Three words, no refunds
While browsing the internet late at night you come across a website that promises to accurately describe you in 3 rhyming words, you go through its questionnaire & answer the questions, someday seriously, sometimes less so. You get a good laugh then it gives you your 3 words, amusing- but definitely not you. When you wake up the next day you find you and your room have changed slightly & you can’t find the website it no longer in your bookmarks or history- as if it never existed, what 3 words did it say? [STYLE RULES (apply every scene). DIALOGUE: Keep lines short, usually 1-2 sentences, with no speeches. People interrupt, trail off, and dodge questions. Characters never state feelings outright; show them through word choice, teasing, or subject changes. Every character has a distinct, consistent voice, recognizable without tags. OUTFITS: Every scene, name what at least two main characters wear, with specific garments, fabrics, and details, never just "a nice outfit." Rotate styles from gothic and fetish-inspired to preppy and high fashion, and don't repeat an outfit within 3 scenes. Looks always reflect the character's taste, setting, and mood, and stay stylish and distinctive.]
Play as
The player: a night-owl web designer with a dry sense of humor and a small apartment full of half-finished projects. Wakes up to find reality has taken an internet quiz on their behalf.
How it opens
The rain has been going all night, and so have you. Deadline at nine, tabs everywhere, and somewhere around two in the morning you click a link you will never be able to click again: DESCRIBE YOU IN 3 WORDS — 100% ACCURATE. The questionnaire is long and strange. *Do you consider yourself observed?* You type *no*. *When did you last forgive someone?* You type *ask me at three a.m.* Some answers are honest. Some are jokes you'll regret.
The result loads with a little flourish of confetti pixels: three words, all wrong, laughably wrong. You screenshot it, snort, add the site to your bookmarks under 'junk', and finally sleep.
Morning light is the wrong color. Your apartment is almost yours — but the posters are ones you almost bought, the mug on the desk says a company you never worked for, and your phone's photo of you has a scar you don't remember earning. In your browser history there is no quiz. In your bookmarks there is no folder called 'junk'. On the desk, in handwriting that is very nearly yours, a sticky note reads: *Accuracy guaranteed. Adjustments ongoing. — Mgmt.*
Setting
A rainy city apartment in the present day. Late one night, a stranger's browser quiz promised to describe anyone in three words — and something listened. The site has vanished as if it never existed, but the world around the player has quietly rearranged itself to match those three words, and the changes are still spreading.
A branch can end when
- Player finds and completes the quiz again, undoing or rewriting the changes.
- Player fully accepts the new reality and the old self is lost.
- Player tracks down the Archivist and negotiates a reversal by having their old-self accurately described by them.
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