[ WP ] You have died and gone to hell , but it 's not what you expect . You wake up naked in a field with nothing but trees around you ... it turns out that hell is an early access survival game .

“ Don ’ t come any closer. ” 
 
 I stopped. There really wasn ’ t much of an alternative; I was limping, bleeding so heavily I was light headed and squishing with every movement, and had what sure seemed like a weapon pointed at me. It didn ’ t *look* like a weapon, but he waved it around like one. Blocky, almost pixelated; but excepting the lack of rounded corners or tubular shapes … some sort of rifle. Maybe a shotgun; the ‘ barrel ’ was pretty broad. 
 
 “ Please, I need help, ” I panted. 
 
 “ Fuck you buddy, I don ’ t need you dragging wildlife down on me, ” he said as he glanced around. The weapon stayed leveled at me though. 
 
 “ What is going on? ” 
 
 “ Oh fuck me, ” he said, bringing his eyes back to me. “ Let me guess, something bad happened, and then you ’ re here in blocky bad picture land and it always hurts. ” 
 
 I blinked at him. “ Uh, yeah. How— ” 
 
 “ You ’ re in Hell dude. ” 
 
 “ Come again? ” 
 
 “ Lived a bad life, right? Never did nice things, didn ’ t care about anyone except you, probably stole or lied at least sometimes? Maybe worse? ” he said, his eyes going back into their furtive darting scanning. 
 
 “ I was an okay guy. ” 
 
 “ Obviously not. ” 
 
 “ Just, please, what ’ s going on? ” 
 
 “ You ’ re. In. Hell. ” 
 
 “ Bullshit, ” I said before I could help myself. Probably not the smartest response, even if that thing in his hands wasn ’ t a gun. I was in no shape to resist much if he attacked me; even unarmed. 
 
 “ How do you figure? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t believe in religion, ” I protested weakly. It was getting hard to stay on my feet. That … whatever it was … had done a real number on me. Especially my leg. If the wound hadn ’ t started clotting by now, I was probably in serious trouble. “ There ’ s no such— ” 
 
 The guy lunged forward. My reflexes weren ’ t up to recognizing it in time, and I ’ d only just started moving — some feeble attempt at a dodge — when he slammed the butt end of his weapon into my chest. I tumbled to the ground, half expecting to be shot about the time I registered hitting the ground. And then I heard the gun go off. When I flinched, and opened my eyes, I realized he hadn ’ t shot me. 
 
 Looking up, I saw him with the long blocky poorly shaped weapon up to his shoulder, emitting a suspiciously uniform cloud of what was clearly supposed to be smoke from the business end. His left hand moved on the front half of the gun, and I heard a ridiculously loud shotgun sound. Straight out of the movies. 
 
 “ I ’ ll leave, ” I protested, clutching at my leg. Wet sticky warmth was flooding through my fingers, and I pressed harder despite how much it made the pain spike. None of this mattered if I didn ’ t get the bleeding stopped. “ Just don ’ t shoot me. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m not going to shoot you, ” he muttered, stepping back. The gun stayed on his shoulder though. I finally looked where he was point it, and saw the bear again. Clearly I hadn ’ t lost it after falling off that hill into the lake. My blood was still on its muzzle; but it was lying on one side, with dark red blood of its own spreading beneath it. I blinked as I realized the blood was pooling to a ridiculously uniform distance, about half a foot or so, from the bear before it just … stopped spreading. 
 
 “ Thank you. ” 
 
 “ I should, but I can ’ t spare the ammo, ” he muttered. “ Takes too long to make. If you hadn ’ t just got here, maybe I ’ d at least loot you … but you ’ re not carrying anything. ” 
 
 “ How— ” 
 
 “ Backpack, ” he said, glancing at me. When he saw the confused expression on my face, he jerked one thumb over his shoulder at the small canvas pack he wore. “ No backpack. Baaaaaackpaaaaack, ” he repeated. 
 
 “ I ’ ll leave you alone. Just tell me what ’ s going on, ” I begged. “ Please. ” 
 
 He sighed, glancing up at the sky. “ I wasn ’ t *that* much of an asshole God. Really? I couldn ’ t have been, ” he muttered. “ Why is it always me who runs into the fucking noobs. ” He sighed and reached into his pocket. I didn ’ t see anything in his hand, but a moment later — as he brought his hand up to the gun — I heard a metallic click-scrape that sounded like a bullet or shell or whatever being shoved into it. 
 
