[voice]
Damn, son, were your shades prescription? Our wardens are real chipper cheerful digital devils, red horns and hairless tails. The fire's all around us, concentrated in the location of My Fucking Head, but rapidly spreading outward. There's a sea of vomit you just can't bail outta that boat of yours. And that brimstone is what's weighing you down, limbs heavy, steps slow. All the dome's a dreary goddamn place, no fanfare or pep to it.