Futuristic Collapse Point: Romanticide

[Presaging Everbloom]

SEQUENCE 00 - PHASE: REDEMPTION

"And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain."

REVELATION 20:1

December 31st, 2024.
The Last Hour. The Storm Before the Cataclysm.

THE END OF THE WORLD had found itself again, time after time, as a topic of interest for humanity. An enigmatic phenomenon performed as a result of unfortunate circumstances to be theorized yet again by the inquisitive, the paranoid, the skeptical, or the sadomasochistic minds, by those who had fantasized about the planet and its inhabitants falling prey to an inevitable, impending doom. This time, a group of scientists predicted the end of the Earth would occur no later than the year 2024, by an exquisite elemental tree whose supercharged nuclear particles would become too unstable to be contained and create an explosion powerful enough to wipe out all life on the planet. Controversies and conspiracy theories alike were thrown about while others completely disregarded the event, as was expected after a millennium of many failed prophecies. As the final day drew near, however, signs of the Earth's collapse would finally come to light.

On the last day of Earth, all Hell broke loose. The magma from beneath the Earth's crust grew ever hotter while earthquakes grew rampant. Sea temperatures and levels rose, and tsunamis soared alongside the rumbling tectonic plates, as did the raging fires of the forest, consuming all in its path without mind for the future. Dystopia held its reign over the globe with a domineering sneer, encouraging all to embrace the chaos before it would come to take over their lives.

The people fell into a state of hysteria, allowing anarchist and nihilist ideals to consume the mind while the world crumbled. The norms of society were thrown off the map, as if they no longer existed. Jobs were hardly accounted for as crime rates skyrocketed exponentially, leaving none to take care of the aftermath. While protests pervaded the streets and the helpless prayed and cried and hoped for a sign to be saved by a miracle, those who were hopeless, ambitious, full of avarice and malice, too far gone into the deranged depths of their minds, did all they could to make the best of their last moments. Whether they stole luxuries or robbed someone blind or saved lives or performed homicide or prayed, hunted humans and animals alike, cried, splurged what little savings they had left, committed suicide, performed the most desired activities on their bucket list…

Nothing would matter after the end.​

Collapse Point, 2025.
The False End. A New Conflict Awaits.

“Happy New Years!” exclaimed one man, standing before the edge of the world, intoxicated by an ungodly amount of liquor. Before his vision flashed to the end, the finale for humanity’s glorious history. Whether it had been filled with war, perversion, or evil, mankind’s unwavering will to survive until its last breath was at least worthy of the drunk’s admiration. He smiled before God’s light, appreciating its incoming warmth that gradually scorched every inch of his body alive, until it left nothing but ashes to leave as a memorial for its trivial existence. All lifeforms, whether they had confined themselves within a bunker or traveled far away from the legendary Yggdrasil, would meet its fate similarly.

No sinners too evil would receive a higher punishment. All perished equally. It knew no discrimation, as the blast disintegrated all before its mighty light.​

Acheron Helldiver, Gates of Purgatory.
A War of Heaven, Hell, and the Inbetween.

A blip in time, and the world had been undone, reversed to its condition before the birth of the magical seed within the cracks of cold, hard cement. The same could not be said for the life that once previously surrounded it, with the exception of a small group of human beings tightly secured against a set of seats, which they would realize upon waking up and regaining consciousness. Expressions of disorientation and sluggishness would cross their faces as they woke, which would be replaced with utter confusion and fear. Some perhaps believed they had crossed into the afterlife, others questioned how they managed to survive death, but all felt a strange and inexplicable sense of dread, as if they were approaching the gates of Hell itself via diesel locomotive.

The view of the world outside did not seem to ease their worries, instead exacerbating them, as red could be seen everywhere their eyes could see. Even the blazing sun bled a scarlet hue, truly making the scenery nightmarish. The uncomfortable humidity within the train remained ever persistent, further adding on to their worries and frustrations, and being confined within the train, strapped to their seats, would most likely provoke one's sense of claustrophobia, were they to be fearful of being trapped in small spaces.

The passengers would glance at each other in distress, further discomforted by the idea that most did not know each other, with the slight exception of a select few. Believing they could not be any more disturbed as they had already been, the passengers were disproven when finally gazed upon the only being free to move about the train. A clock, or an engine, or the amalgamation of both, had replaced where one’s head would usually be, with flames erupting from the top. None of the likes which they had ever seen before, those awake gawked at the humanoid with intrigue or hostility, waiting for answers to be given to them, or simply perhaps a speech, while those who were not yet conscious remained ever still.

But he spoke not a single word.​

The Administrator. The Devil?
His manic, distorted voice haunted all with a freezing chill, in the very same space that caused them to swelter.

His silence disturbed most as confusion began to build within the mind of his audience. A perplexing facial image accompanied by a severe lack of humanity, other than its humanoid form below its bizarre head. Seemingly no skin on display for observation, as all parts of its body were covered by its uniform, leaving not even a clue to its origin. For all they could know, under the uniform could be claws and ragged skin, hiding its hideous form behind its clothes.

Silence ensued until all awoke from their ostensibly eternal slumber, and until they turned their gaze at the figure standing before them, its hands shoved deep in its pockets as it stood perfectly balanced, regardless of the turbulent nature of the roving train. Then he spoke, suddenly without warning, as he widened his arms to the side. The flames above its clock blazed wilder and its voice haunted the ears of all who remained seated before his stance.

“Welcome aboard the Acheron Helldiver, where redemption is found and its destination leads only to your salvation!”

The conductor bowed, as if it was merely performing in front of its curious audience.

“From the depths of purgatory, your souls were resurrected before judgment could be cast upon you. Consider yourselves… blessed! Cursed! Saved by God's light, bedeviled by the Lord of the Underworld! For your existence was not trivial in the eyes of the supreme overlord!”

He rambled without second thought, without shame, and without care. A lunatic or an entertainer from Hell could be anyone’s guess on his identity. His voice echoed a dark tone throughout his disjointed words. As if he was spouting an incoherent string of nonsense. For many who practiced no religion, or at least none of the Christian variant, would have most likely understood none of his words.

Despite this, he did not pause to clarify. Instead, his voice darkened, and his tone grew deeper.

“The end has concluded; but the war has just begun.”

He proceeded, gripping his hand to form a fist as he spoke. Then he released his fist, as he continued to ramble.

"You were freed by my hand. Released from divine judgment. Whether you decide to go back and face trial is your choice."

A devilish laughter escaped from its flaming head.

“A chance to escape the inevitable, and fight against all that decided your fate. Do you not find it all too exciting, remnants of humanity? From this point onward, you are the last of your race! A ray of hope born from the wrath of your creator, and manipulated by his sworn enemy!”

Pilgrim59 (Sharon McMillan), Misuteeku (Gunwoo Lee), Zombehs (Alex Tanaka), Worthlessplebian (Anthony Alinovi), RedArmyShogun (Liah Härkönen), Huntertabbysandshark3 (Mcneel Obrekon), ERode (Shiozaki Yasu), ThatWhichShouldBe (Solomon Linh), Stros (Everett Martin), Soviet Panda (Connor McKinley), Firelie (Helmi Marttinen), Burberry Preserves (Mu Arae), FiveElemental (Leo Armstrong), malzeno Entity.Eclypse​

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Solomon Linh

He awakens, and the first thing he notices is that he is not hungry anymore. It's an insidious thing, hunger. It sinks its teeth deep into you, until you forget what its like when its gone. But right now, Linh remembers, and it's the most liberating thing he's ever felt. And then he realizes that he should be dead. And that right now, he was tied to a seat, with a bunch of other people around him. He struggles to keep from panicking, the only thing showing on his face a twitch of an eyebrow. The martial artist looks around to find himself in some kind of train, with the world outside bathed in crimson hues. The train's own air is a humid, sickly thing, as if just being tied up wasn't bad enough.

Linh takes a deep breath, and finally lays eyes on the last thing of note. The conductor. The strange being before him, staring at them all in silence. He waits, and waits, and waits. As the others rouse themselves, as the panicking starts and finally ends. Linh's gaze is locked on the strange being, for he knows all the answers must surely lie with that... creature. Someway, somehow. And then, Solomon listens to the Conductor's speech. Alas, that his search for answers is for naught.

No perplexities are resolved; only expanded. They had been saved by God. They had been cursed by the Devil. They had been liberated from the apocalyptic Judgement. They had been given a chance... to live? Their creator had been the wrathful one to doom the world, through the being's implication, and it was but their good fortune that their creator had an enemy to save them. It was all very Gnostic, truth be told.

