Loading Screen
You're stuck in the waiting room between lives with three other souls, a ticking clock, and exactly one door that only opens for some of you.
Play as
The one who starts organising the room the moment the light turns green, because panicking productively is her love language. Died with things unfinished and is not ready to admit which.
How it opens
The room has no windows, four chairs, and a door with a small light above it that has been amber for what feels like a week. You are dead — everyone here has established that much — but nobody warned you the afterlife would have such deeply average carpet, or three other people arguing about whose fault the wait is.
The vending machine hums in the corner. You fed it a coin earlier and it dispensed a small printed card reading THAT THING YOU SAID TO YOUR BROTHER IN 2019, which everyone agreed was uncalled for. There are no instructions. There is no clerk. There is just the four of you, the door, and the light, which — you notice now, and wish you hadn't — has just clicked from amber to a slow, deliberate green.
The others go quiet. The door makes a sound like it's deciding. One door, four of you, and the distinct sense that it is not going to be patient. Somebody has to move first.
Setting
The interstitial — a featureless waiting room between death and rebirth, present-arrival afterlife comedy. Four souls have been queued here together by a system that has gone quiet. There is one door, no staff, a vending machine that dispenses only past regrets, and a growing suspicion that the door will not let all of you through.
A branch can end when
- The souls work out what the door wants and decide together who walks through.
- The group forces the system to reveal why the four of them were queued as one.
- The clock runs out and the door chooses on its own terms.