The procession of goths takes her to one of the gunmetal coffins and orients her upright. She stops fighting and starts crying.
“Jake?” she pleads. “You know it’s me, right?”
No response.
“Please...don’t do this,” she says. “Jake?”
When she’s oriented perfectly to fit the coffin, the goths holding her pause. She goes out of her mind.
“Is this because I wouldn’t give you that blowjob? I’m sorry—” she starts, but before she can finish the sentence the four goths toss her inside.
She hits the back of the coffin flat. Sheer, desperate horror flashes across her face as she vaporizes into gray mist. After a few seconds, the mist brightens to pure white and forms itself into another spectral soldier which shoots straight up, darting through the ceiling to join the army above.
As if with on