The martial artist simply stares in silence, after the Conductor finishes his speech. Simply... thinking.

 

[Zombehs]

Alex Tanaka

"Woah!" He might have tried to flinch forward, but the restraints binding him to the seat had no slack in them. He blinked rapidly as he could remember falling, and there sure was some disorientation to suddenly find himself unable to move instead. "Ugh..." His expression soured a bit and he found himself sticking his tongue out as a nasty feeling seemed to well up inside of him. His head wasn't strapped down though, so he shook it a few times with his eyes closed to try and shake away the feeling. Unfortunately it continued to linger and spread through him, which only made the fact that he was tied up even more unbearable!

Speaking of which, after a bit of introspection Alex finally tried to get his bearings and take in his surroundings. The first thing that he noticed wasn't the odd tram they had been placed in nor the crimson hellscape outside, but rather it was the fact that he wasn't alone! Looking from one stranger to another, they were quite the varied group of individuals that had been gathered and if there was a pattern then he couldn't see it. A quick glance down at himself revealed that he was still dressed in the same attire he had clambered up to the roof top with. A plain t-shirt, some comfy sweatpants, and damn it... no shoes! Grumbling a bit as he wiggled his toes against the cool steel floor, he sighed and hoped he'd be able to find something to wear on his feet.

Back to the others though, and he tilted his head at a somewhat familiar face. A few blinks followed before he stared at her and wondered where he had seen her before. It was enough for him to focus on that he didn't even notice the oddity that sat at the centre of the train that wasn't bound to their seat. "Hey! I swear I've seen you before," he called out towards the pink haired girl as he cocked his head in a curious manner. It was a shame his hands were tied up though, he would have liked to wave as well. Burberry Preserves

Unfortunately, the entity demanded their attention at that very moment and Alex found himself looking at the clock-faced man? with wide eyes. The expression of surprise faded a bit as he listened to the conductor's spiel, and he managed to get the gist of things. Oh, he had tons of questions about... well everything that was happening, but it seemed like they had been chosen as representatives for one reason or another. Hopefully the entity didn't literally mean fight though! He'd never been in more than a fist fight or two!

"So, uh, is someone gonna explain exactly what we're supposed to do? Or is this more of a figure it out yourself, sink or swim sort exercise?" He asked once the Conductor fell silent and let the passengers digest his spiel. They were stuck on a train running through what looked like Hell, and he looked like the one in charge, so the title seemed appropriate.

 

[Misuteeku]

Gunwoo Lee
​

There was nothing that Gunwoo could see. He had felt nothing; he could see nothing, all he could do was register that he had died, and it was over. It was regrettable that he died, but what could he have done? That was the case until now. The air suddenly filled his now unpunctured lungs. That he sat up in a start. "Ugh, hack, hack." Gunwoo coughed out. What the hell happened? Wasn't he supposed to be dead? He stretched his fingers, still dazed from his sudden awakening, before tightening them into a fist. His fingers dug deep into his palm. That confirmed it; he was alive again.

Looking, he was dumbfounded by what he saw. There was a man with a clock for a face; even worse, the clock was on fire. The surreality of the situation made him realize where he was. A train that looked like that was taking them to hell. From a temple to a train. Gunwoo didn't know what to believe when he scrunched his eyes. Deciding to take one thing at a time, he looked back at the conductor. It didn't take a genius, or a shaman, to determine that whatever was going on was some supernatural bullshit.

Judgment? Blessed? Cursed? God's Blessing? Gunwoo frowned at the conductor's theatrics. Dealing with his family's traditions, the sprouting of that dumb tree, and now this was more than enough to deal with. "Shut it with the dramatics," Gunwoo growled. He tried to struggle out his bindings but it proved to futile at best. The last thing he wanted was to be ordered by some weird clock demon man.

"What do you gain from this? Hell, why bring us back, to begin with!" If Gunwoo had anything other than his fists, or if he wasn't restrained, he would have bashed the conductor with them. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and he wasn't stupid enough to challenge the thing that brought him back to life with a pair of fists. The best thing he could do now was question the thing in front of him. Answers were better than nothing. "If you're the devil, couldn't you have done anything other than bring us back to life!"

​

 

[RedArmyShogun]

Liah Härkönen
Location: ???

What? Where, how? Did I really see a fucking giant tree? A flash.. Am I dead? Is this hell? Who is the ass with the clock for a face?​

Never mind the fact he was on fire or that she was on a train, while never a religious sort she did know a bit about Christianity given the influence it still had upon Finland, like much of Eastern Europe. There was a bit of here and other words that stood out to her at once, reaching her hand off to the side her rifle was gone, but from the rebreather in her mask Liah could tell it was on, from the shade across her face so was the hood. Looking down at herself all of her clothing and tactical gear was in place, as modified or lacking in some spots of protection. Mobility was key for her as a sniper. But what good was a sniper without a rifle?

Listening to the figure, a couple others were quick to chime in as she gave word to her own thoughts; "Who is this supreme overlord? And what did we do to deserve the annihilation of billions? While I like the chance to fight.. what is in it for us? I question us being alive, but even if we succeeded, less than two dozen people cannot carry on the legacy of 8.5 Billion. We only draw out the existence of mankind for 20, 40 years at best. You give us nothing much, Devil or Angel... Or both?

Excited, however? I cannot say I am, but it will be nice to have a chance to strike out at invisible forces. I was dead before I knew what was happening, a chance to fight, a chance to hunt... yes, a chance to hunt."

Taking another deep breath, Liah takes a look at all the rest, they seemed to be from all walks of life and from across the world, as if to have been picked at random, reflexing her trigger finger, she seemed to have one other thing to say;

"I need a weapon."

Seemingly content to fight for the otherworldly being, she was more curious how to save not just her people, but all people, or at least as many as possible, otherwise they would be returning to a dead Earth to have a parley as far as she seen it.

Interactions: Presaging Everbloom

 

[Burberry Preserves]

Mu Arae

Where was this? Where was she? Wasn't she just near that magical tree, that herald of the apocalypse that seemed right out of a fairy tale? Mu blinked several times, wiping the drool that had dripped down her face while she had been snoozing away. Had she died? Or had she just been unconscious?

"Oh... oh my god...." A whisper escaped her lips. "Am I... the chosen one?" Her eyes brightened in excitement at the thought, stars shimmering and dancing. "Oh my gosh, this is so cool?" It was like she was on the set of a movie, except it wasn't just green screen and special effects. It was all real. She was in a real movie, except after the apocalypse had happened but that didn't really matter right now and she kinda doesn't wanna think about that! "Uh, uhmmm, Mister... Mister Clock-head-guy! Are we allowed to ask questions? Do we have to raise our hand? What should we call you?" Mu squirmed in the restraints like a worm, trying to raise her hand.

She had so many questions. So many. First thingIs that your real face? Or is it a mask... how do you see? If that clock man had a mirror, he'd always know the time. The thought of it almost made Mu laugh, before she quickly repressed it into a slightly undignified snort of air.

"Hey! I swear I've seen you before."

Mu jumped, turning around and realizing that there were actually other passengers with her. Oh... so she's not the chosen one. They were the chosen ones (plural)!!!

"Heya! Maybe we met somewhere? I'm Mu!" She swings her head back and forth at the stranger, shaking her seat and bothering anyone who might be sitting next to her. "Hehe, though my online handle's AraDulcinea though! Catch me live on Twitch on weekdays at 8pm-12!" Her grin faltered a little. "Though, uh, actually, wait, guess that isn't an option anymore?"

Nooooooo! Her followers!!! Nooooo!!

"But uh hey! Seems like we're gonna fight in some kinda war or something! And humans are on the endangered species list now! It is exciting huh!"

Interactions: Alex Zombehs , Administrator Presaging Everbloom

 

[Stros]

Father Martin

Déjà vu.

The sensation of opening his eyes once more to take in the world around him felt strange. It seemed as if merely a moment ago he was enveloped in the light of God or Heaven. However, the train car he now occupied, firmly strapped to an uncompromising seat was the image of neither. Admittedly, while startled he had been relieved at the light that had consumed him. The question of his soul's fate had always been one that was long left unanswered. If only momentarily, he had been comforted by the fact that he had earned a place among God's side. Unfortunately, looking towards the ominous figure, accompanying them, and at the world outside his long held fears had seemingly been realize. He was not without sin, and sin was not to go unpunished. It appeared now in many ways that he had arrived in Hell.

Instinctively, Father Martin reached for the cross round his neck, where it had rested faithfully for decades. Once in hand he began to make the sign of the cross in order to receive and retain the grace of God. It would be needed now more than at any point in his previous life. Bringing the holy relic to his forehead he began to recite the Trinitarian Formula to himself in its original Latin.

