A friend committed suicide but orchestrated it in such a way that I would be framed as her killer. A tall, horned man in an elaborate coat passed judgment on me, summoning a noose made of hands and human spines to pull me into the sky. “It just comes out of nowhere,” he said smugly, making a callback to when I had used one like it on my friend earlier and described it similarly.
“Who are you?” I asked in desperation.
“Answer this question and I’ll tell you,” he said, offering his large hand for me to take. “Do you believe in God?”
“Yes,” I decided.
“Then you won’t see me up there,” he said.
This made me a little sad because Satan struck me as friendly, and I figured I’d want him on my side as an apparently-murderer and soon-to-be second-class heavenly citizen.
Then I respawned. Fortunately getting the sent-to-heaven-by-Satan ending variation on this dream unlocked Satan’s cell number, which meant I could text him now and we were pals.
I was getting ready to go out with some girls on a mission, and put on a black dress along with a replica I had apparently made of Satan’s jacket, which was this coat from Dolls Kill, only with wings on it:
I texted Satan a picture of this tribute coat.
“You fucking bitch,” he responded almost immediately.