You fall.

There are only three things in your world right now, and all of them add up to this simple fact. The feeling of velocity as you plummet down, the complete darkness around you, and the cold embrace of the chains that make up your cocoon. Though you feel yourself descending as fast as gravity will allow, you have no idea when the ground will meet you. It becomes maddening. Seconds pass, maybe a minute, and you almost begin to beg for the ride to end. You don't think it will kill you, at the very least it would be highly counter-productive to send you to this world in a lethal transport, but the knowledge of this fails to override the primal instinct telling you that falls at this velocity are usually terminal.

It still isn't wholly clear to you why you're here. Vague promises of a world in crisis were all that you were given before being unceremoniously flung through the space between spaces. Your employer (owner, maybe? The exact nature of your relationship is still a little nebulous) has sent you as his agent to avert this crisis, though how you are meant to do that is beyond you. A year ago you were working retail; two months ago a slightly better, still hopelessly mundane job. At your most hire-able you were a whiz at Excel, but the Force That Is still decided to enlist you for this task.

Finally the moment you were waiting for occurs – the sensation of falling is replaced by a world-splitting crash as your cocoon makes contact with the ground below. The fears in the back of your head are put to rest, jostled free by the crash; though you felt the orb containing you hit with at least the force of a cannon ball, you feel completely unharmed. A couple seconds pass as you wait for your limbs to stop vibrating, and then everything seems to move at once. The overlapping, closely-knit metal chains that comprise your cocoon begin to unwind like a ball of yarn, slowly revealing more of your surroundings. A breeze pushes its way through the new openings, feeling crisp and natural against your face. The strangest sensation is the chains retreating into the portal on your back as they unwind, like a big bite of pasta that needs slurping up. You cringe involuntarily as the chains rush through the hole, wondering if they store themselves somewhere in your body or if the hole leads somewhere else. It wouldn't be the craziest thing you'd heard today.

While the space within a ten or so foot radius of you seems mostly comprised of dirt and broken rocks, this seems more a result of the sudden, erosive nature of your entrance. Beyond the crater appears to be a grassy field, dotted by the odd tree or plant but without sign of any visible life.

Now how the hell did you get here?