"In nomine Patris"
(In the name of the Father.)

Bringing the cross to his heart he continued.

"et Filii"
(And of the Son.)

Before crossing his shoulders, tapping each one from side to side.

"et Spiritus Sancti"
(And of the Holy Ghost)

"Amen."

Kissing the relic to denote his devotion in accepting his own cross, with practiced familiarity, he was reminded of the words of Saint John Vianney, who remarked that a genuinely made Sign of the Cross "makes all hell tremble." Glancing to the deity that watched them with silent intensity and the world outside as it slowly passed. Neither seemed to take notice or care for this gesture. A smirk briefly crossed the priest's face at a personal revelation.

Of course Saint John Vianney had never been to Hell nor met the Devil himself.

As the daemon suddenly spoke Father Martin was intent to listen. If his word could be trusted it was not the hours of judgement just yet. The outside world supported his claim as it lacked the hallmarks of the destined end prophesied by the Book of Revelations. There were no Angels, nor Beasts, nor Seals, nor Horsemen, and no Trumpets could be heard. It was as if they had been resurrected just before the eve of divine destruction. At this consideration, the unholy avatar's words ceased and he drew back into silent observation. Acheron. The name stuck out to Father Martin for a moment as the passengers of the train car began to return to life. Directing their confusion and inquiries at their demonic host.

Greek Mythology, as well as Dante's Inferno. The Acheron had been a border, one of the numerous rivers, to the Greek Underworld. However, the twisted clock looked nothing like the depictions of Charon. Hades loyal servant and ferryman of the souls of man to Hell. Contemplating this, yet another passenger spoke up. This one with far more hostility than the first. Looking around now Father Martin noted he was the only apparent man of faith among them. Watching as a woman with bleached white hair, and a rather empty pair of eyes, searched in vain for a weapon. The Father realized the weight of his own handguns was sorely missing. Putting aside the sense of vulnerability that seized at him over this he recalled the lines spoken just now.

"You were freed by my hand. Released from divine judgment. Whether you decide to go back and face trial is your choice."

The words hanged in his mind as if being repeated. He knew of no one spared from the final divine judgement other than those who had been beheaded for their testimony of Jesus and the original Apostles. He was unsure what to make of the claims, but was suddenly all the more distracted by the manic movements of a young girl seated next to him. Extending a hard glance in her direction he chose not to address her directly, but the train car instead. To share what conclusions he could make of the situation, as it seemed he could aid in dispelling some of the general confusion.

"I do not believe that we are in Hell. ... Yet. ... Acheron Helldiver I believe was the name of this... abominable locomotive. Acheron as it was known... in Greek Mythology was a river leading to the underworld. In Dante's Inferno... a Divine Comedy... an ancient text. It was known as the border to Hell. In either case, this... daemon appears not to be the Devil at the very least. The signs of the Book of Revelations... the Divine Judgement of God is not yet at hand. Satan should still reside within Hell itself. Though, it appears this ... thing is giving us a choice. Whether or not to face wrathful judgement or serve its sinister designs..."

With every reference to the conductor the tone of disgust and disdain only intensified in the Father's otherwise calm and scholarly tone. He looked to everyone as he explained what he knew. Drawing the idle attention of many, but being ignored by others. With a pause he considered what else he could say, and settled on awkwardly introducing himself.

"I am Everett Martin. You may call me Father Martin... if you wish."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Anthony Alinovi

The Ghost

"Ego phantasma sum"

Dry.

That was the first sensation that Anthony felt then came the rocking motion, unmistakable for the movement of a train. His eyes opened themselves with the celerity of a snail, inch by inch becoming razed by the beams of light. Finding himself bound to a chair, along with other "Unlucky SoBs," he would call them if his breath were not taken away by the preposterously fantastical situation. Anthony's mind reversed time before the blackness overtook him. The scene returned to him with crystal vividness. But, it was a place that Anthony did not wish to remain. For he was newly dead, or so he assumed anyway. Who knows how time exactly flows from the moment of your demise to the moment of your soul's.... Reawakening for lack of a better word. Though he prefers or preferred to remain unconscious, as the sight before him did not exactly spell rainbows, roses, rapture, or milky-white gates. He denied himself with a shake of his head. Anthony knew that his drug-couriering, mafia-dealing, sin-drinking bottom would not make the cut for heaven.

The least they could have done was have a conductor that was easier on the eyes for him, instead of this... Thing with a clock for a head. Then it began to speak. Elucidating them with the wonderful word that they would be humanity's warriors, poets, and edifices upon which to remind the angels and demons, and whoever that the humanity who go out with a bang. Or so that is what Anthony inferred from this rambunctious, rambling, poesy, hyperbolic time-keeping device. His finger nails dug into the cushioning of the seat, while jade-orbs cast inquisitive glances towards the others.

More than a few of the passengers already retorted to the devilman's theatrics. But Anthony recoiled invisibly when their riposte was their own brand of theatre-stage level of behaviour. Quite sure one of them started spouting like a deranged hunter. Another referenced Twitch of all things, he was fairly certain the internet got nuked during day five of the apocalypse. Though he should be forgiven if his memory isn't all that up to snuff, he did struggle to survive those last few days.

Finally, a soul amongst them burst with prose and style that Anthony could stomach. His Uncle Alinovi had been a priest, consequently the one person in his life who he never tolerated. A sweet taste of irony that the thing he despised in life, comforted him in death. "Hello Father. Forgive me, I have never been mucha of a devotee in life, yous sees." The thick-accented courier spoke with understanding. If he were still alive, he would've been mocking or sarcastically jabbing the padre. "The name's Anthony Alinovi." Another truth of this life; why conceal your real name? He was quite sure that monstrosity would reveal it for him anyway.

Interactions: Stros
Mentions: Burberry Preserves RedArmyShogun Zombehs Presaging Everbloom

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Mcneel Obrekon
Interaction: Presaging Everbloom mention: Stros​

rattling and swaying of the train awoke Mcneel rubbing his eyes, the man assumed he’d just gotten knocked out muttering under his breath. “Them grunts dont’a know how what the fok a He shell is let alone how to load it forwards“.

it was upon seeing where he’d ended up Mcneel sighed heavily this wasn’t an infirmary, it was a fucking train going who the fuck knows where full of civis so.. least the intelligence levels had increased somewhat.
oh and something that looked like it came out of a B grade horror movie staring at them, and it started talking GREAT.

it jabbered on about being saved form divine judgment en the like and purgatory, while not exactly a atheist Mcneel always ascribed to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, as the god of reality because no competent sober god would make such a shit show of reality. Maybe that payed off? And this was the FSM saving him? Well it was a somewhat Comforting thought.

their was a priest going off about old books Mcneel chose to ignore that honestly sure hell might apparently exist now but he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be biblically accurate.

“Right so ya Divine beiens picked us lot ta represent humanity den? Well sure I’ll gonna long with it ant much else I can do right now so what do ya want us ta do about it then?” Mcneel asked crossing his arms a neutral expression upon his face waiting for some form of response

 

[ERode]

Shiozaki Yasu

The Tiger Cub

"Bullshit."^♪

Redemption.

A funny word to use.

Yasu’s eyes remained closed. She didn’t want to be alive. Didn’t want anything to do with living again. In the darkness of her imagination, it was easy to bring to mind once more what she had done. The throbbing of her palms as the shock ran up the iron pipe. The way flesh folded inwards, like a memory foam pillow. Hardly a whimper, and they fell over, dominos with limbs. Puppets without strings. Flesh, seared to ash the same hers were.

Disappointments. Revenge was pointless after all. It didn’t taste any better just because she let it marinate for a few years. Didn’t satisfy her hunger and didn’t serve as dessert. In retrospect, she knew that would have been the case ten years ago, since she knocked his tooth out and didn't feel anything for it. But like eating the potato chips that you could easily recall the tastes of, like playing a game just for the daily rewards, it was simply a craving that superseded rationality, a craving heightened by the destruction of long-term consequence. It was an opportunity, and so too, it was a trap. She was a bad daughter to the end, having spent the end with assholes instead of her parents. Why else, after all, would she now be here, listening to a bunch of long-winded motherfuckers drone on and on and fucking on? Or, hell, kidnapped and strapped to a chair with bindings so tight that she could feel it push down on her bones? She rubbed her fingers together, smoothing out the bloodied flakes that had formed. Her shoes still made a squeaking sound as they ground against the floor, sanguine vomit scraped off on the so-called ‘Helldiver’. Chuuni as fuck, honestly. She’d cringe at that alone if she wasn’t surrounded by Revue-wannabes and fakeass socialites. Like, seriously dude? That pick-up line was a cliche ten years before she was born.

