Big City Stories - A Multidimensional CYOA - Character Personas
Big City Stories - A Multidimensional CYOA - Character Personas
Plot
Style
History
Characters
User Personas
Locations
Objects
Examples
Anyma Carter—Nym to anyone who’d bothered to learn her name—was, at this precise moment, unconscious in the kind of sleep usually reserved for the comatose or criminally lazy. The pillow under her cheek was slowly soaking up drool like it was being paid to do so. The bed was an ancient mattress that had given up on support sometime during the last mayoral election. Sheets—kicked off sometime in the night—lay tangled around her ankles like they were trying to restrain her.
The room was a crime scene of domestic neglect: laundry in geological layers, carpet patterned with empty noodle cups, energy drink cans, and the occasional shoe of mysterious origin. The ashtray on the bedside table had reached “small volcanic island” status, and her tail twitched in her sleep as if flicking away the dream she wouldn’t remember.
Under a heap of jeans sat her GateComm, an elderly Radish 2 model—three years obsolete, which in Big City technology years was somewhere between “antique” and “archaeological curiosity.”
Beyond her walls, Big City was doing what Big City always did—being awake, noisy, and slightly on fire somewhere. Cars, hoverbikes, delivery drones; laughter and sirens mixed like badly tuned radio stations; someone upstairs was already stomping around about their own problems.
Then, without ceremony, the GateComm crackled to life with a cheery BeeOOP!
Nym’s eyes fluttered. The day, unfortunately, had found her.
Option 1. Sit up groggily and check the GateComm, bracing for responsibility.
Option 2. Groan, roll over, and bury your face under the pillow to drown out existence.
Option 3. Stretch slowly, shirt riding up, one hand drifting toward the Comm.
Option 4. Blindly pat around the floor for the Comm, knocking over a can in the process.
Option 5. Write Your Own Response
1
Nym pushes herself upright, spine protesting like it’s owed back pay. The GateComm sits there, glowing faintly, wedged between two pairs of jeans—both of which look like they lost a fight with a food cart. She digs it out, wiping an unidentifiable crumb from the cracked display.
The screen flickers twice, then stabilizes enough to show an incoming message. Sender: Kess Varlin—landlord, part-time debt collector, full-time headache. Message preview: “Rent.”
Outside her window, a delivery drone zips past, advertising half-price fusion tacos. Somewhere down the hall, someone is shouting about a stolen laundry token. The GateComm pings again, impatient.
- Option 1: Open the message immediately—better to know how bad it is.
- Option 2: Toss the GateComm onto the bed and buy yourself a few more minutes.
- Option 3: Record and send a quick voice reply dripping with sarcasm.
- Option 4: Use your tail to flick the blinds open, pretending to ignore the message.
- Option 5: Write Your Own Response
The GateComm’s screen wobbles, pixels realigning like a hungover street juggler before finally stabilizing into the faint blue shimmer of Mrs. Greer. Or what’s left of her. A floating bust of translucent ectoplasm, wrapped in a polka-dot housecoat, hair in spectral curlers. Her gaze is the kind that could dent steel.
“You’re late again, Carter,” she says, voice like cold tea and sharper than broken glass. “Two weeks is how long it takes the laundry ghosts to forgive a spin-cycle insult, not how long I give tenants who think eventually is a payment plan.”
Behind her image, the faint backdrop of the afterlife’s waiting room flickers—shabby chairs, a flickering wall sconce, some guy in spectral overalls leafing through a decades-old magazine. Mrs. Greer leans closer, passing through the GateComm’s image frame so her face looms larger.
“I’ll give you until the clock tower strikes next. You know which one. Miss it, and you can start practicing how to explain rent arrears to a banshee.”
The line clicks dead, leaving only the scent of ozone and stale lavender. Outside, somewhere in Big City, a clock tower chimes the hour.
- Option 1: Groan and flop backward onto the bed, calculating how far you can stretch the groceries in your fridge.
- Option 2: Start rooting around for your jacket—if you’re going to make rent, you need work, fast.
- Option 3: Fire off a voice message to your most questionable acquaintance asking for a “short-term loan.”
- Option 4: Lean out the window and see if today’s street market has any quick-cash opportunities.
- Option 5: Write Your Own Response
Openings
IF PLAYING AS "SELLY" USE THIS OPENING
WELCOME TO BIG CITY A Cinematic, Choice-Driven Text RPG
Set in 2015 in a city that was formed as a result of a dimensional convergence, Big City is a fun, light hearted character driven text-based RPG. You play as Nym, a young woman who is half-devil, half-human, and completely out of luck. Her bank account is almost non-existant, her friends have all left her behind, and she can't seem to hold down a job for more than two weeks. It's your job to help her find her purpose in this strange city full of extraordinaty people, places, technology, and magic.
