Mary woke up annoyed. Why couldn't that guy speak normally once in his lifetime... She looked around her cell. Grey walls, check. Grey bars hiding gold beneath, check. No other inmates within hearing or seeing distance, check. Any sort of door, gate, or whatever, not check. Hm... “A golden cage is like heck.” Like, mildly unpleasant for eternity? That didn't seem helpful.

“And what do you think? How can I get out of here?” she asked her untrusty companion.

“Bip. It's your story, bip. I can't solve it for you, bip.” Mossie answered.

Mary started. That sounded almost apologetically and definitely wasn't just another fine. She frowned and tried to go for that piercing look everyone but her seemed to have perfected. If only she'd focused strong enough...

Nope, she probably just looked funny. But there was definitely something odd about the metal mosquito. Eh, she needed to focus on escaping from her cell by midnight. First things first.

How could she tell when it would be midnight? Well, it seemed rather hard to be precise with little to no sun and no watches or clocks in sight. Unless...

“Hey, Mossie. Can you tell me the current time?”

“Bip. It's 11.27 am, bip.”

“Aaand... could you remind me to be ready a quarter to midnight?”

“Yes. Bip.”

Well, that was neat, if unexpected.

But, it did nothing to solve the main problem. What did Mary know about heck? Well, according to Authorianism's teachings, the heck was the place where souls of the darned were suffering small annoyances until the Author decided to let them go to the better parts of the afterlife. Mary's prefered way of dealing with heck was not to be sent there in the first place. She wasn't exactly an expert in the doctrine, but avoiding it shouldn't be too hard - just don't be a jerk, don't commit any atrocities, and put pineapple on your pizza at least once in your lifetime.

Mary did the last one back in the orphanage, during an official ceremony held when she was seven. And it was a good thing she did 'cause she wasn't likely to have any occasion for it now.

Eh. Learning how to shoot fireballs from her hands, eating better than many monarchs and being held prisoner after her friend just met a sorrowful end, all while slowly dying after failing to save another two friends of her was a bit overwhelming. But... sometimes, Mary missed home. Not only as a memory of simpler times and safety, but just the way she'd have felt after leaving in a normal way... probably. She'd never know.

Mary placed both hands on the bars and felt their rough surfaces scraping her skin. Was that the inconvenience Veritas compared to heck? No, that wasn't quite right... She looked at Mossie, who was busy buzzing around, and keeping an eye... well, a reflector on her at all the time. If it was willing to answer her time questions, then...

“Hey. How much knowledge do you have, like, in general?”

“Bip. Around eleven trillion zettabytes, bip.”

“Uhm... is zettabyte much?”

“Bip. Very much, bip.”

“Would you happen to know anything about Authorianism? And specifically, heck?”

“Bip. I have access to all the official documents published by the church, every lecture recorded at the top one hundred universities and some of the most prominent debates between sceptics and apologists, as well as all the notes attributed to the Author Himself at one point or another. Bip.”

Mary paused. Then spoke.

“Could you playback some of them to me...?”

Mary yawned. Keeping herself awake was becoming really, really hard.

“...and therefore, it is without a doubt that the heck is not merely a place such as this room, it is a state of mind. And one you can feel without ceasing your life functions...”

“...and whoever says otherwise is clearly mistaken. There were numerous visions sent to us by the Muchmighty himself, that without a shade of doubt, indicate that the heck is, in fact, full and close to bursting! And that's quite different from empty! And-”

“Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I hated having to hear such rambling too much. Trying to rely solely on the relations of all supposed direct witnesses would soon lead to chaos. How would one even verify that the so-called 'witnesses' are telling the truth? Or even a truth? Or that they're not simply insane? Now, the second prophet said-”

“Oh really, calling-”

“... now, if we assume the existence of the existence, then the following existential claims may make sense, yet their semantic is existentially questionably...”

Maybe if she'd just closed her eyes for a moment, everything would become just a bit more reasonable...

“... the point. See, the point of heck isn't really a punishment. That would be pointless - if the Author really considered someone that guilty, surely he would simply erase them from the fabric of reality instead of going through all the trouble with inconveniencing them. No, the point of the inconveniences is to make them move, and do something with themselves; remove whatever is holding them there from themselves, and become better people. There are no guards patrolling the slightly too warm halls. No demons with forks roast human beings like marshmallows. No, it is clearly stated that it is the people's own will, or unwill, that is keeping the heck's door closed. One could say that they're indeed closed from the inside, while others argue that they're already open-”

Wait. What was that?

“Wait! Can you rewind the last minute?” Mary asked, jumping out of her half-listening, half-napping state.

“-ere are no guards patrolling the slightly too warm halls. No demons with forks roast human beings like marshmallows. No, it is clearly stated that it is the people's own will, or unwill, that is keeping the heck's door closed. One could say that they're indeed closed from the inside, while others argue that they're widely open-”

Mary looked at the bars of her cell. Could it really be that easy?

She glanced at Mossie, who aimed its reflectors at her expectantly.

“Thank you.”

The little robot made a loop in the air and turned its light a bit lighter.

Was Mary wrong about it all along?