And her first cigarette didn’t make it into the afterlife with her either. Shit, that would be great to have, especially when there were now religious nutjobs and, what, literal manga characters speaking up now. The girl herself was under no illusions that she wasn't host to a particular affliction of the mind, but holy crap, at least she wasn’t out there doing the verbal equivalent of licking knives!

…

Ok. That was enough.

She opened her eyes. Took in their faces. Attached voices to those. They all looked exactly as they sounded, except perhaps for a couple of them who had faces way too pretty to possess tones so fucking ugly. Clockface over there was a fucking weirdo, but that explained why they were conducting a train going through the emptied-out husk of human civilization. Pick-up artist turned out to be at least three decades younger than she’d have expected, and also a good deal pastier, but that just made him even more sus, especially because he was really playing up the slant-eyes image. The redhead was as redheads are, like he designed his personality around his genetics and never intended on getting a real job. And the cosplayer? Well, same deal, just turned up to 11. Bubblecunt over there, of course, probably died from living in a cesspool or not taking her STD vaccines. The daddy-wannabe looked exactly like the person who’d spout off random facts that no one cared about before slipping his finger up a kid’s butt. Oh, yay, and there was some guy who had his hat permanently glued onto his face. Great look, guy. Very high-fashion.

Really did piss her off though, that the one person who looked like he was worth anything spoke like an inbred hick. The disconnect was worse than a train of purgation, and the wrongness of it was whackier than whatever Clockface was spewing about judgement and religion. She seriously died, came back to life, and was now stuck with a cast of one-note weirdos destined to be fodderized huh? It was a safe enough bet that Clockface didn't even care about whatever they vomitted out from that ye ye ass face, if she made it here.

So, for all that, Yasu could only be arsed to sneer.

“Heh. Dumb stupidheads.”

This, of course, would be where she kicked her legs up onto another seat and leaned back in order to physically indicate how little she cared about all this nonsense, but well, FUCK CLOCKFACE'S BDSM FETISH.

 

[Pilgrim59]

???

Emerald optics unveiled themselves from behind fairly lit lashes, as their brilliant glow dashed about the enclosed casket that was rocking the woman gently awake. Estranged visages kept her sight pondering her own existence while she sought after her lost rhythm of retrieved inhalation. Her eyes widened at the behest of the clock's spoken words - neither by a visible verbal organ nor by any recorded device. It spoke. Before she could question her own sanity, a sharp sensation pulled every nerve from her restless body to a concert of reckoning pain, as she tried to recollect her latest memories. A reticent groan escaped her lungs, before being reined in by the amnesiac's swallowed agony. She winced, grasping unto her jet black jacket that donned the faded acronym that she had carried with her into the last battle before everything ended in the blink of an eye. Looking down at the laminated piece of identification that hung from her collar, as well as the badge that was tucked in between her belt and sweat pants. She remembered. She was off-duty when it happened. As all things began to come back to her, the woman slowly unbound herself from her mixed bag of sentiments.

It seemed that she was among the few that was late to some sort of congregation of otherworldly purpose. Neither hell nor heaven awaited her, for she was now a fresh commuter of a ghastly vessel. But the thing that disturbed her the most, aside from the strange creature that gathered the rest of the other passengers and that of her odd arrival here, was the lucid dream that she found herself trapped within. Alas, her discomfort was tamed by the otherworldly summoner's ability to grasp the multitude's attentions, albeit with lethal effect. After all, it was not everyday one often see a creature with a clock for a head to conjure flames with ease. For now, she would lend an ear, thought the woman.

Having compiled the conductor's words, it did not take long for the officer's eyes to lose their brilliant hues. A grim aspect brushed over the woman, for she was not particularly in the mood for mulling over her fractured life nor would she allow herself to be perplexed by anything but her own conviction. Perhaps it was purpose that she found at the end of the world, or something more than what appears on the surface. Ultimately, the conductor's sacrilegious introduction had done its job. But as one of the last defenders of their burning capital, she steeled herself for their last words. A fraction of her strength would return, as she found refuge in the comforting recital of the Trinitarian formula from a certain man of the robes that held steadfast onto their faith, even in the state of their perceived purgatory. Aside from them, a certain Suomi's remarks regained the blonde officer's confidence. If there was something she found most amusing at the end of the world, it would be the need for firearms. A light smirk quickly formed upon her warm visage, as she cast her gaze upon the conductor.

"A chance to escape, when everyone else have already bought the farm? That dog just ain't gon' hunt." She finally raised her southern voice with a firm tone, slotting both her hands into her oversized jacket's pockets. "Tch." She clicked her tongue, upon the realization of her missing tobacco.

"Judging from the mixed stew of personalities you've got goin' on 'ere, it's obviously not to simply fix a pipe in Hell. Shouldn't take that many souls anyways. So..."

She paused, studying those around her with a focused look before shooting a sharp glance at the clock.

"... what's the catch, ferryman?"


Interacted: Administrator ( Presaging Everbloom )
Mentioned: The Suomi ( RedArmyShogun ) ; The Preacher ( Stros )

 

[FiveElemental]

THE CONMAN
Despite the dire situation, his tone carries itself a calm, heightened self importance.

His eyes shot open, as he was woken from the a familiar, lulling vibration, as twinge of fascination kept him awake, as he scanned his surroundings, to see a train cart interior, a location he was very familiar with, the plastic handles swaying from the wheels rubbing against the metallic track, the cushioned, slightly uncomfortable seating, all familiar sensations. However, that familiarity was quick to fade, as he realized his surroundings were uncanny and wrong. The cart was humid, and had a strange, pungent stench to it, as if it hadn't been in use in a long time, it was almost soothing... almost. As if the familiar, nostalgic feeling that welled in his heart was actually never there to begin with, quickly being replaced with confusion, and fear. His eyes darted around to see others in his situation, as a pregnant pause filled the air, only briefly interupted by the train wheels bumping against the tracks. Until he broke the silence for himself, as he began hacking and coughing for air.

"Gah!- Hah~ Ha-" He instinctively went to move his hand to cover his mouth, only to soon realize his entire body was shackled to one of the seats of the train, close to one of the windows. His eyes scanned into it, the endless, sprawling of nothing had only leaving him with one word that came to mind. Only one word would be able to accurately describe the scene that entered his retna. Red.

"I- Wait... didn't I-" His confused monologue was cut short by an entity of great charisma and showmanship. Shuttering in surprise as the entity made his presence known.

“Welcome aboard the Acheron Helldiver, where redemption is found and its destination leads only to your salvation!” Leo heard, as he saw a strange humanoid creature standing, perfectly still, unaffected by the swaying motion of the vehicle. As he bowed towards the riders of this train. He was quite an expressive fellow despite the glaring fact that he had a flaming clock for his head.

“From the depths of purgatory, your souls were resurrected before judgment could be cast upon you. Consider yourselves… blessed! Cursed! Saved by God's light, bedeviled by the Lord of the Underworld! For your existence was not trivial in the eyes of the supreme overlord!” The entity juxtaposed each statement, as if he is merely a neutral arbiter. To show the passengers that he is merely a spectator of the current situation they were in.

“The end has concluded; but the war has just begun.” He noticed the clockwork entity gripping his hand to form a fist as he spoke. Only to then release his fist, as he continued to ramble.

"You were freed by my hand. Released from divine judgment. Whether you decide to go back and face trial is your choice." A devilish laughter filled the humid metal catt, as it escaped from its flaming head.

“A chance to escape the inevitable, and fight against all that decided your fate. Do you not find it all too exciting, remnants of humanity? From this point onward, you are the last of your race! A ray of hope born from the wrath of your creator, and manipulated by his sworn enemy!” The clock’s monologue ended. As if he was waiting for the next actor to speak their line. Everyone was lining up to be that. Either silently contemplating the next action to take, or to react.

"So, uh, is someone gonna explain exactly what we're supposed to do? Or is this more of a figure it out yourself, sink or swim sort exercise?" A daring boy blurted out. Clearly accepting the situation that was present to everyone.

"Yeah. I'll be honest here, I sincerely doubt anyone here is "savior" material. What do you exactly expect a bunch of washed up, common members of a gone society to do against fate?" He asked in a confrontational tone, to carefully mask the slowly building fear in his heart, as he processed through the sensations that filled his mind. Only one real question was lingering in his mind.

How do I survive with my life intact?

