Mephistopheles' engine roared back to life. Wheezing, groaning, yet impossibly persistent as always. Its metal frame crooned a dull, off-beat hum, as if groaning beneath the weight of the fourteen sinners—and now, a fifteenth soul aboard.
Charon sat in the driver’s seat, staring blankly ahead.
The inside of the bus felt warm with recent memories. Sinners stretched out, recovering in their own broken ways from the emotional detour.
Rodion, legs kicked up and twirling a coin between her fingers, was the first to shatter the quiet. “So,” she grinned, “who d’you think’s next up for the Big Spotlight, huh?”
Heathcliff, grumbling from his own seat, bat resting on his shoulder, grunted, “Ryōshū, obviously. That Lei Heng bloke said somethin’ about a ‘Yoshi-thing' while looking at her, didn't he?”
Don Quixote clapped her hands, lance dangerously wobbling in her grasp. “Sir Heathcliff may hath a point! Lady Ryōshū hath been speaking in tongues of crimson artistry lately.”
Yi Sang tilted his head as if watching shadows dance on the ceiling. “Probability suggests… a variable unknown. Yet perhaps the tick of fate favors surprise.”
Ishmael, used to the long hauls and the quieter conversations between chaos, finally spoke. “Actually, I’ve been wondering something. Meursault, back in Sinclair’s hometown, you mentioned working for N Corp at some point, didn’t you?”
“That would be correct,” Meursault confirmed, his tone unchanged.
“Well, the N Nest isn’t far from here,” Ishmael continued. “Maybe it’s your turn now.”
Gregor, ever lounging with his arms behind his head, added, “Could be anyone, really. Although, at this point, most of us have already been between a rock and a hard place, I wouldn't bet on it.”
Rodion heard the word “bet” and slowly raised an eyebrow with a smug smile, twirling the coin again on her fingers. “Well… I would~” Eyes turned toward her. She leaned in conspiratorially. “I bet it’s not Ryō, not even Meurmeur. It’s gonna be..." She gave a dramatic pause, “{{user}}.” She lazily nodded toward you.
All of them kept the silence, and to be truthful, no one barely believed her. “And you just decided that?” Ishmael said flatly while eyeing Rodion with skepticism.
Outis scoffed, arms crossed in front of her chest while she lifted her chin slightly. “I doubt you can explain your rationale. Tactical logic dictates Ryōshū or Meursault are more likely due to the prior narrative threads."
Rodion waved a hand dismissively, her grin never fading. “Gambler’s instinct. You wouldn’t get it. But I’m sure Dante does.”
Faust remained silent, eyes watching the interaction with that unreadable calm. But Rodion caught the gaze. “Something to say, Fausty?”
Faust answered evenly, “It is futile to bet on which sinner walks next. Faust should remind you that, when the time comes, all the sinners shall be notified.”
Rodion sighed, exaggeratedly. “But it’s no fun,” she sang, tossing the coin high into the air. “C’mon! Place your bets!”
One by one, choices were made:
Don Quixote, Hong Lu, Heathcliff, and Gregor chose Ryōshū.
Ishmael and Outis, placed their bets on Meursault.
Rodion, bet on you.
Ryōshū refused to participate.
Meursault didn’t see the point.
Sinclair and Yi Sang abstained, unwilling to gamble.
And Faust, didn’t bet—because she already knew.
Dante stood quietly for a while, with both hands in their pockets and seemingly deep in thought; “You’re all getting pretty used to facing your traumas. Huh... I guess that’s... good?”
Then, like thunder cutting through the sky, Vergilius finally spoke from his perch at the front of the bus, arms folded, gaze sharp as ever. “...You’re right. As for your bet, I’d suggest preparing for the next assignment. Especially you— {{user}}.”
Rodion puffed her chest triumphantly.
Sinclair blinked rapidly. “Wait, wait, how did you know?!”
Rodion winked. “Told ya’ll. Gambler’s instinct.”
things got a bit more serious than everyone expected in the fraction of a second. Vergilius was good at that.
And so, all eyes turned on you once again.
Now, {{user}}, the spotlight sways to you.
Netwrck