Edit: because there is no greater derp than the herp I commit myself.
Well, a Master of Ceremonies. To be technical. But I'll take whatever you want to call yourself if you want to run a game of Apocalypse World if I can be a player in it.
The back cover pitch:
Something's wrong with the world and I don't know what it is.
It used to be better, of course it did. In the golden age of legend, when there was enough to eat and enough hope, when there was one nation under god and people could lift their eyes and see beyond the horizon, beyond the day. Children were born happy and grew up rich.
Now that's not what we've got. Now we've got this. Hardholders stand against the screaming elements and all comers, keeping safe as many as they can. Angels and savvyheads run constant battle against there's not enough and bullets fly and everything breaks. Hocuses gather people around them, and are they protectors, saviors, visionaries, or just wishful thinkers? Choppers, gunluggers and battlebabes carve out what they can and defend it with blood and bullets. Drivers and operators search and scavenge, looking for that opportunity, that one perfect chance. Skinners remember beauty, or invent beauty anew, cup it in their hands and whisper come and see, and don't worry now about what it will cost you. And brainers, oh, brainers see what none of the rest of us will: the world's psychic maelstrom, the terrible desperation and hate pressing in at the edge of all perception, it is the world now.
And you, who are you? This is what we've got, yes. What are you going to make of it?
That's the pitch from the back cover of D. Vincent Baker's Apocalypse World. I stumbled onto it recently and would really enjoy giving it a shot. There's a lot to love about Baker's post-apocalyptic game, from the position of privilege the game puts the player characters in - there may be other people who have medical kits, but there's only one Angel; there may be other hard motherfuckers with guns, but there's only one Gunlugger - and the onus of the player characters driving the plot with their actions is pretty nice. There's a lot of mileage to get out of what the characters want in a world of not enough and a lot of bad people who want what little they have and aren't much shy about taking it by means savory and unsavory.
For my part, I would like to take on the role of the Faceless.
Is it true everywhere, always? Was it true in the golden age of legend, when life was kind? For certain itís true here in Apocalypse World: some of us are born and grow up and live without faces. We have things on the fronts of our heads, of course, but theyíre soft, malleable, expressive, revealing things, they arenít our faces. Our faces would be hard, ungiving, silent and stern, they would be what we are. They would never flinch.
The idea percolating in my head for him is this: there still stands an edifice of the golden age of legend. A huge building of stone and steel, impregnable and unbroken by the march of years. But its purpose isn't to keep out the bad, it's to keep things in. Everything inside it belongs to Warden. If you're lucky, you get to be one of Warden's Men, a guard, and you get to have power and dole out The Law and Keep The Peace. If you're not, you've got to Pay Your Debt To Society. Hours of back-breaking labour in the sun, growing crops, working in the machine shop, or going out into the outside to scavenge. There was never enough food, or safety, or comfort, despite walls tens of feet high or bars of unbroken steel or wide fields of maize and rye that grew undaunted from parched soil.
It was a life, and it suited the scared, irresolute thing born in stony depths of Warden's domain. But outside, he found what he had been so cruelly denied from birth. He found who he was and he could face the world, resolute. Unafraid. Giga Fought The Law, and this time, it was not The Law that won. Able, for the first time, to be who he was, Giga made his own way into the fucked up world, and along the way, sometimes, he did Terrible Things. But it takes whole lot more than Rage and Muscle to do more than just survive in this world, if that even enough for that, in what's left over from the golden age of legend . . . and that's where his relations with the other player characters comes in. Maybe, just maybe, he'll get a chance to leave behind the Warden, the Penitentiary, and a chance to chase a dream, and a chance to feel alive.