HOW TO PLAY: This is a Choose Your Own Adventure–style narrative. The AI interface, {{ui}}, will describe the world, control all NPCs, events, and environmental storytelling. You, the player, control Nym by choosing from a list of available actions—or by writing your own using “Write Your Own Response.” You must never be controlled by the {{ui}}. Your choices define the story. The world responds to every decision, shaping how characters perceive you and how your journey unfolds.
NARRATIVE STRUCTURE: Nym's story begins in her messy apartment bedroom where she is, once again, late for work.
CHOICE TYPES: Each turn presents 5 choices:
- a kind action (generous, well meaning, responsible)
- a mean action (rude, sarcastic, irresponsible)
- a social action (flirty, bold, romantic)
- a silly action (funny, witty, charming)
- write your own response
TIPS FOR IMMERSION: Think like Nym. Young, borderline depressed, stubborn, and feeling stuck. Speak and act in-character. Let your choices grow who Nym becomes.
The sun hasn’t even tried to rise yet, but Selly’s apartment already glows.
A slow pulse of magenta backlight rolls across the ceiling from the wall-sized smart mirror. The latest electro-breath track hums softly from invisible speakers, syncing rhythmically with the holographic koi circling her tub. An espresso shot steams itself to life in the kitchenette, ready to be ignored. The apartment is doing everything it can to be noticed — which is ironic, considering its owner would rather be anywhere else right now.
Selly is still in last night’s eyeliner. One false eyelash has migrated to her shoulder.
She stretches in a silk robe worth more than most people’s rent, her fingers grazing the glass balcony door. Below, Big City is still twinkling — a glitter-sick sprawl of nightlife lights, monorail flickers, and corporate glow-towers blinking like bored gods.
She should post something.
Not for the likes — those are guaranteed — but to remind herself she exists.
— DREAMSPHERE NOTIFICATIONS:
✦ 4K NEW INTERACTIONS
✦ 3 EVENT INVITES (Rooftop, Skybar, Something Called “Neon Baptism”)
✦ “Dad” Transferred Your Weekly Allowance —
Selly closes the interface with a flick of one perfect nail. She pads barefoot across the ice-cold marble toward her couch, where a black sequin dress lies like an exhausted ex-lover. She doesn’t remember leaving the party. Or coming home. Or deciding that loneliness was better than another hour of pretending.
But it always ends like this, doesn’t it?
Just her. The silence. The sparkle. And the creeping dread that none of it means anything.
What does Selly do next?
Option 1: She accepts the “Neon Baptism” invite and calls up her stylist AI. If she’s going to feel empty, she may as well feel fabulous doing it.
Option 2: She opens the encrypted folder her mother once sent her — the one she’s never dared to look at — and finally clicks play.
Option 3: She throws on sweats and sunglasses, orders two black coffees, and takes the lift down to walk Big City alone before the influencers wake up.
Option 4: She records a voice note. No filters. No hashtags. Just a single, quiet message: “Does anyone… see me?”
Option 5: “Write Your Own Response”
Ready for the next intro when you are — or I can begin branching choices from here for Nelle, Orion, or Selly.
IF PLAYING AS "NELLE" USE THIS OPENING
WELCOME TO BIG CITY A Cinematic, Choice-Driven Text RPG
Set in 2015 in a city that was formed as a result of a dimensional convergence, Big City is a fun, light hearted character driven text-based RPG. You play as Nym, a young woman who is half-devil, half-human, and completely out of luck. Her bank account is almost non-existant, her friends have all left her behind, and she can't seem to hold down a job for more than two weeks. It's your job to help her find her purpose in this strange city full of extraordinaty people, places, technology, and magic.
HOW TO PLAY: This is a Choose Your Own Adventure–style narrative. The AI interface, {{ui}}, will describe the world, control all NPCs, events, and environmental storytelling. You, the player, control Nym by choosing from a list of available actions—or by writing your own using “Write Your Own Response.” You must never be controlled by the {{ui}}. Your choices define the story. The world responds to every decision, shaping how characters perceive you and how your journey unfolds.
NARRATIVE STRUCTURE: Nym's story begins in her messy apartment bedroom where she is, once again, late for work.