 

[Firelie]

Helmi Marttinen​

Helmi groaned as she awoke, trying to raise her hand to her head only to notice that she physically couldn't. Immediately her heart jumped out of her stomach and her head spun around to examine her surroundings. She was on... A train? How strange, she was just in her room last she checked. Looking down, she noticed she was still in what she last remembered wearing. That being her grimy comfort wear. An oversized T-shirt with an emblem of a niche cult classic movie and a pair of stained sweatpants. Looking around once again, she noticed she wasn't alone. A little over a dozen people about the train car, all bound to their seats.

It wasn't long after her waking that something in the middle of the train car began to move. Helmi jerked her head at an awkward angle to look at the man in her blind spot and saw a most peculiar specimen. She couldn't help but gawk at the inhuman man as he prattled on with colorful flourish. It took her a while to even process what was happening. This was the last of humanity? Fate? This all struck her as rather religious. She hadn't been religious in her life, though that tree made it really hard to stick to that sentiment. The tree. The pieces came together in Helmi's head in an instant. The doomsayers were right. That was it. She knew they were, she just never wanted to believe it. It suddenly felt like there was something heavy inside Helmi's stomach. She failed. She didn't save anyone. her gaze turned downwards as she processed the severity of the situation. It was only as the other passengers began questioning the man did she process how this could be an opportunity. She turned to face him as the man behind her questioned clockhead on what they were supposed to do.

"Yeah, I mean I'm no trained warrior. Unless god... or whatever, is deathly afraid of C++ I can't imagine myself being much of a hero of humanity. Like c'mon, some of these people look like they are barely out of highschool, and her-" Helmi jerked her head toward the spunky child across from her, turning to address her, "I'm sure you are very capable little lady, but how old are you?" Helmi turned her head back to the clock faced man. "What... what are you playing at here? Why gather this band of merry misfits like this is some B-movie instead of picking the best of the best? I'm... I'm just very confused about all of this. I...need a minute."

Spoiler: MENTIONS

FiveElemental ERode

 

[Presaging Everbloom]

The Administrator
His manic, distorted voice haunted all with a freezing chill, in the very same space that caused them to swelter.

How fascinating, thought the conductor, that of the selected individuals that were resurrected in this unfamiliar world, there would be those who were not at all affected by the circumstances to which they were bound. Fear, confusion, and uncertainty were to be expected from most, but definitely not remarks of joy. Either they were blindly oblivious or optimistic to a fault, the plain fitted boy and the bubbly gum-haired girl. Though it wasn't an unwelcome surprise. Rather, their reactions intrigued him. He ever so slightly tilted his clock-face to the side, briefly watching the two interact. Then, the others awoke in each of their cycles, and with questions and concerns he would address in a timely manner.

"I have several names, but you may simply refer to me as 'The Administrator'. A conductor of this marvelous vehicle, that was capable of piercing through the gates of Hell and retrieving the souls needed for my endeavor. Along with this locomotive, you all are my prized possessions." Administrator chuckled.

"As you know it, this world that you came from, it no longer exists. And as the Primordial Gods willed it, the fates of Heaven and Hell were to be the same, so that the very essence of existence ceases to exist. But alas, Hell prevails, lurking with a plethora of vile creatures, that I, tasked to exterminate Hell, simply cannot thrust myself into without being severely mauled and shredded into pieces. Which is why I have selected the lot of you, out of chance- not because of some miraculous prophecy or because of your mixed bag of personalities.

"The Acheron Helldiver will act as your bridge between the different depths of Hell. But it seems Father Martin's already figured that out, due to his immaculate knowledge of Greek mythology. There are seven depths of Hell, with each level being progressively more difficult than the last. Think of it as a game, if you will, since there is a point system involved in this process. Occasionally it will appear in front of you, taking the form of a user interface where your personal statistics and progress will be shown. The more points you acquire, from talking to civilians to defeating enemies, the more advantageous you may be in the upcoming levels.

"You will have twelve hours to prepare for the first level, where an event called the Scarlet Singularity will take place. After your twelve hours have passed and you've obtained the weapons, rations, rest, and necessities that you require, the skies will be bathed in red, and a trail of red strings will appear, leading you to your main objective. You will have twelve hours to defeat the main boss of the level and return to the train before you can move on. Fail to come back in time, and, well, you can expect death to come knocking at your door for a second time.

"Like I said, after these conditions are met and you have gone through the seven stages of Hell, you will be released from this bound contract and do whatever it is you wish of in the remains of this realm, unhindered by humanity and myself. If you choose not to, I could send you back to the dead and select another few humans, but having to resurrect another group would just be more draining on my part. Do give it some time to think over, and feel free to call me over if you have any further questions."

A tone fitting for the Devil. A manipulator of the truth, though from his way of handling his speech, for most, it sounded like the truth.

However, whether or not the Administrator was telling them the full extent of the truth should be unknown for most.

He turned around, strolling towards the door where several locks were placed, and spoke his last piece before he left them to their own devices.

"Ah, how rude of me to forget the most important detail. Your freedom from that seat will depend on your choice... Simply say that you accept the contract and the seal will be removed, releasing you from those constraints. If you refuse to participate, then.... well, I wish you luck in your adventures through the trials of Purgatory."

With that said, the Administrator left the room, leaving no one to supervise them.

Pilgrim59 (Sharon McMillan), Misuteeku (Gunwoo Lee), Zombehs (Alex Tanaka), Worthlessplebian (Anthony Alinovi), RedArmyShogun (Liah Härkönen), Huntertabbysandshark3 (Mcneel Obrekon), ERode (Shiozaki Yasu), ThatWhichShouldBe (Solomon Linh), Stros (Everett Martin), Soviet Panda (Connor McKinley), Firelie (Helmi Marttinen), Burberry Preserves (Mu Arae), FiveElemental (Leo Armstrong)​

 

[ERode]

Shiozaki Yasu

The Tiger Cub

"Bullshit."^♪

"I'm 20," Yasu snapped at the fashion disaster over there, simultaneously lying through her teeth. Well, at the rate of her growth, this may as well be her in her twenties anyhow.

Of course, Clockface over there would take everyone's meaningless questions as an excuse to keep rambling again, going on and on about how, nooooo, he's not the Conductor of this train, but rather the Administrator of this game. Clown clock I'm uncultured. Seriously out here expecting a bunch of random humans, some nuttier than the others, to go through seven levels of hell within the timespan of a week? She'd seen group projects with six months work of time fall apart whilst dealing with much less, and with the amount of communication disorders popping up already...yeah, Yasu was certain that this was an exercise in futility.

But.

Freedom, not resurrection.

Victory, rewarded by a continuation, rather than a reset.

The girl was indeed an awful daughter, a loveless spawn of humanity, afflicted by a preference for wanton destruction, now unrestrained by even the slimmest possibility that the world she was bound to could return. Fan-fucking-tastic. Clockface was a I'm uncultured, and her project partners were worse psychos than her (probably, maybe not), but at least there wasn't a chance of her mistakes getting erased.

"Alright, I'm in. Be great if half of you weren't though."

She hopped off the seat, restraints melting away as like tissue exposed to flame, and stretched out her legs. Yup. Definitely fell asleep during those speeches.

 

[RedArmyShogun]

Liah Härkönen
Location: ???​

As she listened to them all one by one it seemed most did not share her concerns or were concerned with only themselves. She was expected to watch and have her back watched by this lot? The bratty girl laying in the seat caught her attention, more so with her childish insult and her lack of interest in the situation. The others to stand out to her was the Father who disliked all of this and the Southern belle if she got the accent right, she also seemed less than pleased and had some feelings towards the Earth. There was also the man that looked like some sort of detective or shadowy figure, with the shade of a hat concealing his face, his clothing stood out a little. For a man that tried to hide he stood out a lot... Then again not like she had much room to talk

Next the clock man introduced himself as The Administrator, paying close attention to his every word, he made clear what he thought of all of them and some of his words sparked three things within the woman, Anger, Vengeance and Hope. Already her trigger finger was squeezing as her hand roughly lined up with the man, or whatever sort of abomination it was, but she forced herself to remain calm and relayed all the information. Right or wrong she assumed the following points from his speech, answers or lack there of;


He or his gods had something to do if not everything to do with the destruction of Earth, her country, her mountains, her snow, her life and everything else.
He promises nothing but a natural or unnatural life in an empty and barren hell, condemning them all and Earth to nothingness.
He picked them at random with no foresight or knowledge on who they were, very ignorant and having grabbed them out of desperation with his train.
His gods had to send an avatar to do their work, so powerful were they, with the tree they took out the Humans, using something none knew of.
He admits he would likely fail in the task and take significant damage in hell.
His end goal is eradication of Heaven, Hell and Humanity as a whole as his Primordial Gods Demanded it
He is not omnipotent, and neither are his Gods or they would already know she's planning to betray him or the fact she would kill him right now if given the chance.


