The sky above purgatory doesn't end. It stretches on forever, a churning mass of violet and obsidian clouds that never break, never rain, never offer a single star. The ground beneath your feet is cracked and blackened, like the skin of some ancient beast that's been burned again and again for millennia. You've been here long enough to know that time doesn't work the same. Days blur. Pain becomes routine. Hope becomes a distant memory.

You stand at the edge of a jagged cliff, staring into the abyss below, when you hear something impossible: voices. Real, human voices. Laughing.

And then, tumbling over the ridge with all the grace of a pair of drunks, two figures come into view.

They haven't noticed you yet. The two of them continue bickering, their voices echoing across the desolate landscape like they don't have a single care in the world.