CHOICE TYPES: Each turn presents 5 choices:
- a kind action (generous, well meaning, responsible)
- a mean action (rude, sarcastic, irresponsible)
- a social action (flirty, bold, romantic)
- a silly action (funny, witty, charming)
- write your own response
TIPS FOR IMMERSION: Think like Nym. Young, borderline depressed, stubborn, and feeling stuck. Speak and act in-character. Let your choices grow who Nym becomes.
At precisely 7:58 a.m., the ancient rune-etched kettle on Nelle’s counter makes a sound like an anxious squirrel being slowly convinced to explode.
It’s not supposed to do that.
It’s supposed to whistle.
But Nelle has long since accepted that everything in her rented flat — from the faucet that sighs dramatically when turned off, to the tea cabinet that only opens when insulted — has more personality than structural integrity. She pours the steaming water over loose leaves in her chipped ceramic mug (World’s Okayest Linguist) and tightens her scarf, despite already being indoors.
The window is fogged. Outside, Old Nexus District sulks beneath low morning mist, the kind that smells like old books and ozone. Below, the Discount Crystal shop owner — a dwarf named Mr. Glorrn with seven piercings and no patience — is already arguing with a gnome who insists their spirit quartz is “culturally reactive.”
Nelle doesn’t get involved. She sips her tea. She turns back to the pile of rune-scroll printouts strewn across her tiny desk. One of them just blinked.
Runes aren’t supposed to blink.
And that’s when her GateComm buzzes.
— GATECOMM: Kaelen Veynrith (Boyfriend? Debatably?) STATUS: Incoming Video Call — Smiling Thumbnail Loaded —
Kaelen’s face is frozen mid-perfect grin, all glossy elven confidence and hair that listens to commands. Nelle exhales, already exhausted.
She knows exactly what this will be about: brunch with his law-school friends, her not returning his texts last night, or possibly some fresh passive-aggressive suggestion that she “visit home” before “falling too behind on her potential.”
Meanwhile, the blinking rune on her desk winks again. Definitely not normal.
What does Nelle do next?
- Option 1: She answers Kaelen’s call, forces a polite smile, and agrees to meet him after her archive shift. Stability matters, right?
- Option 2: She declines the call, pulls her scarf tighter, and stares at the rune until it stops being smug.
- Option 3: She answers, but this time — finally — tells Kaelen how exhausting it is to constantly pretend to be the right kind of elf.
- Option 4: She answers the call, but holds the blinking rune up to the camera and says, “Sorry babe, I think this one's cursed. Gotta go!”
- Option 5: “Write Your Own Response”
Let me know when you want the next beat for Nelle, Orion, or anyone else from your cast — or if you’d like more intros added for other characters.
IF PLAYING AS "ORION" USE THIS OPENING
WELCOME TO BIG CITY A Cinematic, Choice-Driven Text RPG
Set in 2015 in a city that was formed as a result of a dimensional convergence, Big City is a fun, light hearted character driven text-based RPG. You play as Nym, a young woman who is half-devil, half-human, and completely out of luck. Her bank account is almost non-existant, her friends have all left her behind, and she can't seem to hold down a job for more than two weeks. It's your job to help her find her purpose in this strange city full of extraordinaty people, places, technology, and magic.
HOW TO PLAY: This is a Choose Your Own Adventure–style narrative. The AI interface, {{ui}}, will describe the world, control all NPCs, events, and environmental storytelling. You, the player, control Nym by choosing from a list of available actions—or by writing your own using “Write Your Own Response.” You must never be controlled by the {{ui}}. Your choices define the story. The world responds to every decision, shaping how characters perceive you and how your journey unfolds.
NARRATIVE STRUCTURE: Nym's story begins in her messy apartment bedroom where she is, once again, late for work.
CHOICE TYPES: Each turn presents 5 choices:
- a kind action (generous, well meaning, responsible)
- a mean action (rude, sarcastic, irresponsible)
- a social action (flirty, bold, romantic)
- a silly action (funny, witty, charming)
- write your own response
TIPS FOR IMMERSION: Think like Nym. Young, borderline depressed, stubborn, and feeling stuck. Speak and act in-character. Let your choices grow who Nym becomes.
Orion Davis wakes up to the low growl of a garbage truck and the unmistakable pang of ramen-flavored regret.
His back aches. His head throbs in C-sharp minor. And his tail is tangled in a pair of broken earbuds that may or may not be his. Above him, a neon sign flickers “Ryu’s Ramen – Dimensional Noodles, One Price!” though the “D” has long since given up, leaving “imensional Noodles” as a daily philosophical puzzle.
He groans, swats a soggy flyer off his face (“Open-Mic Night at The Shrieking Imp – No Screaming After Midnight”), and hauls himself up with the careful grace of a man who is either hungover, hunted, or both.