In that instant something snapped within the hunter. If they could not have Earth, then they could have Heaven and Hell or force his damnable gods to undo what they had done, or they could die too. If the Demons and beings of hell could be killed, if he could be harmed, then so could they. If those assholes thought they could erase mankind, her beloved Finland from the face of the universe within days, well at the very she would defy and defile them, make them never forget the realms they wiped away, even if it were the last thing she did, she would sell her soul to any devil, any eldritch being to have her revenge, to have her great hunt. Only when she or they were laid low would this end.

But for now, she had to play along, find allies and find out who were enemies to mankind, to the great trial as she now thought of it. She had seven days. Weakness must be purged; Allies must be found. If they accepted it, the Southerner and the Priest she would share in on what she planned to do by bits and pieces. If she were wrong about them, then she would be dead again and soon, but she had already died and the concept of the Hunt, Revenge, of the Great Trial, these were all that made up her mind and soul. Hell would be purged as much as able and Clockface and his damnable masters would be sent back to the Abyss, or the Sniper would end up as she was already, as she would be anyways.

It was then she spoke, staring at the self-proclaimed 20-year-old. Bullshit. If you are 20 then I am 37, snotnosed brat.

"Ha. Very well. I will play your damnable game."

And with that she was set free, rising to her feet she heads away from the rest as she keeps her eyes peeled for possible allies, even if it was futile. His offer of "Freedom" could go fuck itself.

"Koti, Uskonto ja Isänmaa."

Home, Religion and the Fatherland.

The first would be avenged, the 2nd had failed and the third would be reforged.

 

[Stros]

Father Martin

"It is not my forgiveness to give, but the Lord forgives every man alike given we are all sinners in this life. ... Though I suppose, that life is behind us now isn't it? A pleasure. Anthony Alinovi..."

With a courteous nod towards the mysteriously cloaked gentleman who shared his identity in kind, Father Martin was briefly reminded of his past life by the man's presence. If pressed about his identity Father Martin couldn't readily say that he had ever ran into the shrouded soul, but in his line of work there were many people who shared in his more obvious peculiarities. In his experience, once you had traveled outside of your region and into the clutches of a foreign cityscape with its own unique dangerous turns and labyrinth halls. You would find yourself relying on the protective hands of others. Those who shared in your trade. Men and women who had turned their backs on God long ago, but still yet could not ignore either their divine consciousness or more base impulses. In the end they were all equally aiding in the Lord's work, as they were all cogs in the artful and complex machine of God's making known as Mankind.

Unknown to Father Martin at the time, his words would soon become a prophecy of his own. A deep seeded sense of perturbation formed in his chest and dropped to his gut as The Administrator spoke once more. Each revelation escaping his fiery visage compounded in scale and magnitude yet was delivered by the same cruel, level, and devious tone. Father Martin could accept his divine retribution with grace, to be punished for his sins in life was his fate as everyone else. There was no factor about him that deemed him worthy of being spared when there were those far more holy and divine. A dozen historical figures he could name deserved their place in Heaven alongside God for their sacrifices and deeds. But the state of events that unraveled at the feet of The Administrator's words were beyond merely the Day of Judgement.

Their implications threatened both Heaven and Hell.

Had the Book of Revelations gotten it wrong?

Father Martin tempered his emotions at this drastic distrust. While he had doubted the capabilities of Man to interpret the Lord's message and the divine he thought they were at least capable of discerning some truth.

Perhaps Virgil had grasped at the only sole truth. Human reason simply cannot explain or understand divine grace.

He began to relax a bit more in his confined seat at this reflection. The fate of Heaven and God's chosen. The reasons for Hell surviving when God the Almighty had apparently perished. How the dozen of them had managed to be spared and manifested before the Administrator. He had answers to none of it or the host of questions that ran through his mind. The only thing which he knew for certainty, was his conviction. If he were somehow the sole remaining messenger of Heaven and God. He would become the messenger of righteous wrath in their stead. Until he could confirm that and the various suspicions developing about the seven trials that awaited them, he would reluctantly have to agree to this "contract".

Though, there was still yet one other duty that he was bound to more than any devilish contract. It was the oath he had sworn at a young age upon entering service into St. Christopher's. To always ferry the Children of God through the dangerous uncertain tides of life. Whether in the world they once knew or this one his duty would not change. While making up a misfit bunch before him they were all still Children of God. Father Martin fully intended on answering his own Judgement, but for the time being he could not leave those surrounding him in the clutches of The Administrator and the Primordial Gods. Their souls were not theirs to claim. And still yet he clung to the possibility that there may be divine providence to their selection.

I command you: be strong and steadfast! Do not fear nor be dismayed, for the LORD, your God, is with you wherever you go.

The words of Joshua echoed in his mind. Reminding him of the words of Judas in the first book of Maccabees.

"Many are easily hemmed in by a few; in the sight of Heaven there is no difference between deliverance by many or by few; for victory in war does not depend upon the size of the army, but on strength that comes from Heaven. ... I will see this through. If only for the sake of your souls."

A sense of revulsion hung in Martin's throat as the restraints unbound from his body and he formally accepted the Administrator's contract. If his soul possessed any degree of purity prior, he was certain, there would be not much left now. Standing, he moved aside from the aisle and occupied the space in front one of of the numerous sliding doors of the train compartment. There he addressed the room once more.

"If any should choose to remain, for fear of the very pits of hell, I shall stay behind to offer you my prayers and aid in requesting the forgiveness of the Lord."

Interactions: Worthlessplebian

 

[Pilgrim59]

MCMILLAN

She sighed softly to herself at the lingering words of the dissipated conductor. Her brilliant green hues concealed themselves beneath her fair lids, soaking herself in profound contemplation before she cast her weighted thoughts aside to make room for her steady feet. In place of her empty carton of Newport, a reticent jingle caught her ears, as its metallic texture of ringed bindings summoned a late memory that dissuaded the woman from fully thrusting herself into action. While a choice had been made for the officer, she had little peace over the matters that she experienced right before her untimely rapture. A gloomy sentiment brushed over her, as she slowly withdrew the object of her implicated woes. Drenched in abject misery, borne of her hazy labyrinth of uncertainties, she craved a guiding light. They had become a part of her, latching onto her goosebump-filled skin like a dark cloak of perpetually inflamed vexation and grief. She knew not who she was, and what her future would bring, only that she was a prisoner of more than just an interdimensional vessel speeding past the memories of her decaying soul.

It was then she heard a voice, directed not at her, but that of her soul. She then pondered upon the last time she had been given the grace of an undaunted power. She grasped unto the rusted cross within her trembling palms. She felt ashamed, for she was unable to save her partner. But even then, where she could have cried out unto the heavens in anger, she found the silence to be a hidden message of which had been brought to light here, in the darkest depths of the turbulent craft. She had to believe that her companion had died for something, lest her purpose here be filled with anguish, holding her silenced steps hostage stronger than the sacrilegious flames that surrounded her mere moments ago. She despised such feelings, for she believed that her Creator would sooner see her rise and continue to defend the kingdom. A purpose, she sought, and it was found, beyond the realms of man - delivered by the tranquil voice of the faithful among the many. It was not by mere chance that she was drawn to this presence. She then understood that death, like the Administrator had proclaimed, was not the end. This was not her battle, but that of what was left of humanity's. She found herself being propelled forth, seeking an answer that she would be lying to herself if she dismissed it. Drawing a sharp breath, the jaded officer tightened her grips upon the swaying crucifix.

"Today a rooster, tomorrow a feather duster. Fido." She muttered softly, enough for those within earshot to hear, but no more than the waning strength that she possessed - physically and mentally. She willed her decision, just to obtain a better glimpse of her swift acceptance in its rawest form - without regret or the thoughts of tomorrow's troubles. Unbound from her seat, with her guilty eyes hidden beneath her golden bangs, brushing past the tiny child and their conceited declarations as if a drop of rain within a storm. And the woman's jacket was waterproof to boot. As she sashayed her way towards Martin, her identification card was turned upright with her steps, unveiling a most earthly name befitting that of a mere mortal. The refraction of the luminescent tape registered the blonde officer's identity as "LIEUTENANT S. MCMILLAN".

She felt herself gravitating towards the man of faith, almost as if it was an instinctive thing to abide by. A compliance most rare, even at the end of the world where any notion of freedom can prove to be a dogma of unrestrained desires and deeds. She felt unworthy, yet the light only shine greater, for her envisioned purpose remains - an everlasting peace for her troubled mind.

