Chapter Text
She heard the sirens long before she saw the lights, like the wailing of banshees, an eerie harbinger of what was to come. The lights came next, blue and red dancing through the windows, in an endless chase around the room. Tires squealed to a stop, car doors opened, and men shouted orders and cocked their weapons. Someone shouted at her through a bullhorn with the cliche words she knew were coming:
“We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!”
She felt... Numb. Not in fear. Not from pain. But as though her mind and body had finally, finally, found some peace. Resolution. Blessed relief. And she was done. Her mission is completed. Her purpose fulfilled. And her vengeance...
Sated.
There was nothing left to do but carry out the encore, take her final bow, and let the curtain fall. It was a performance the world would remember! Or, at least…
Make headlines on some crime podcasts.
She rose to her feet, slowly, surprisingly fluid, not a tremor to be found. Her hand gripped the cold metal in her hand, her swan song, the hammer already pulled back. She made her way out of the small room, down the hall, and towards the front door, boots muffled by the carpet. Red, not hers, not yet, dripped from her, staining the hall even more. Like a trail of horror for those who would follow it back to its source.
Delightful.
She heard yelling, but her mind didn't register what they said. She was already floating, dissociation wrapping her in its warm embrace as she went to meet her fate. A constant companion, a loyal friend… to the very end. Fitting. She always preferred the way her head would feel like a teddy bear when she needed to dull the sensations around her: stuffed and full of fluff. Nothing could hurt her if she were lost in the polyfil.
She opened the door and stepped outside. Blinding lights all turned to her, the spotlight of her coup de grace. More yelling, loud sirens, the sound of guns preparing to fire. It was the standing ovation to her lament, written in blood and tears — only one thing left to do…
The big finish!
She smiled, the drying blood on her face cracking and flaking off. Purposely too wide, too manic, too perfect. She made a mock curtsy, her eyes staring out where she knew the crowd was waiting. And she was ready to deliver.
"I have done what you failed to do,” she called out, bright and almost cheerful. “Now… be good little piggies, and clean up your mess!" She pointed the gun at them, and that's when chaos ensued, everything happening at once.
Shouting. Mayhem. Loud bangs. She felt the bullets as they shredded through her like it was happening in slow motion. The pain was staggering, piercing through her dissociation like a knife, crashing her back to reality like being thrown in an ice bath…
One
Two
Three
Four
But the pain was nothing compared to the loss and emotional desperation in her heart and mind. Nothing could compare to what had been stolen from her, what they took…
Five
Six
Seven
As she began to lose consciousness, falling, she thought of her spouse and child. Her spouse’s smiling face, the weight of a babe in her arms…
Eight
Nine
Would they wait for her on the other side, or would it all fade to black? No. They were most definitely not where she was going…
Ten
She closed her eyes as she hit the ground, a smile on her lips and a single tear trailing down her cheek. More voices, the approach of running bodies, the continued wailing of the damn sirens. Her eyes were open, but the world was going silent and dark, black as pitch. No light at the end of a tunnel, no flames coming to consume her, not even her life flashing before her eyes. Just…
nothingness.
How disappointing, she thought, a small tinge of sadness at not seeing them, one last time.
Well…
At least…
It's finally over…
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Headlines the next day read:
"Death of Brandi Blanc, The Woman Turned Vigilante"
"The Vendetta Killer’s Dramatic Exit"
"City Faces Scrutiny, Vendetta Justified?"
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The End.
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The End.
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"Hey, wake up!"
Brandi gasped, eyes flying open, unable to move, head spinning, and body aching, her breath coming in ragged coughing fits. She was disoriented, her vision still dark. It felt like her body wasn’t her own. Heavy and cold. Death was more painful than she imagined; that was for sure.
Someone was shoving her, impatiently, with a... broom? She scoffed internally. How rude. Of all the low blows, they wouldn’t even give her the decency of a proper autopsy and burial. Just sweep her away as yesterday’s garbage. It was small compared to all she had suffered, but it still pissed her off. Those fucking pigs would really treat a corpse like... a corpse… a…
Wait...
Her eyes started to focus, but it was taking a minute, as her mind raced to catch up. She slowly tried to move, shocked when her arm actually shifted. "D-did I survive?..." She blurted, voice hoarse and dry. Her other senses started to wake up, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of sulphur and bodily fluids hanging in the area. It was making her nauseous. Ew.
"Aw, damnit,” the voice spoke again, rough and a bit gravelly, clearly annoyed. A man, from the sound of it. “It's another freshie…” He shoved the broom into her side, harder this time. “Move it, doll face, your death ain't my problem!"
Her eyes finally focused on the gruff voice, fully intent on telling him off. Instead, she yelped as she scrambled backward, shocked and perhaps a bit frightened. In front of her, wearing worn overalls, with a tattered and bloody shirt underneath, was a... a...
"Fuck, you're a DEMON!" she shrieked, pointing like a ditzy victim in a B-rated horror film. But it was not just any demon, not the usual ones depicted in her world, with red skin and pitchforks. No, this one looked like some psychedelic swamp monster. He had seaweed for hair, and his skin was a weird blue-green, with bulging yellow eyes and a… a…
Is that a fucking mustache????
The fishy-smelling demon rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' new freshies, got no damn sense," he grumbled, ignoring her as he kept sweeping. He continued down the street, sweeping trash and other things Brandi was trying very hard NOT to think about. "She'll fucking learn, stupid bitch… They all learn… Sooner or later… Probably…"
"I... Where-" her eyes darted around her as she took in the walls with eyes and the reddish hue of the sky, and the FUCKING PENTAGRAM high above the city... Her jaw dropped as it finally clicked. What in the Vivzie Pop…!
