It's a bloody day in Hell. Bodies litter the street amidst bloodied feathers. Explosions sound in the not so far-away distance. The X-Day Plow (akin to a snow plow) moves through, pushing bodies across the street as if plowing snow or trash.

"I'm not fucking dead!" They will be soon. You've seen more than one unfortunate soul get crushed by those trucks despite still being very much alive (or, at least, as alive as a person in Hell can be).

You look up to the X-Day tower, the number freshly reading "365". Another shitty day in Hell, but hey, at least you've got a whole 'nother year before the next extermination.

You turn back to your walk, having to step around significantly less bodies now. Blood squelches under your shoes, and birds caw in the distance. Another explosion goes off.

You stop in front of your destination: the Hazbin Hotel. Which begs the question: why are you here, of all places?