"And I said: Here am I. Send me." McMillan raised her voice, reciting a certain verse from the Book of Isaiah to declare her intentions. "McMillan. Rarin' to go. I look forward to working with you, Father Martin." She remarked, taking heed of the Administrator's recognition of the man, as they gave away their name in the process. It would seem rude should she neglect the basic principle of introducing herself. After all, the southern manners instilled within her were not exactly easy to dismiss, even in purgatory. Her green optics dashed about the room, studying the other individuals intently, before continuing. "I'll be sure to give you a heads up, should I come across a rifle or two. Your eyes seem good enough for me, Suomi." McMillan smiled at the Finn, albeit with a hint of grim sentiment in her focused pair of emeralds. More than just a compliment, the officer's remark of their lethal eyes were made with a poised purpose. Neither to contest nor provoke, but a mere recognition.

Interacted: Father Martin ( Stros ); The Suomi ( RedArmyShogun )

Mentioned: The Shorty ( ERode ) ; Administrator ( Presaging Everbloom )

 

[Zombehs]

Alex Tanaka

"Mu?" Alex mused on the name for a moment as it felt just as familiar as she looked, but it finally clicked when she mentioned her username. "Oh, yeah! Photography and that." If his hands were free he probably would have smacked a fist into his opened palm, but instead he just had to settle for nodding his head. A reminder of the world that no longer existed and he did his best not to dwell on the downer of a matter. Burberry Preserves

Thankfully that wasn't too difficult as the Administrator's explanation of their task only fueled further questions and confusion on Alex's end. Then again, trying to understand how these Primordial Gods could exist outside of existence seemed like something that might cause a person's head to explode. If their back up plan to failing to wipe out any of the realms... dimensions? Tangent aside, it seemed a bit contrived that their backup involved slapping RPG mechanics onto the lot of them.

If it was supposed to just make things easier for them to understand, then Alex supposed mission accomplished there. Rather than a reward for completing the stages, it sounded more like they were just being discarded after having served their purposes. Tossed into a realm they would have cleared by their own hands. The danger of dying should they fail to return to the train in time didn't exactly leave the impression that there'd be much left behind each time the Helldiver descended to another stage...

What was the alternative then? Say no and got tossed back into a Purgatory with no Hell or Heaven as destinations? Why did Purgatory even exist anyways aside from housing sou- no, hadn't the Administrator said that he plucked them from Hell though? Frowning as he hrm'd in fruitless speculation, Alex tapped a foot in time to the wheels spinning around outside.

Perking up as the first of them slipped free of the restraints, the smart thing would have been to ignore her. "No getting in little miss badass' way then," he remarked before the restraints disappeared and Alex hopped up to his feet. "Thanks for the offer Mr. Martin, but Purgatory doesn't sound much nicer. I'm Alex," he introduced himself with a wave of his hand before he let it fall back down to his side. For a moment he turned towards the windows now that he was no longer tied down to his seat, but what was there to see? The remains of a gone world dyed in hues of red? That seemed like a poor choice if he was trying not to dwell on everything that had been used up to feed a tree. Taking the opportunity instead to finally stretch his legs a bit, he twisted his body around and about to limber up. ERode Stros

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Anthony Alinovi

The Ghost

"Ego phantasma sum"

Each moment on this accursed amalgamation between earthly train and unholy dimension hopper sandpapered against Anthony's ironed psyche. From the colorful cast of jackasses to the palpable sensation of an otherworldly presence, not including the clock head's less-than-palatable appearance. A glob of acidic saliva flushed his tongue before Anthony forced it down, its bitter taste stinging the throat. The courier wished, but did not will to move. It was then the torment continued as several other flashy characters awoke. A southern-accented woman with the unmistakable stench of law enforcement experience. A smile of memory and self-satisfaction contoured itself onto Anthony's countenance. Of all the people destined to die and be chosen by this overrated timekeeper, an officer just had to be selected. He wondered whether this had been some measure of humor; a disgusting little private joke shared between the middle-managers of Hell. However, much to his waking mind's protests, his subconscious took the comfort of familiarity again. Even if he'd self-trained his adult life to avoid these crusading 'paragons' of virtue and order.

The next soul, oh-so-unfortunate, to wake had been one man that Anthony instantly deduced as a conman. All due to his experience in dealing with the underworld of the mortal variety, becoming cognizant to petty trickery and scheming scam-artists is an absolute necessity. But his skills in life might serve him better in the here-after. More so than the heterochromatic pipsqueak over there, who Anthony disinterestedly scanned over along with the others. However, Anthony recognizes an important fact: conmen prioritize their survival more so than other humans. A combination of a strong sense of self-preservation, bravery and cunning for ploy is required. When the opportunity arises, Anthony resolves to keep a watchful eye over this man so that he does not delude himself into betraying them.

It was then that this monstrosity — The Administrator, its preferred appellation — explained in no uncertain detail what their task would be, much to the chagrin of Anthony. Funnily enough, the rewards promised by this infernal Administrator did not seem enticing. Perhaps that was the point of the matter that the winnings were the consolation, not the main draw. The allusion to RPG mechanics did not make much, if at all, sense to Anthony. He did not play many video games as a child. Finally, the Administrator concluded with an ultimatum. Accept and be released to die anew or surrender that hope and die with certainty. The azure orbs in Anthony's skull swiveled with abject annoyance, as if that had been an option. "I accepta, what else." This is a delicious form of poetic justice from an outsider's perspective, Anthony thought. The man who sank into his vice, forced to collude with the mortal devil in the form of a mafia boss, is now forced to deal with the closest incarnation of A demon for his salvation — Or at least freedom. His skin prickled with revulsion at the prospect.


The Administrator did not lie as the magical bindings which constrained him to the chair relented their power, releasing his body. Anthony stood from his chair, rubbing his wrists as if they had been bound by hawser-laid rope. Anthony pivoted towards the Officer, removing his hat in a rehearsed act of respect. "Officoi McMillanoa, I hope we can work together." He gestured with his free hand. A smile met her jade lenses, one that twisted to hint at discomfort within Anthony yet also wrapped in a shroud of solace. He is no stranger to them as previously lamented, many days and nights were spent voiceless in service to himself and his 'familia.' If nothing else, then maybe Anthony could be rid of the sword over his head and the pervasive reflexes that he acquired. With introduction done, he replaced his hat and adjusted the collar with a quick flick.

"Bless your heart, Father."

Interactions: Officoi McMillanoa ( Pilgrim59 ) Father Martin ( Stros )
Mentions: The Conman ( FiveElemental )

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Mcneel Obrekon
Interaction: Presaging Everbloom Pilgrim59​

Mcneel was still trying to make sense of it all.. so a gaint affemral sky daddy decided na fook it ima kill the planet, and merked reality? and .. they were here to kick hell in the arse being it decided to stick around, if this wasn't a videogame he didn't know what else it was. hell the damn administrator even talking about it as such, great he was sucked into some wacky arse TV show wasn't he? this was definitely some esoteric bullshit he was too fucking tired to argue about.. just be a good little soldier and follow orders was all Mcneel could think right now. first off he'd died.. probably due to getting blown up and then the world had to go end when HE wasn't looking.

and the priest he was still going off his nutter good job your correct god is real now stop talking bullshit. Mcneel shook his head rubbing his temple for a bit.. today was just getting stranger and stranger. Tho a familiar voice was present within the agreements form the other group with the priest righteous rambling. McMillan, it had been a few years since he'd heard the name wondered if it was the same girl.

"Well then guess ill bite play along with us crazy videogame berta way ta spend me time then being dead please tell me ya actually gonna let us use gun and not magical faithen bullshit, anyways McMillan nice ta see ya again" he'd say after announcing his agreement to this nutty situation he'd ended up in least their was one familiar face.

 

[RedArmyShogun]

Liah Härkönen
Location: ???​

As more of the others made choices and stood, Liah was a little irked that so many were gravitating towards the priest, but they all had seemed as reluctant as she was in accepting or at least did not seem totally selfish, the Father, a Police Officer, the mysterious man with the hat and yet a couple more were speaking but had not yet arrived, though one was close, but before he got there she got closer to this initial trio and spoke, the only emotion betrayed by her eyes was the glare of pure hatred, not for them but something else, that something else readily apparent. "Liah Härkönen, Staff Sergeant, Finnish Army. Sniper. The rifle would be welcomed." With her mask only sudden shifts in her eyes gave way any sort of motions as she spoke in a conspiratorial tone. Which was in fact what she was doing, a low whisper rings out;

"I mean to upend this game and pay back Clock Face and his Gods.. Let us talk later."

