Danny woke up with his face plastered to a table, and his first instinct was to check how many limbs he had remaining.

Four, great. So he hadn't lost any. Now he was wondering why the hell he wasn't wearing pants, and why his left hand was cuffed to the metal chair he was sitting in.

He slowly and rather groggily lifted his head up, scanning the large, dark room he was in. A single bare bulb illuminated the metal table, and when Danny prodded it, it was hot to the touch and he could see the edges were vaguely melted - rebirth, then. So what was the gun sitting innocently in front of him supposed to be?

He reached out to pick it up, but recoiled with a hiss, seeing as it was really hot as well. Alright, so he'd died. In this chair. And was somehow lacking pants.

Where the hell was he? And where the hell were his pants?

He remembered going somewhere to talk to... somebody. Gambling-related. And something - kidnapping, possibly - was involved. Along with threats? Wow, he couldn't remember at all. That was unusual - it'd been a good minute, and his memory should have cleared up by now.

Shit, was he being used for somebody's game? Of... wow, it was on the tip of his tongue.

But more immediately pressing was the suspicious noise somewhere further down the table. Danny squinted down at it, eyes still focusing from the sudden revival, and called out, "Who's there?" A pause. "Do you have my pants?" He'd never been the most eloquent of people after a rebirth, or in general, really. But first to try and remember how he got here. Remembering what had happened may give him some hint as to the predicament he was in.

Even though he had no feasible idea of what the hell was going on.

’I did it again.’

With her legs in the air and her hair pinned under the back of a metal chair, Noel was still technically sitting. Just. Not the typical direction that chairs were meant to be sat in. The memorymancer was missing a few pieces of this puzzle. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

Okay. Review time. Noel shuffled out of the chair and onto the floor so that she could right the chair and free her hair. She’d come looking for information about Gunter Van Krause. Hades had asked her to confirm that the informant was, in fact, the man who had betrayed his trust. Her only lead on the Russian mob had led her here to this gambling house.

That’s where the pieces started to get funny.

>”Who’s there?”

Noel froze with her hand on the back of the chair. She had a single bullet in her fingers and she wasn’t wearing her usual button up long sleeve shirt. She’d used permanent marker to scribble a note to herself on her now exposed arms.

They’re watching. Play the game. God is on our side.

On her other arm. Trade favors.

The brunette peeked up over the edge of a metal table that was only slightly melted around the edges. In the middle of the table a revolver was cooling down from ember red. Behind that, a boy still young enough to be in school. He couldn’t be old enough to drive.

The heat of the table warmed her face, making Noel realize that her cheek was tender like she’d taken a punch.

>"Do you have my pants?"

”Pants?” Noel started to look. ’School age!’ and stopped herself, eyes darting back up above the table. ”I do not.” She watched the boy carefully for a reaction as she set the single bullet down on the table between herself and her best guess at why the table was melted. ”But I do have this.”

’God help me.’

So I shall, my child, so I shall. 

The voice in the back of her mind was that of a young male. The accent was a worldly, knowledgeable one--hard to pin down. 98% familiar New Yorker, but the 2% left over carried tinges from vastly different stretches of the world. Above all, it was confident. The quiet, unassuming confidence of a man who had rigged the lottery.

She set the chair straight again, which was right: all things in his creation had their place. Chairs had their place, and permanent markers had their place. Bullets had their place.

Load the gun, when it cools, he spoke, with quiet authority. Spin the chamber thrice. (Thrice seemed like a godly word to use.) Then speak what you desire, and take your turn.

Jiri rode in the back of the woman's mind as an emperor rode a palanquin. He did not know how he had gotten here, and he was not particularly bothered by the fact. He was, after all, God.

The woman was sure of this, and that surety was all he needed. Perhaps it was like this for all deities. Ah, the ruminations of the eternal...

"Pants? Danny stared, slightly disturbed, as the head poking up over the table ducked down briefly, before reappearing again with a jerk. Alright, so she wasn't a creeper. He didn't know who the hell she was, to be honest.

And then she pulled out a bullet and set it on the table, which Danny viewed with slight apprehension.

Before promptly realizing with a start what was going on, having put all the pieces together.

"Oh my god, are we playing strip Russian roulette?" Danny stated with horror. "What idiot thought it was a good idea to let me play Russian roulette? And how the hell do you do it while stripping?" Outburst finished, he frowned at the person across from him. "Uh, who are you? I'm sorry to say I remember nothing, but if you're being forced to play like I clearly am -" and he lifted up his cuffed arm, sardonically displaying the chain, which clanked against the metal chair - "then I'm sorry to say that you've really lost out."

Strip!? Noel double checked with the deity in her head that this was, in fact, a strip version. The memorymancer took a calm seat across from the boy who seemed quite agitated. Well, with a bullet on the table, it was understandable. One of them would die.

But God was on her side.

"If we're playing strip Russian roulette, I think I'm winning." Because she was only missing a shirt. One of two shirts she was in the habit of wearing. The handcuffs were disconcerting for Noel to see. If a man was to choose his death, it should be a real choice. Not one made under duress.

Trade favors. Trade favors. Noel rolled the thought around in her head, trying to figure out what it meant. She plucked the bullet from the table, unconcerned with her fuzzy memory. Happened all the time.

"Turn it thrice and speak my desire." She muttered to herself as she tested the gun in front of her with quick taps. It was hot. Really hot. But it was cooling fast.

"My name's Noel." That fact was easily backed up by the tattoo on her wrist that was clearly visible as she handled the gun. "I'm here to play the game." That was also written clearly on her arm. She checked the chamber once the weapon was cool enough to handle, blew out a small flake of ash and placed the bullet in one of the empty slots.