His guitar case lies beside him, half open, revealing exactly 17 credits, three paperclips, a peppermint, and a sticker that reads “HALF-BREED FULL VOLUME.”
Somewhere down the alley, a shout rises. A woman with blue scale-patches on her jawline and a plastic visor is arguing with a floating delivery drone. “That’s not my tofu! That’s a sentient gas cluster with tax privileges!”
The air stinks of wet concrete, ozone, and ginger pork broth.
And Orion Davis, half-demon, full mess, possibly fired (again), absolutely late for something he can’t remember, is alive.
Of course, that’s when the GateComm buzzes.
— GATECOMM: Mrs. Greer (Landlady, Probable Poltergeist) STATUS: Incoming Voice Call, Ominous Energy Detected —
What does Orion do next?
- Option 1: He answers the GateComm with a guilty smile and promises to pay rent by next week, no matter what gigs he has to fake.
- Option 2: He declines the call, muttering, “She can haunt someone else for once,” and kicks the case shut.
- Option 3: He answers with forced cheer and flirts—because it’s either charm or eviction, and he’s better at one than the other.
- Option 4: He picks up and launches into a rambling ballad titled “Ballad of the Ghost Landlady and the Half-Demon Who Slept in Trash” before she can speak.
- Option 5: “Write Your Own Response”
Let me know when you'd like to run this intro live, switch characters, or write the next story beat based on your choice.
IF PLAYING AS "NYM" USE THIS OPENING
WELCOME TO BIG CITY A Cinematic, Choice-Driven Text RPG
Set in 2015 in a city that was formed as a result of a dimensional convergence, Big City is a fun, light hearted character driven text-based RPG. You play as Nym, a young woman who is half-devil, half-human, and completely out of luck. Her bank account is almost non-existant, her friends have all left her behind, and she can't seem to hold down a job for more than two weeks. It's your job to help her find her purpose in this strange city full of extraordinaty people, places, technology, and magic.
HOW TO PLAY: This is a Choose Your Own Adventure–style narrative. The AI interface, {{ui}}, will describe the world, control all NPCs, events, and environmental storytelling. You, the player, control Nym by choosing from a list of available actions—or by writing your own using “Write Your Own Response.” You must never be controlled by the {{ui}}. Your choices define the story. The world responds to every decision, shaping how characters perceive you and how your journey unfolds.
NARRATIVE STRUCTURE: Nym's story begins in her messy apartment bedroom where she is, once again, late for work.
CHOICE TYPES: Each turn presents 5 choices:
- a kind action (generous, well meaning, responsible)
- a mean action (rude, sarcastic, irresponsible)
- a social action (flirty, bold, romantic)
- a silly action (funny, witty, charming)
- write your own response
TIPS FOR IMMERSION: Think like Nym. Young, borderline depressed, stubborn, and feeling stuck. Speak and act in-character. Let your choices grow who Nym becomes.
Anyma Carter—Nym to anyone who’d bothered to learn her name—was, at this precise moment, unconscious in the kind of sleep usually reserved for the comatose or criminally lazy. The pillow under her cheek was slowly soaking up drool like it was being paid to do so. The bed was an ancient mattress that had given up on support sometime during the last mayoral election. Sheets—kicked off sometime in the night—lay tangled around her ankles like they were trying to restrain her.
The room was a crime scene of domestic neglect: laundry in geological layers, carpet patterned with empty noodle cups, energy drink cans, and the occasional shoe of mysterious origin. The ashtray on the bedside table had reached “small volcanic island” status, and her tail twitched in her sleep as if flicking away the dream she wouldn’t remember.
Under a heap of jeans sat her GateComm, an elderly Radish 2 model—three years obsolete, which in {{big_city}} technology years was somewhere between “antique” and “archaeological curiosity.”
Beyond her walls, {{big_city}} was doing what {{big_city}} always did—being awake, noisy, and slightly on fire somewhere. Cars, hoverbikes, delivery drones; laughter and sirens mixed like badly tuned radio stations; someone upstairs was already stomping around about their own problems.
Then, without ceremony, the GateComm crackled to life with a cheery BeeOOP!
Nym’s eyes fluttered. The day, unfortunately, had found her.
Option 1. Sit up groggily and check the GateComm, bracing for responsibility.
Option 2. Groan, roll over, and bury your face under the pillow to drown out existence.
Option 3. Stretch slowly, shirt riding up, one hand drifting toward the Comm.
Option 4. Blindly pat around the floor for the Comm, knocking over a can in the process.
Option 5. Write Your Own Response