A human male named Robbie (Emo kid/Super: Reality Draw)

Frikin' figures. You finally get a night off from the last Blockbusters you work at and you get like some yokel from TV. Now here you are, hiding in a scratchy bush to keep from getting eaten by....dinos? What the frick?

You were at your favorite coffee bar, hoping some raver chick would notice your sketches. All those leather bound journals with drawings of hot anime babes, lovecraftian horrors, awesome comics (drawn by you so they're so much better than that mainstream Infinite Hardon BS), and badass doodles. Something any girl could like ya know?

A few minutes pass as you wait to see if anything tries to flatten you. You feel safe enough to try out that VR-eye thing again. Angrily blinking doesn't work, but a quick double wink does. Amber colored lines and words overlay your vision. Ugh, so lame. It's just like the PC at work.

Reading over the HUD you see what's basically a stat sheet. But it's you. It's even got your name on it.

Name: Robert Smalls

Power: Reality Draw: 2

Stats: Strength: 1, Stamina: 1, Movement: 3

Assets: Backpack (contains items needed for Power)

Social: None (Tribe, Lover, Ally, Enemy, Thrall)

Well, fuck you too Stats alien guy. At least those years doing track count for something. Damn, there's more info and a lot of empty pages for who knows what else. My pack is here?!

You stand up abruptly and scan the area for your pack. You see it where you plopped out of the light...right where the dinos ran.

"Motherfucker!" You yell and run over to the pack. It looks like it got kicked, but not flattened. Opening it you find all your drawing materials, your Blockbuster uniform (yay), snacks stolen from work (FU Blockbuster!), and your toolkit to keep your bicycle together.

A loud squawking roar sound snaps you back to your new reality. Overhead a large bat-like lizard thing circles the small clearing.

"Holy shiiit, that's got some claws," You say to yourself in an awed whisper as you start to feel very wary again. "man, fuck this place."

Not knowing what else to do, you your way into your bush again. Your leather jacket keeps the thorny branches off pretty well, but you still manage to scratch your hand bad enough bleed.

You sit. Not knowing what else to do you pull out your private sketchbook. The one with the stuff you *wouldn't* want a girl to see. Scantily clad women, roughly drawn sex positions that are probably impossible, scary creatures from your nightmares, and a surprising amount of lyrics and poems that are just between you and your psyche.

As you flip through the physical representation of your mind your blood touches a sketch of a eyeball creature (it's you crossed with Mike from that movie about scaring kids). Your head swims as you feel your blood draining from your body and into...the sketch? You break contact as soon as you can. There's a foot tall version of your sketch standing Right In Front Of You!

"What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen a talking eyeball before? Jeez," The eyeball guy jumps off your lap and looks around. "So is this your bush? Haven't you ever stepped back and said to yourself, 'Gee, maybe my life isn't going so well if I live in a bush?"

Your mouth closes and opens a few times before you can swallow, "You sound just like Billy Crystal."

"Pfft, you mean he sounds like a smart guy. Which I am. You know what? You..." Mike goes into a bit of rant about the whole situation. It would probably be pretty funny if you weren't too shocked to listen. You...have a power. Your blood made him real. Your eyes go back to your sketchbook. You wonder....what else could I make real?

You reach for the sketchbook and.....

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(What next? Go survive? Test things out? Bring your favorite babe sketch to life? *wink, wink* Don't forget your life is in peril!)