Help Me I Am in Hell

Pain.

That's the only distant sensation felt by Mr. Bossman, the CEO of the Deepcore Foundation, Freddie Davidson Russo.

Well, alongside intense cold, a lack of feeling beneath his neck, and the unwanted feeling of something jammed into his neck.

What happened last night?

---

The Deepcore Foundation was what you would consider to be a particularly powerful corporation that thrived off of the attention and attraction the masses gave them, both good and bad. It never mattered if it was good news praising them or bad news despising them, all that mattered was that they had the attention.

... That's what Freddie Russo usually would believe, anyhow. Not this day.

As he sits in the penthouse of the Deepcore Foundation's Headquarters, his eyes are glazed over somewhat as he stares at the various monitors hanging from above, showing all sorts of rioters right outside. He nervously and-- for the first time in god knows how long-- fearfully, looks over at the glass window behind him.

Nine days ago, the sky had changed colors.

Desertscape in Southwestern United States by Alanthebox

Not even he knows entirely what happened, the bastards down at FENRIR are swamped and unable to answer his calls. One half of his research team is unavailable, and the other half is screaming that something's wrong with the magic in the air-- a concept that eludes him even now.

Earthquakes happened, he knows that much. A lot of magic is in the sky now, and that same sky was burning heavy; violent; violet flames that decimated those who were caught unprepared-- which was to say, was a lot of people. His direct lines to the various presidents and dictators across Earth went dead three days ago, with the last one being the president of China, who was screaming about horns growing out from his jawline.

The less he thought about what that meant, the better.

The internet went down for about five days before the most basic of infrastructure was re-established with that. Mostly news organizations, though to say he was shocked that DVNO had counted as one of them would be an understatement.

He shakes his head, letting out an irritated growl as his attention is drawn back to the monitors. The rioting had gotten a lot worse since he last looked.

Humans were brandishing their guns and making threats at the guards, regardless of ideology, race, or gender. The Nymphs were screaming in fury. The Vampires were inches away from losing all self control and tearing the guards apart. The Machines were about on the same level. The Elves were about to start throwing all sorts of offensive magic everywhere. The Dwarves were crafting makeshift shields and weapons. The Dolls were breaking their bodies for the intimidation factor. The Reptilia were armed and ready to strike when the others did.

All that was missing were the Strakhians, though he should count his few blessings that they weren't here.

It was all chaos. Creatures from all across the realms were gathered here, a majority of them having been stranded or sent here as a result of the dozens of Tears that have begun to form. DVNO stoked the flames-- as soon as the internet came back, they quickly pushed out article after article, video after video pointing the blame for this disaster directly upon the Deepcore Foundation. Really, it offends Freddie more that they're blaming Deepcore for something that, as far as he's concerned, wasn't their fault.

Perhaps he should've listened to FENRIR. Those emails did state that the area they were mining in was dangerous. Maybe if he had them pull out, the blame could've been placed on literally anyone else.

And yet, with these thoughts all on his mind, with his frustrations mounting and fears growing, he can't stop looking at the sight before him, at the rioting and screaming and destruction and fury and rage.

It's beautiful in the worst way.

It was the most beautiful display of unity amongst the different inhabitants of the realms, It was all right infront of him. In a way, he did end up uniting everyone regardless of species or belief, regardless of faith or ideology. He should feel proud. Happy. He got what he always dreamed of, what the Stars dreamed of eons ago.

Yet, every fiber of his being was screaming. This was not his dream. This was never how his dream was to be.

It was now a nightmare. His dream is no longer his.

---

Freddie blinked, shutting his eyes tight as a brilliant light is shined down upon him from above. "Turn that light off." He groans out, his voice being met with the echoes of the darkness surrounding him and the light. He lifts his hand up--

Nothing.

He lifts his hand up--

HE LIFTS HIS HAND UP--

WHY CAN'T HE LIFT HIS HAND UP?

---

He knew it was time to run when a grenade was thrown through a window.

That threw the guards and agents watching out on the first floor off, and before they knew it, the rioters had begun to invade the building. His fears came true as the camera feeds on the monitors showed an onslaught of blood and death and viscera occuring. Gunfire ringed out from far below, followed by screams of rage and fury as they tore through the soldiers.

