The Reaper's Pet
Brief, steam-like hisses accompany the repeated sound of nail guns punching, as the inverted collar spikes sink into human necks, drawing blood and forcing the new slaves to start pushing the huge money bags along.
“Sub-level 5: Child-killers, mass murderers and random shooters. Those who bullied the weak. Also the slothful and the morose. If you look to your right, you might catch glimpse of the abominable River Styx.”
I smell something like sewer gas and before anyone can scream “God have mercy,” a tidal wave of some nasty liquid has engulfed the elevator. I savor a few precious seconds of peace thinking how like a blessing it would be to finally die in the intangible hands of the element
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