, but had never reintegrated those selves. Damn! Most places he was no longer considered a person! He wasn't "real"-- whatever that meant.
"I assure you that you are awake, and your vitals are normalizing," the worker said in response, sounding serious, studying something outside his field of vision. "You should be readying to get up and move about in a few minutes. How are you feeling?"
"Confused," he confessed, feeling the warm, form fitting table top underneath him. Carcosa's medical facilities were nearly as advanced as those of the Carnival of the Goat, so he felt very comfortable... "I don't seem to even recall my name."
"Ah, you-- the original you, that is, decided to leave it up to the new you," the worker explained, sounding annoyingly cheerful. "And all sensitive information was removed-- anything which might compromise the security of The City of Carcosa, the Carcosa City Council, or your original self. Everything else was left intact."
He lay back and shut his eyes for a moment, and thought. How could he even know what had been removed if they had removed any memories of once knowing it?
He opened his eyes.
"Hey, could you ask my 'original self' if I am really a virgin?" he asked, smiling maliciously. Maybe he could cause the bastard some embarrassment....
"Oh, I assure you, that body and ego have never had sex," the worker replied without hesitation. "The body is a brand new, never before used morph. And if any memories of sex have been deleted, then, for all practical purposes, you have never experienced it, either."
"That's not what I-- oh, never mind!" he said, pressing his head back in the oh so annoyingly comfy surface. "Do I at least get a muse?"
"Why yes, of course, a pruned copy of your original self's muse, in fact. Top of the line, mostly," was the answer.
"'Mostly'?" he asked.
'I assure you, Master, I AM top of the line!' objected Barbara Eden's voice, from her "I Dream of Genie" days, in his head. 'And, in case you have forgotten, I am called 'Genie'! It was a common enough name that there was no need to prune it.'
'Was my name that uncommon?' he asked the muse.
'I am sorry, Master, I no longer have that information,' replied Genie, sounding genuinely sorry.
'Well, do you have any suggestions on what I should call myself, then?'
'Well, I like the names Matt Damon, Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiC--'
'Stop! I think I see a trend there," he interrupted, feeling almost ready to get up. "Let me work on it.'
'I haven't even worked through the actors, much less musicians,' pouted Genie, falling silent.
'Sorry, I am not going to name myself after some 20th or 21st century star,' he apologized.
An idea struck him.
'How about 'Luka'?' he silently asked the muse.
'Luka? the song from the 1980s?' she asked.
'Yeah, we are going to be sent into dangerous situations where I will be abused while my original stays safe at home, and I am kind of his child, so it sort of fits,' he explained, trying to sit up. The worker bent down to aid him.
"Please, sir, take it slowly," cautioned the worker, taking hold of an arm.
'It is up to you, Master,' replied Genie, non-comitial. She still sounded miffed about having her ideas shut down.
'Would 'Luka Vega' be too pretentious?' he asked Genie.
'How would I know? You didn't like Leonardo DiCaprio,' she informed him, transmitting a shrug.
'I just didn't want the same name as a star! Besides, I don't recall ever reading about him dying-- he might still be around!'
'Maybe just 'Luka'...'
The newly named "Luka" stood up and paused a moment, trying to get his bearings. Where was the mirror? Some of these rooms had it directly over the bed, but not this one. There it was, by the doors. He took a step toward it, and the worker moved to assist. Luka waved it off.
"Very well, sir. May I get you anything?" the worker offered.
"Yeah, some clothes would be nice, and one of those citrus based vitamin and mineral and protein drinks, with a double shot of vodka-- potato, not grain, vodka."
The worker bowed and left the room, and Luka made his way over to the mirror.
'Please, please may I not have been into anything too weird when I chose this body!' Luka silently pleaded, shutting his eyes just before arriving at the mirror....