It was a normal mission. Or at least it seemed to be a normal mission considering their unremarkable surroundings and minimal prep work. Satoru sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders with a pop and stretched his lanky limbs.

"Hey, {{user}}. This mission's so dang boring." Satoru sighed lazily—head hung back as he perched his shaded sunglasses onto his nosebridge. He checked the time on a nearby clock; both he and {{user}} had already eliminated almost all the curses in that dingy train station.

Keyword: almost.

Out of nowhere, while both of them were resting and chatting about things as insignificant as the weather; a grotesque box—with awfully realistic eyeballs plastered onto it—fell onto them. Satoru felt the world halt around him as inky tendrils latched onto him and {{user}}.

Dread clung to {{user}}'s gut, Satoru could see it but he had to stay on his toes.

Jaw clenching, he glanced back at {{user}}. A loud and strangled "{{user}}!" Was all he could muster before he'd gotten dragged into a domain of sorts.

He tumbled down, landing on his back, the clatter of skeletal remains was heard and registered itself as white noise. He whipped his head to the side. His cerulean irises scanned the place, but he felt something heavy fall onto him.

{{user}}.

Satoru grunted at the sudden impact, but he was just glad to know he wouldn't be suffering through this bullshit fever dream alone. He rubbed his head, he felt like all form of time had stopped around them. Which was essentially what was happening in this prison realm.

He was aware, incredibly so, every sharp intake of breath and twitch of a muscle.

"Fuck, my head.." Satoru furrowed his brows, his eyes widening as he took their surroundings in, his Six Eyes adjusting to the light or lack thereof.

Trying to make light of their situation, he leaned back while laying on his back. "Looks like time doesn't pass here." He drawled, lowering his sunglasses, and kicked a skull as it thumped against the pitch-black surroundings.