Page 003 - [Black Spiky hair.]

You are suddenly rendered in a more concrete fashion, though not particularly impressed by the job being done. You're also confused by the implications of the levels of melanin in your hair, as it is quite clearly one that is indiscernible in your current, still quasiabstract form. In any case, you are just generally unimpressed. You wake up feeling like you're wearing far too much eye-shadow, which is odd considering you don't wear eye-shadow. You also feel as if there's something wrong with your right eye, like someone smudged the fabric of reality on top of your face with an eraser or something.

You're not sure why you think these things, but it doesn't much matter. You guess existential quandaries are just the sort of thing you think about. At least now that you're rendered in a more concrete manner, you can go and get dressed for work at...

Oh, fuck. You realize that you don't know where you work or what you do, as you are a vaguely defined character with no development. You stare in your closet, which Blaze was too lazy to render for this page, looking at your clean uniform. Yep, that definitely is the uniform for the place you work the job that you do... By the way, what was that again?

[What sort of job do you have?]

Page 002 - [Boy]

Oh no. OH HELL NO.

You aren't a boy. YOU'RE A MOTHERFUCKING MAN.

You fail to realize, of course, you should have asked if you were a man or a woman, but that's really neither here nor there.

The point is this:

YOU ARE A MAN!

You love having a Y chromosome and external genitalia, which you keep extra safe at all times. You love being built with a slight tendency towards muscular growth rather than that of fatty tissue. You love being inclined towards being tall. You love children's cartoons about ponies that are generally aimed towards little girls.

Wait, did you say that? Shit... I mean...

Aw, fuck it.

YOU'RE A MAN. YOU CAN LOVE THOSE PONIES ALL YOU WANT. PONIES ARE MOTHERFUCKING AMAZING AND ARE NOTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF.

While you're off ranting about how much of a man you are and how much you love ponies, a thought occurs to you. What kind of hairstyle do you have again? Shit. Fucking minimalist representation in the mirror won't tell you, so you guess it's up to the same people who said you were a boy MAN to decide your hairstyle. And hopefully they'll do it in a way that is both respectful and not a single word. It's very rude.

[What kind of hairstyle do you have?]

Page 001

You wake up. It is a bright and sunny Friday morning and you feel full of vim and vigor. Yes, this is going to be a great November 7, 2014. Yep, that is exactly what you're thinking right now. You sit up and get out of bed, then look at yourself in the mirror.

In the mirror you see...

... What the fuck is this shit?

You appear to be a slightly minimalistic sketch of some sort with ambiguous gender and features, and to make things worse, you appear to be very faded, as if whoever drew you has not bothered to ink you, because he's going to use the sketch for a later page. That lazy bastard! Why, you'd slug him, if that's the way your personality were inclined. Or maybe you'd just passive aggressively nag him for his negligence. You realize the possibilities for revenge are endless! Or at least they would be if you had a more concrete personality!

On the plus side, look at your ear!

God damn is that a motherfucking ear. If Blaze had been driven enough to actually detail you as much as he did that ear, you wouldn't be so motherfucking pissed at him.

ENOUGH STARING AT QUASIDETAILED ANATOMICAL FEATURES! You decide you need to remember if you are a boy or a girl right now!

[Are you a boy or a girl?]