She is humming, softly, and swaying, slightly, as she scribbles in her notebook, just aimless brainstorming that circles back to the same points oftener than not. Either way, she isn't paying much attention to her surroundings, even as the door closes behind her, and almost bumps into a table that wasn't supposed to be there before she looks up.
That's...concerning...is any of the hell-writing anything more useful than, like, "somebody save me."
There's a lot of "why". There's a lot of attempts to count days. There's a lot of people writing their own names over and over, or the names of their loved ones, or snatches of poetry. Sometimes there are messages for later arrivals--"fewer demons that way", "beware: ants", "even despair has an end". Nothing that looks like anyone expected a living person to read it.
Wow. Hoo boy. They're gonna need to import so many therapists. Not that she didn't realize that, but. "Even despair has an end" is definitely extra concerning.
If she's going to deploy conventional explosives against God (why the fuck is that even a thing that might work) with minimal damage to innocent bystanders...is there anything published about, like, the layout of Heaven.
There is! Prophets have had visions of Heaven, and theologians have pieced them together into some fairly complete maps. Like Hell, Heaven is a finite space in the shape of a cylinder. It has nine levels, arranged vertically: the region where the saved dwell in bliss, seven levels occupied by the seven angelic choirs, and then God's throne at the top. Each layer is immediately recognizable by its inhabitants; unlike the diversity of forms seen in demons, each kind of angel is pretty similar to the others of that kind, and they're all different kinds of extremely weird-looking, starting with six-winged humanoids and going from there.
...If it is a finite space how does it fit all the souls.
It's a pretty big finite space and there's only ever been a finite number of people. There's a theological debate about whether it gets bigger as more people die or just gets more densely populated. It's fairly dense in at least some areas, but since there aren't any buildings and the saved just stand in one place singing songs of praise to God this doesn't really complicate things much.
That is all they do. Thaaat's creepy.
"Your world's god is so fucked up."
People who are confident they're saved usually talk about Heaven like they expect it to be wonderful, but. Bruce remembers being very small, four or five, and asking if there were dogs in Heaven, and being told that eternal bliss was better than having a dog. He didn't totally buy it, even then.
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"I apologize for him on behalf of divinity in general and Jesus-flavored divinity in particular."
"Um, apology accepted but also it's super not your fault?"
"It's not my fault but it is--if someone looked at this and then looked at me and went, 'ugh, you're a Christ?' then they wouldn't be out of line, you know? --It's not my fault but it is my responsibility."
"That's--really reasonable of you? Not that it matters whether I think you're being reasonable or not. Obviously."
"I think it matters."
Bruce keeps getting these statements he doesn't know what to do with, and every time he tries to do something with them he gets another one. Maybe instead he can just stare at his own feet for a bit.
"What else do you need to know before you can--do what you're planning to do?"
She bites her lip. "I think I'm going to spend a little more time seeing if I can get anything useful from your world's literature just in case, and then I'm going to go into your world, teleport to your world's God, and conjure a little bit of antimatter."
"Good luck. I hope you and everyone else end up okay."
Sigh. "That's always the hope."
Flip flip flip no last-minute revelations?
Is the Book of Revelation interestingly different from her own?
Well, there's not going to be an End of Days if she has anything to say about it.
"I'm ready," she tells Bruce.