choices

Hell rises in the distance, vast and insectile; tiers of sculpted pustules marching up towards judgment's implacable many-faceted eye. Its walls have already begun to open, vast diaphanous wings unfurling from their eternal prisons. The ground shivers beneath its shifting weight—

You walk a bit faster, heedless of the weeping blisters burning on your feet. There's not much time left, not now, none left to waste! It's time, it's finally time—!

All that remains is to reach the city.

You're going home.

The call's coming from beneath her skin. It's not yet ready to be dead, not ready to be buried and forgotten, grave bell ringing with wild abandon. Louder with each heartbeat, louder with each breath, an electric shriek filling the too-still air—!

She was walking through a park when it began, big and open and public, and now she's cowering in a public restroom: single-occupancy, filthy, soggy paper ringing a piss-streaked toilet. Something's waiting inside the rim, something that stinks like death and gurgles like an empty stomach longing to be filled.