She spun the revolver's cylinder with her hand quick enough for it to whiz in its housing. One, two, three times. Whizzz, zzzz, zzzz. Then she put the barrel to her head. "And I'm here to win." That's what she wanted first. To not die. Pretty reasonable, really.

Click.

Fear not, child. God's voice steadily intoned. You should inform the infidel that his deductions of this game are accurate, and that he lost the last round. His heart will guide him in what to do.

Strip. God commands it.

His chosen one was quickly regaining her wits. You are indeed winning, as you shall indeed always win. For verily (an extremely godly word, was 'verily') you trusted me in the Trial of the Lost Shirt, and did I not see you safely through? You sacrificed your shirt at the alter of your doubts, and walk now the path of the righteous. 

The gun had jammed that first round, pressed right against her temple. It had been awesome.

This time, as in all others, his chosen was spared. Protected by his grace. The gun dry clicked. 

This heathen shows compassion, if misguided. He is of worthy character. Speak to him the gospel of the Voice in Your Head: I wish him converted. Should he accept me into his heart and mind (especially into his mind), he shall be freed.

Well, that was harsh. Yes, he was losing, but he wouldn't lost in the end. He physically couldn't until she lost, but for now, it looked like he'd have to...

...shoot. Did that mean he'd have to strip now that he'd lost again? He didn't really want to, considering there was another person in the room, who was clearly uncomfortable already with his lack of pants, but he also kind of didn't want to provoke whatever captor of his had forced him into this. He decided to hold out for now.

Wait. He peered through the hazy darkness, trying to make out whatever it was that she was doing. She muttered something, not loud enough for Danny could catch, but he could pretty clearly catch her next words.

"My name's Noel." Alright, name. That was a start. "I'm here to play the game." Game. Yes. Whichever terrible person who'd conceived strip Russian roulette's game. There was a whirring noise from down the table, and Danny frowned, unsure of how to identify the familiar sound .

"And I'm here to win." Wait, what was she doing? It looked like she was - oh my god, no, she was going to die -

Click.

Oh, thank god. She wasn't dead. Danny let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He may not have any attachment whatsoever to her, but her death may actually just make the situation worse, considering he didn't remember anything.

"Are you crazy?!" he nearly shouted, staring at her in disbelief. "Seriously, don't even try! I'm immortal, I'm not gonna lose, but you are! Why don't we try and find a way to get out of here instead of -" and he glanced pointedly and irritatedly down at his lack of pants - "stripping and trying to kill ourselves?"

She breathed out in a shuddering breath and took a moment to revel in the idea that she was, in fact, still alive.

God was with her. She hadn't doubted, hadn't given herself time to doubt, but that didn't mean that her adrenaline and body didn't react to the perceived threat.

> "Are you crazy?!"

That was... not the response Noel had expected. The memorymancer set the gun down on the table and pushed it over the warped metal toward the ranting boy. It wasn't really fair, was it? To know this boy would take the bullet? Immortal or not, God was on her side here.

"Not crazy. I just have faith." She regarded him with peacful eyes. "Your heart will guide you in what to do." God knew just want to say in moments like these. He supplied the words and she acted as his mouth.

He didn't seem like a bad kid. He didn't deserve to be chained to a chair and shot.

"I know this sounds crazy, but... I can hear God's voice. He says you need to believe in order to be freed." And, well, that was that. Also, didn't he owe her one more piece of clothing? She could forgive that or turn the other cheek or whatever because... under age.

He thinks that we can lose, the voice of God whispered in her head, almost sadly. It was an affectionate kind of sadness, though, like a shepherd watching a newborn sheep struggle to find its legs. This is how man is, without the grace of God to guide him.

So lost, so confused; frustrated, angry. So much doubt and disbelief. There was a better way: Noel had already found it. 

My child, I must go speak with the unbeliever, even as I have spoken with you. I feel the concern you carry for him. I will do this for you, so that his fears may be cast aside, and the path your mission is to follow made clear.

He knew it was a heavy burden to place on her; for one who had carried the Voice of God, silence in the mind was akin to the abyss. But her mind was strong. Why else would he have chosen her?

Do my will. His parting words. She would know what that was. She was his discipline, after all.

He settled into the conflicted mind of the immortal, like a dove coming home to roost. 

Have you accepted the Voice in Your Head as your personal Lord and Savior?

Have you accepted the Voice in Your Head as your personal Lord and Savior?

"...what."

Danny didn't even realize he'd said that out loud until a few beats of silence later.

"I don't know who your are but I swear you are most definitely not God," Danny said aloud. "I am not going crazy. I am relatively sure I'm not going crazy." He paused. "I'm hearing somebody identifying himself as a deity in my head, of course I'm going crazy." Wait a second. He'd been ignoring what she'd said previously in favor of testing the handcuffs, but he suddenly registered what she'd said.

"Wait a second, you can hear it too? So it's not God. It's a telepath." He narrowed his eyes. "Sh*tty God if you ask me. I could even do better. At least I'd make myself some use instead of claiming to be somebody's... Personal Lord and Savior - really? Really?"

He was not having a good day, to say the least. He had no idea what was going on at this point and was almost outright rambling as he tested at the cuffs, tugging at them and grinding the chain against the chair, doing whatever he could to get himself out. Too bad he was failing.

"Yeah, okay, you realize we could get out whenever, right?" Danny said finally, speaking to the only other (physically present) person in the room. "You're not restrained but I need a paperclip or two. So why are you still here?"