 “ Okay noob, here ’ s the deal, ” he said, stepping back again. “ You died, and you weren ’ t a nice person, and you ’ re in Hell. Except, see, Satan has a lot of time on his hands. What with being the Lord of the Underworld and all. He likes to try new stuff, just to keep from getting bored. Guess that ’ s why God kicked him out; he couldn ’ t leave well enough alone. ” 
 
 I frowned up at him, but didn ’ t dare open my mouth again. Even if what he was saying was complete lunacy. There was no religion, which meant there was no afterlife. Except … I still remembered the car hurtling toward mine, right at the door next to me. It had been going *really* fast. And … none of anything afterwards made any sense. At *all*. 
 
 “ This is one of his newer attempts at torment and torture, ” the guy standing near me said as he lowered the gun, or the gun-like shape, into a more comfortable carry position near his waist. Keeping it in both hands. “ It hasn ’ t been finished. Though I ’ m not entirely sure if he ’ s not leaving it like this just to make it hurt more. Actually, answer me this; did you work in tech. Computers? Anything like that? ” 
 
 “ No. ” 
 
 He shrugged. “ Just a theory of mine; maybe this is where a lot of computer snobs end up. Just so we ’ ll all lose our minds at the bad graphics. ” Then his eyes flicked to my leg. “ Look, if you don ’ t stop the bleeding— ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t know how, ” I protested weakly. 
 
 “ Make a grass tourniquet. ” 
 
 I looked at him for several seconds, waiting for what he ’ d just said to make sense. Except, as I kept thinking it over, it wasn ’ t. He sighed again. 
 
 “ Take your hand, and swipe it across the ground. Just above it. Make grabbing motions while you do. ” 
 
 Tentatively, I reached my free hand out — the one that wasn ’ t clamped to my leg — and tried to follow his instructions. I heard a shushing sort of ‘ bink ’ sound, and abruptly some long strands of … something … were in my hand. 
 
 “ Hold those in your other hand, and get another set, ” he said. “ Then smash them together, and it ’ ll make a grass cord. Take the cord, and press it to your wound. That ’ ll hold you until you can find some bark, and rock, and turn the bark into a fiber mat. That, plus two cords, makes a proper bandage. ” 
 
 * “ This is ridiculous. ” * I thought, but I transferred the ‘ grass ’ to my bloody hand, and swiped my fingers across the ground again. Another set of ‘ grass ’ appeared, and when I clapped my hands together, suddenly the strands vanished and I was holding a thicker strand. With nothing to lose, I touched it to my bleeding leg, and suddenly the blood started slowing. After a few moments, it stopped. I didn ’ t dare sigh in relief; it still hurt like hell, but at least it might kill me slower. 
 
 “ Look, I don ’ t handhold you guys, ” the man said, backing away. “ I ’ ve got enough trouble of my own. And, let ’ s face it, I ’ m just as much of an asshole as you, yeah? We ’ re both in here, so we ’ re not angels. But if you want to read what there is of the FAQ, make a question mark with your finger and trace a bigger one in front of your face. But it doesn ’ t pause anything while you ’ re reading, so you can get killed again if you pull it up while you ’ re near something that wants to fuck with you. ” 
 
 He backed off some more, half turned from me, then stopped. “ Getting killed hurts. A lot. And you ’ ll feel it, unlike the death that landed you in here. ” He sighed, then gave a shrug. “ Last piece of free advice. There ’ s a river a few minutes that way, ” he pointed, “ and a lake a little closer over there, ” he said, indicating the direction I ’ d just come from. “ Wash the blood off. It always chops a *lot* of time off the delay before the next spawn shows up and starts hunting you. If you ’ re bloody. They smell it, see? ” 
 
 “ Wait, ” I said as he started walking again. 
 
 “ Fuck you sinner. ” 
 
 He didn ’ t stop. I looked around, then at the dead bear, and frowned. I wasn ’ t sure if I could walk. The tourniquet had stopped the bleeding, but my leg hurt more now. The pressure was making the pain worse. But … I held my fingers up, crooked them into the best ‘? ’ I could manage, and traced them through the air. A leathery parchment abruptly filled my field of vision, dripping wet red lettering inked on it. 
 
 “ Welcome to hell, ” I read with a sinking feeling. 
 
 * “ Oh shit. ” * 

