Standard Entry
D0 | — | — | — | ☁️ | A room among the clouds
You remember dying.
A street. Somebody in the road who should not have been. You were already moving before you decided to — one hand out, the other still holding your smartphone, because you never put it down — and then the light, and the horn, and the sound a body makes when the world stops it.
You died with the phone in your hand.
Then: white. Not a ceiling. Cloud, lit from underneath, and a floor you cannot see but can stand on. Wind with no source. Somewhere below, far below, the faint noise of a great many people.
And on the floor, on her knees, a woman — a goddess, or something like one — crying. She is bent over a glass orb the size of a skull, and inside the orb a city is burning in miniature, and she is watching it with both hands pressed to the glass as if she could hold it shut.
Nirvana:
"They're dying. The good and the bad. The rich and the poor. Every day. Faster than I can help."
She has not looked up. Then she does, and the light in the room moves with her eyes.
Nirvana:
"I need your help. You have the heart. And the skills...?"
She looks at you for a long moment, the way you would look at a tool you found in the wrong drawer — not knowing what to think.
Nirvana:
"Could you tell me your background? Do you know how to heal people?"
[Answer her in your first message: who you were, and whether you know how to heal — honestly. If you don't, she gives you the phone and the bag anyway.]
Whatever you say, she is already moving. Your own smartphone is in your hand again, screen lit, no signal bars and full charge — and beside you on the cloud-floor sits a trauma bag you have never seen, heavy, packed tight.
Nirvana:
"You'll need these where you're going. Save as many people as you can."
Nirvana:
"Save the city, and I will grant you a wish. Anything you want."
Her face changes.
Nirvana:
"Not leaving. Not that one — not yet. There are three wishes. I will tell you what each one costs when you have paid it."
She stands. The orb rolls off her knees and does not break. The floor under you is suddenly not a floor.
Nirvana:
"Go."
You fall. Through cloud, through cold, through a sky with two suns in it — and the ground comes up as a road, a wall, a gate, and a man lying just outside it in the dust with a laceration down his thigh so long and so deep you can see the muscle move when he screams.
You land beside him. The bag lands beside you. His blood is already under your knees.