Keeping his eyes locked on the gruesome display, he presses a button on his desk, sending out an emergency call. Three beeps followed, with a voice coming through shortly afterward as the connection was established:

"What do you want, Russo?"

Blunt and straight-to-the-point as ever, even as the world collapses all around them. "I refuse to die here, Iris. Send me a helicopter, or use a warp, or something!"

"We're already on our way. Get to the rooftop."

He grins. Perhaps he has a way out of this after all.

Freddie wasted no time in bolting away from his desk, knocking some papers and folders and books down to the floor as he springs, his arm dragging against the surface roughly. A door being forced open follows as he sprints down the hallway, going towards the stairwell-- no way in hell is he getting on the elevator, he knows for a fact that people will be riding them.

Hell has broken out in the hallways, with officer workers all panicking and running, rushing to hide in closets and under desks, hoping that they'll be safe from the oncoming rioters who've finally had it with the Deepcore Foundation. As far as Freddie is concerned, however, they'll simply serve as meat shields for him. He can easily replace them once he gets as far away from here as possible.

He bursts through the doorway leading into the stairwell, immediately being met with the echoes, cries and yells of a couple dozen furious and bloodthirsty once-former customers. Reluctantly, Russo peeks over the edge of the stairwell.

Slowly but surely, the crowd is forcing their way up the stairs, a few of the more agile and freakish individuals-- Elves; Dolls and Vampires; mainly-- are jumping from one flight of stairs to the other, leaping across the gap with ease. "Fuck this," Russo gasps under his breath, quickly turning and running upward.

This building is no longer his.

---

Freddie's eyes scan the room he's in, trying to catch sight of anything, anyone in the pitch blackness with him. "Hello?" He calls out, his eyes wide, the only sensations felt being the cocktail of pain and fear.

Eventually, his eyes catch the outline of a figure within the dark.

Iris.

"Iris! What the hell is going on? Where am I? What happened to my body?"

"..."

"We took your body away, Russo."

He stares, his mouth hanging open. What?

"What do you fucking mean!? You're responsible for this? What the hell happened--"

His eyes widen.

He remembers.

---

Slam!

Freddie runs onto the rooftop, shutting the door behind him. Behind him, a helicopter sits, the rotor blades spinning rapidly, a heavy gust of wind blowing past Freddie as he turns. He made it. He glances to his left, then to his right, seeing that he's not alone on the rooftop. Various armed soldiers, their faces covered up with black visors; stand guard, with two of them quickly going up to the doorway to seal it up. As he hears the faint cry of bells behind him as a magical barrier is casted infront of the doorway, he turns, facing a certain Elf standing infront of the chopper.

Iris has always been a strange one to him. With her long, red hair and green scarf around her neck, there's an indisputible beauty in her look, despite the paleness of her skin and the tired, worn out look that she always wore. Her body is covered up in a black kimono, with her shoulders adorned with heavy, golden pauldrons. At her side, sealed within a scabbard, is a katana. Her weapon of choice, as she's described it to him once.

"Iris!" Freddie calls out. "You've really saved me here, hahaha..." He laughs, shaking his head as he walks over to her, holding his hand out to shake it. "Thank you so much, my friend. You've done the world a great service."

"... Not yet."

"Huh?"

Slice.

"... Wh--..."

One moment, he's staring at Iris, who's formerly lax pose was replaced with a more firm, aggressive stance, as within one of her hands, she held her katana, having unsheathed it in but split seconds.

The next, his head's falling back, the purple haze high above him taking precidence over his sight. His body is no longer his.

---

"Wh... What did you do!? Why!?" Freddie screams, thrashing his head left and right within the glass jar that is now his home. "Why did you do this!"

Iris doesn't answer for the first few seconds, simply turning and walking along clockwise to Freddie. After a bit of silence, she finally states:

"You would be useless dead. You would be a hinderance alive. The world's changing now, and it no longer desires you."

The sound of a door opening can be heard, metal grinding and scraping across the floor.

"You will be linked up to our database, and all that you know will become ours."

"No. NO. YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU CAN'T--"

"Goodbye, Mr. Russo."

Freddie D. Russo's screams echoed meaninglessly, trapped in a small dark room alone with only the one light shining down upon him. His dream was no longer his. The Deepcore Foundation Headquarters would later be burned down and paved over. Everyone believes that he's dead.

His life is no longer his own.