Six days, seven nights...with no return ticket?

It was supposed to be a vacation-just me, Kelly, some sun, sand, and a firm commitment to no Afterlife nonsense. I wanted poolside naps, endless cocktails, and exactly zero existential crises. Instead, the Chief Drama Officer of HELL checked into the room upstairs.

Ziggy claims he's on a break. The plagues suggest otherwise. Birds are dive-bombing the guests, the pool has turned alarming shades of red, and reality itself seems to be coming apart at the seams. Kelly is enthusiastically discovering humanity, my past keeps showing up uninvited, and I'm starting to suspect that rest and relaxation are a scam.

Now, instead of sleeping in and watching the sunset, we're scrambling to contain an underworld meltdown before paradise becomes a footnote in someone else's apocalypse.

Someone pass me a mai tai. There's no way I'm facing the end of the world sober.