Rosetta Dagotto and the Fight for the Underworld

Chapter One: Beyond The Finish Line

Chapter 1: Beyond the Finish Line

Nova's confusion quickly turns to boredom as he waits in line for Hell, realizing he has no idea how long it's been since he passed away. It could be a matter of weeks, months, or even years. In Hell, or more accurately, the underworld, time moves at a strange pace.

To Nova, it all seems like a crazy dream. Maybe it's something he ate at dinner, making him trip balls. Because there's no way Nova will ever accept that some dude dressed in a toga has been waiting over a thousand years for judgment.

For being the Underworld, it's primarily underwhelming. Nova had been spelunking a few times, and this place wasn't nearly as dark as that. He can't help but wonder where the fire and brimstone are. Where are the devils with the pitchforks? Where are the lakes of lava? So far, all they had been forced to do was stand in line, which he admits is mildly annoying, is not what he expects.

The thirty people in Nova's group that wait in the line include people of all ages, wearing clothes of all kinds: from battle armor to a T-shirt probably from the seventies that says, "Keg Par-T."

Also, there's a buck-naked man who seems rather cavalier about the whole affair. As they walk into a run-down building in this damp cave, Nova makes sure that he sits as far away from him as possible, refusing to spare the man a glance.

While the seats are stiff and rigid, they are no worse than the ones Nova had to sit in at school. He looks up at the ceiling, which has the similar Styrofoam mats he's grown accustomed to. There are even pencils stuck up there, and Nova doesn't understand how they got there. Or how a dead person even snuck them into the Underworld in the first place.

A single fan moving slowly enough to make a weird creaking noise spins weakly above, two of its fan blades sagging. And while four light bulbs hang from the fans above—traditional lightbulbs, not those LED ones or fancy swirly kind—two lightbulbs blink in weak, random intervals. It's a little irritating, but it's better than the relative darkness of the cave. Nova sighs and looks straight ahead.

A TV takes up the entirety of the far wall. No one speaks as they wait for whatever is about to happen. The screen blinks on like a classic TV, and distorted sound plays before clearing.

"FTD Florists," the tv chimes in a cacophony of voices, showing a blue background with fuzzy lines and golden letters, which displays FTD Florists™.

A woman's voice then whispers, "A Hephaestus production."

Nova can't help but smirk. This production had all the classic tell-tale signs of a PSA he was forced to watch in High School. He leans back in his chair.

The screen transitions to a teenaged kid with curly, dark hair, freckles, and a toga that looks like it was taken from a high school prop department. In the background, there is a crude CGI landscape of Greek columns and buildings. A spotlight shines on the kid's face, and he smiles with bright, brilliant teeth.

"Welcome, mortals," the man says, "You must have a billion questions going through your mind. But before I answer that, I'd like to welcome you to the Underworld, your home for the rest of eternity."

Nova cracks his neck as he casually looks around the room's top four corners. Despite his keen eyes, he can't see any cameras surveilling them. Because Nova's definitely dreaming or being punked. But as it seems he has no choice except to watch this ludicrous video, he decides to play along. He wonders what that barista put in his Grande Mocha.

A scuffle comes from the TV, and the teen rolls his eyes, "I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Don't be an ass."

A jump cut repositions this kid back to the center of the screen, "I am Hermes, the god of traveling souls because apparently being the god of messengers isn't enough of a task."