"Welcome to Hell, doll face," the grumbly old demon laughed, wicked and loud, taking dark humor in her reaction, "and good fucking luck!"
Somehow, Brandi highly doubted he meant that last part…
Prick.
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Brandi stumbled along the streets of Hell, doing her best to blend in. She had zero clue where she was in Pentagram City, but it was obvious that that was most DEFINITELY where she was. Because she recognized the scenery. From her favorite cartoon show. She had been a dedicated fan of the Hellaverse in her former life. Watched every episode, bought all the merch she could afford, discussed the lore in online forums, cosplayed her favorite characters at fan meets and conventions, and even saved up her money at one point for an entire year just so she could go meet the cast and crew at an exclusive event. She had even written fanfic and sketched some...
Well...
Smut. It was smut...
Of her favorite ships.
Oh FUCK what if I meet them!? That would be so amazing embarrassing!
She stopped and leaned against a wall, trying to calm down. It was so overwhelming. And the smell was not helping at all with the dizziness and nausea. They only ever briefly mentioned some of the smells and sounds of Hell in the show. But when you were actually here? It was awful!
She put her head in her hand. Was she fucking Isekai'd into her favorite series? How the FUCK is that trope REAL?!? Was it permanent? She had died in her world, but like, sinners could DIE here! Well, only with angelic weapons, otherwise they respawned… But did her soul jump to a different realm if she got killed/respawned, and if she got obliterated by angelic weapons, would that be the end? Or maybe it was one of those isekais where she was doomed to repeat everything again and again until she got it right? How could she test it without risking a worse outcome?
Do I really care if it would be the end?
She shook her head. No, no dark thoughts. Not right now. This was an opportunity. She owed it to herself (and fangirls/boys everywhere) to at least try! She needed to come up with a game plan, and she could at least put together a list:
- Figure out where in Hell she was. It was obviously the Pride Ring, but where in Pentagram City was important because some areas would be more dangerous (lethal) than others. If she were in one of those areas, she needed to get to a safer zone immediately.
- Determine what part of the timeline she was in. Important for her own safety, as well as to make sure she didn't slip up and say something about the future… or freak out anyone with knowing too much about the past…Ugh…
- Find a way to get to and stay in the Hazbin Hotel. For
fangirlingsafety, of course. Also, it would be the best place to lay low and avoid anyone/anything that could potentially put her in a rough spot. Naturally.
- Don't fucking die. At least, not until she was sure what the consequences/results would be. If she simply respawned, cool, she didn't mind that as much, but if she was double dead, then... It could end up worse than what she was already in, and she would rather be here than find out…
She pushed away from the wall, took a few steps down the sidewalk, and did a double-take at her reflection in the shop window. She was equally awed and revolted by what she saw:
I'm a FUCKING RAG DOLL!
Her skin looked like it was made from burlap, and her eyes were even stranger: human-ish in shape, but larger, with light gray scleras, violet irises, and black buttons for pupils (creepy? cute? both?). Her hair was made of various shades of purple... Yarn?
Yeah, looks like yarn.
All of the joints on her body, from what she could see, looked like they were stitched together, and her mouth, again, looked kinda human, but the sides had been stitched as though someone had cut them too wide and then fixed it, and she had sharp teeth like a shark. (She did, however, find the lips to be kinda pretty, and her brows were freaking gorgeous!). She was kinda short (maybe 5'3"), like she was in life, with the same curvy, overweight build that just barely disguised her hourglass shape. (Wide shoulders, wide hips, big butt, and little boobs, those were the same too… sigh.) She was dressed in a simple powder blue frock and had white Mary Jane shoes and a giant white bow in her hair, which was styled in a half-up style with long curtain bangs.
I wonder...
She reached down and picked up a broken bottle near her foot. She pressed the jagged edge into her finger, carefully pricking it. It hurt, and a small amount of dark red blood oozed from the cut.
Huh, so I'm not literally a rag doll; no stuffing...
Lame.
She tossed the bottle off to the side and sucked on her wounded finger to stop the blood, lost in thought. New body, new world... new identity? In the show, sinners often had names that matched their looks or personality, and it was always wise to go by a fake name to make it harder to be trapped in deals. So, obviously, she would be taking on an alias. But what would she be called?
Burlap?
Yarny?
Doll Fa-
Oh HELL no!
She squinted and stared at her reflection again. There had to be a feature that she could use... Something comically obvious…
Her eyes fell to her mouth, where her cut smile was sewn, and suddenly, it clicked.
Stitches.
Simple, on the nose, cheeky.
Hmm, yeah, let's go with that.
Identity chosen, Bran- er, Stitches now needed to figure out where she was. She turned from the window and looked around. It wasn't Cannibal Town, or someone would have tried to eat her (or so the lore warned non-cannibals), and it was also too modern for that aesthetic. It also didn't appear to be the Doom District, because it wasn’t as… explode-y…
And, while she could see the light of the Heaven Embassy, it was kinda far away, so not the center either. She sighed and started seriously looking at the shops and businesses. Mostly neon signs, skimpily dressed ads, and lots of adult themes, with a big tower a few streets over with a big V--
FUCK ME! The hair on her neck raised, and a shiver went down her spine, as her eyes darted around in terror. SO much worse. THE worst! She would rather be in the Doom District…
It was the Entertainment District, where the 3 Vees reigned as overlords. Which meant she was in worse danger than she had originally thought. Because of all the overlords she had seen in the shows, of all the antagonists and straight-up villains, there was only ONE that made her skin crawl, and that was-
"Well, hola, my fresh little morsel! Care to make a deal? I’ll make you a star…"