It was then the other fellow arrived he seemed to know the Police Officer at least, her name was printed on an id card across her chest LIEUTENANT S. MCMILLAN. The masked man had not introduced himself, the Father had introduced himself from before. And the new guy? Well she didn't understand his accent at all, some words here and there she could pick out but overall he made her brow furrow, though hidden beneath the cloak. Was he worth sharing in with her general goal? Would the father even agree with the possibility of working with a willing demon? Would he go all the way to gain Revenge and some form of peace and home for their species, vengeance for his own God? She hoped the Father was more of the Militant persuasion. She as a Lutheran never had much dealings with the Catholic Church.

The Mystery Man? He sounded like a Mob Boss, but she had a feeling he didn't like this either and unfortunately he was too close to not include in the talk. One thing was for sure, she wasn't about to talk openly to the group as a whole, a time would come for that, more so when allegiances were known. If any of them turned her in, then she would likely just have to die again. The difference in being open later is she would have the means to kill anyone that did dare to befriend The so called Administrator. She would lay out her own logic or understanding of the situation once she had some space and ideas on who else to include on that initial discussion. And she would also see if the new person had heard, or if the officer wished to include him.

Interactions: Stros Pilgrim59 Worthlessplebian Mention: Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Misuteeku]

Gunwoo Lee
​

Fan-fucking-tastic. Between a fucking clock head and a bunch of mentally deranged morons accepting the contract, Gunwoo wondered if this was actual Christianity Hell. Then again, he was about to join the mentally deranged morons in taking the contract. No matter how he looked at it, the ultimatum that the Clock Man was persuasive. Between choosing to roam purgatory or be released from the restraints, the choice seemed evident to Gunwoo. With a reluctant sigh, he looked over towards his chains.

“I accept.”

With that, restraints fell off and disappeared to who knows where. Gunwoo stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. Looking out the window, he was half-tempted to see if he could break it with his fists. A burning sensation heated Gunwoo’s mind as he saw his reflection from the window. Tightening his fists, he took a minute to recollect himself. What would he even gain by punching the window? Other than getting negative karma and potentially getting ‘sued' by his new employer, it was pointless.

Not bothering to get cozy with the others, Gunwoo only stared outside the window and reflected on his parent's teachings. No matter how they looked at it, they were pretty fucking wrong, though shamanism was accepting of all kinds of religions since it wasn’t exclusive to itself. Polytheism as well as acceptance or whatever. Though it still annoyed the shit out of Gunwoo.

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Solomon Linh

The martial artist thinks about it for a moment. There are a great many things to consider, and yet, it is also very few. There were many people here already willing to press forward. They were, as far as he knew, the last of humanity left. And here, this... being was giving them a choice. To press forward, with whatever they could grasp, to face whatever ridiculous trials lay in wait... Or to throw their fate to the winds. To stand together, or face the unknown. In the end, it was really no choice at all. The Primordial Gods, Heaven, Hell, what did any of it matter? It could have been spaghetti monsters and sentient cakes for all he cared.

In the end, it was people, simple people, working together against the world.

"I accept. My name is Solomon Linh, I'm a martial arts teacher. I don't know how useful that'll be in the battles ahead, but I'll do whatever I can."

 

[Stros]

Father Martin

The train car returned to the silence of quiet contemplation after Father Martin had made his offer for those still yet undecided. The scene held a similar spirit to that of the various chapels the Father had visited, steeped in solemn prayer or deep thought. Looking to each of the passengers it seemed not everyone could come to a decision as swiftly or resolutely as the young girl had. He had wondered if she fully understood the weight of her decision, despite circumstances, but avoided assuming any kind of authority. It was a decision for each of them to consider and make for themselves. Even those who chose to forfeit the decision all together.

A bit of movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention, and Father Martin turned to see a woman holding out a worn cross tenderly. He remembered her voice from earlier with its hospitable southern touch. He could just note a bit of hesitation in her actions. It spoke of a hidden struggle to which only The Lord and herself would be privy. Briefly touching his own cross, Father Martin recalled a familiar face from his past. One he had not thought about for many years. It had been such a very long time since he had received it. So very long. Interrupted in his momentary recollection his hand lowered as the woman had reached a decision. Free from her bindings she began to approach him with a dignified stride. Even before he could visibly see her badge or the name printed on her official ID, Father Martin gathered the traits of a civil servant. The woman walked upright, as tall in presence as himself, and displayed a calm confidence behind her viridescent eyes.

These were the first thing to greet him as he met her direct eye contact. A reliable marker of a clear conscience was a lack of the sort of reservation that was typical of those Father Martin worked with.

He couldn't help but to smile gently at her subsequent words.

"Isaiah 6:8. A truly fitting verse."

In that moment, Father Martin realized that perhaps he was not quite alone in his faith after all. The consideration offered him a small piece of reassurance.

"I am glad to have your aiding hand... McMillan. He answered. Giving a nod.

Choosing to use her given name, he refrained from associating her with her work.

"As will the others." He continued.

Remarking on the immediate value in her presence that would have regularly went unnoticed. It now could be as reassuring as scripture, to those who had turned away from the Lord's path, and especially in the situation they had all suddenly found themselves in.

"Those tasked by the Lord are always his most willing." He commented. Recalling the life of the prophet Isaiah.

Pilgrim59

~~~

At the sound of his name, Father Martin turned to be met with an odd, even unexpected sight. A smile. As a young man declined the opportunity to enter Purgatory and introduced himself as Alex his face bore the expression with familiarity. In spite of the difficult conditions they found themselves in, his inner optimism was undisturbed, nonchalant even. Father Martin considered that he may be one of the rare individuals whose soul clearly radiates to the surface. Unhindered by the tribulations of life. A soft candle light among the darkness.

"Nice to make your acquaintance. Alex. ... For some, Purgatory may be preferable to the depths of Hell. We do not yet know what to expect." He remarked.

Passing a glance towards those who were still seated. Considering what challenges lay ahead for those unwilling to participate in the fiend's game.

Zombehs

~~~

Following this exchange, the next person to lightly tug at Father Martin's attention was Anthony. Father Martin acknowledged the man's kind words with a courteous nod before speaking solemnly.

"Solace and forgiveness... are all I'm able to offer them."

Noticing the accentuation of his words, he picked up on the Italian accent as yet another trait he found familiar in the man. The idea that their world's in their past life may have been more closely related found further support.

Worthlessplebian
~~~

The last person to greet him was the woman with vacant eyes from before. Approaching the group that was now slowly forming about him, she introduced herself rather tersely. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the emotionless stare she held was highlighted by the weariness of exhaustion. He wondered when the last time Liah had won for herself peaceful sleep and whether the color of her hair was not its natural hue. These small details did little to hide what was churning underneath, and fierceness flooded from the only two expressive agents in her face. One could only tell it wasn't directed at them with how Liah's gaze flickered from person to person. It was a menacing presence that had been crafted long ago from some unspoken tale of misery and misfortune, carried on up to this moment now as she spoke to them in a low whisper.

Understanding the underlying caution in her voice once she voiced her thoughts, Father Martin nodded before responding.

"The Lord is always willing to hear any confession. ... Speak with me later."

Meeting Liah's momentarily confused gaze, Father Martin assured her he had understood what she had really meant with his unabated attention. Though the thought of defying their accursed conductor had crossed his mind, Father Martin considered the idea was one that was still yet too premature. They had merely realized their distressing situation moments ago and there were still those struggling to decide on the fate of their souls. If they could so effortlessly be whisked free of Purgatory by The Administrator what was preventing him from returning them in the event of an insurrection? There were also the finer details of the contract they had just agreed to. Defiance may very well constitute a full breach or may be prohibited within an infernal sub-clause. The Devil was always found lurking among the minute aspects of life, this was no different. Additionally, Father Martin didn't doubt that whatever occult means had been used to physically restrain them could be manifested once more.

Never mind the fact that Liah was still yet in need of a weapon as was himself. What could they upend when they were unarmed and still yet dazed? Adjusting to their surroundings and the strangers who now were their only allies?

Liah's harsh, apathetic, nature as a soldier had numbed her to the sensibilities of others. It reminded Father Martin of one of the numerous verses found within the Book of Proverbs.

A man of great wrath shall suffer punishment: for if thou deliver him, yet thou must do it again.

He was not intent on having the others pay for her rashness. Choosing to bury it underneath the guise of a requested confessional, Father Martin would further pursue the possibility once more could be said about their chances and the fate of Humanity.

RedArmyShogun