Welcome to Gaia! ::

E8 held his hands up in a non-threatening manner as he smiled behind his mask. He understood the anger and feeling of betrayal that E1 was feeling, but he didn't want her to make any on the spot rash descisions. As they said, karma is a b***h, and revenge is best served cold.

"I know, I know E1, but before you decide to jump her like a predator at least take the time to calm down and think about it. Would you actually prefer to jump her on the spot, or would you rather string her along, make her think that you don't know and make her feel comfortable, and then hit her when she least expects it? If you are going to go for revenge you might as well do it right the first time than get it wrong and make a mistake."

"String her along? Hit her when she least expects it?" E-1 repeated, tone incredulous. She just gaped at her dearly not-so-departed team-mate for a moment, before attempting to pinch the bridge of her nose through her mask.

"E-8." she started, placing one hand on a hip and gesturing to the lounge in general. "I'm tired of games. Look where games have gotten us! A half-demolished room of an after-life. I want a chance. One chance! To beat E-10's ectoplasm, or whatever we're made of, into a congealed smear. I don't want to play games. I want a clear, concise beat down, and I want her to know why she's getting it."

E-1 walked over and flopped down on the edge of the Epsilon couch.

"Is that so much to ask?"

It seemed his question had fallen on deaf ears once more. yII determined that the incoming group was too fixated on the prospect of somehow getting revenge on their killer to really notice much else. Personally, he didn't see how they were going to exact revenge when they were all dead. As one person had pointed out, they might never see this eX ever again. If not, what could they really do to them at this point? It wasn't as if they could kill a ghost.

Giving up on his inquiries in the meantime, he just tried to relax and watch the event unfold before him. He did have to wonder just how many more people will be showing up soon because of eX.

You make me happy, when skies are grey..

When A7 materialized in the lounge, his mind still convinced that he was laying face down on the floor instead of sitting up in a barstool, it disoriented him. His eyes wheeled back behind his head, and he grabbed his mask with both big, burly hands - trying to rip the damn thing off. He grunted, struggling for a moment, before eventually giving up and leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling.

How was he still alive?

His eyes rolled back into place, glaring at the occupants of the lounge he currently found himself in. What a busy place, must be a hot spot for the local night life. He briefly thought he might have been the type of guy to enjoy that kind of thing, somewhere down the line. His eyes moved from helmet to helmet, reading every impossible number. It settled on G3 for a moment, before his mind decided he'd had enough thinking, and his head slammed down into the bar in front of him.

He wasn't alive. That was the answer. He was just.. here.

He slammed his head into the bar again.

Fiver II didn't move much at all. He tilted his head to aknowledge the people coming in but he wanted nothing to do with any of them. They'd all particpated in the murder of his friends and of himself. He wasn't going to give them the time of day.

So long as they didn't mess with his group then he honestly didn't care. His gaze narrowed drastically on Alpha Seven when he finally appeared. A small, snort was the only sign he even cared. But he knew who did. His two companions. Well, he wasn't about to let a fight start in death. He stretched out and wrapped his arms around Three's waist, locking him there.

His legs he put over Fiver's lap, making sure he too was barred from leaving the the couch. He had an air about him, almost a warning. He was practically daring his companions to attempt an escape. They were dead. Let it be.

E7 sighed as he leaned back on the arm of the couch. "So... what do we do now?"

He asked looking around the cushy pad. Maybe this wasn't so bad they couldn't drink though, 'cause they had masks on; and well there was a lot of odd things that went on that normally went on. Obviously there had to be something interesting to do here.

"Seriously isn't there like an arcade or something? Or maybe a reaper will show up for a game of truth or dare?" Okay so E7 was bored.

With things seemingly have calmed down, yII turned towards the one marked eVII as he asked what to do. Shrugging at the answer, the Gamma remained relaxed for the time being.

"Right now.. aside from plotting vengeance it seems, you can either wait around here or jump through the door back there. Aside from that, there isn't a great deal aside from the poisons bar."

It was somewhat relieving to see that there weren't many Gammas mixed in with the new dead people. Unless he miscounted, the only new one was yIII. This meant there were still seven other gammas alive somewhere on earth. Though... even with the influx of people, there were still a lot of people alive in general.

"Hey... how many days are left in this?" he asked, being unable to tell time while in the lounge. For all he knew, they were still on the second day.

[Zeta Eleven is entering from Last Man Standing, because he sure as hell wasn't the last man standing.]

Heaven, this ain’t.

Even the most simple of minds could clearly draw this conclusion the instant the darkness stopped being dark. For one thing, it was too small. For another, Heaven probably had pretty strict liquor regulations. And all that red décor? A little more indicative of the other end of the afterlife spectrum. Of course, that was assuming Heaven was all clouds and harps and angels bathing you in the warm glow of God for all of eternity.

Even in death, Zeta Eleven couldn’t stop worrying about the particulars. He tried to gain even the slightest indication of where he found himself, but looking into the gaping black chasm that stretched beyond the room’s only door didn’t give him much to work with. Not to mention the fact that staring into all that nothingness for too long gave him a serious case of the heebie jeebies. He couldn’t stand more than ten seconds before having to turn away, trying to focus on something other than how crushing all that emptiness looked.

But the room didn’t exactly afford him much in the way of distractions. Everywhere he turned was a reminder that he was … he struggled to say it, to think it, to accept the finality of the fact… dead. He still existed in the here and now, but being in a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere wasn’t much of an existence for anyone other than truck drivers and old strippers. It was just an inkling, but Eleven doubted he was either of those two things. He just didn’t have a dancer’s legs.

He moved through the modestly sized crowd in search of a place to just be alone for a moment, but every corner of the room was occupied by pensive people in gas masks politely discussing their own grisly demises with each other.

“Oh, really. Poison darts you say? Scythe to the face, myself. You can’t notice a thing? Well, good. All I have are my looks.”

Eleven took a seat at the end of the bar, suddenly feeling very queasy. Or at least, as queasy as a dead person could feel. No, that was morbid. Think about something else. What did people talk about at bars? Their problems. In his last moments of life, he had fully embraced the power of delusion. He could still ride out that high. Just because he was dead didn’t mean he had to accept it. Denial had proven to be a powerful weapon, and if it kept him from staring out into all that blackness for a little while longer, he could stand to invent for himself a few problems considerably less serious than death.

“My wife is such a b***h,” he said to no one in particular, anxiously strumming his fingers against the countertop. “And I hate my job. And last week, my dog ran away."

Was he doing it right?