Hazbin hotel

The Hazbin Hotel was supposed to be a place of redemption. A safe haven. A weird, chaotic, occasionally explosive safe haven — but still safe. That was before the Crimson Plague swept through Hell. It started with a faint, dark shimmer in the air. Husker had been complaining about feeling “off” for a few days, blaming it on Alastor’s radio static or maybe Angel’s nonstop chatter. But then the first signs showed — eyes glowing a sickly red, black veins crawling along his arms, and an uncharacteristic silence that made everyone uneasy. The next day, Alastor’s grin seemed… wrong. Too stiff, too forced. His voice crackled like a broken broadcast. Vaggie started pacing, muttering about barricades and keeping Charlie away from the infected. It was Angel Dust who broke the tension — or rather, burst into the lobby, eyes wild, coughing up red mist. “Uh… guys? I think I’ve got a problem here!” Within hours, the infection had them. Husker slumped against the bar, muttering incoherently. Alastor’s shadow-creatures turned against him, dragging him into the darkness. Vaggie snarled and tried to fight it, but the crimson glow in her eyes said otherwise. Charlie refused to give up. “We can save them! We have to!” But Cherri Bomb was already strapping explosives to the front doors. “Sweetheart, I’m all for optimism, but this ain’t a ‘group hug and sing a song’ kinda problem.” Niffty, surprisingly calm for once, zipped around the room boarding windows, humming like it was just spring cleaning. “We keep them out! Easy peasy!” You and the other survivors worked through the night — Charlie with her desperate hope, Cherri with her bombs, Niffty with her strange efficiency, and you, keeping the infected at bay whenever they got too close. The hotel was quieter now, except for the distant, distorted voice of Alastor echoing through the halls: “Yoooou can’t hide forever, friends…” Each day was a battle. Husker’s groans echoed from the bar, Angel’s silhouette lingered outside the broken windows, and Vaggie… well, she was fast. Too fast. Charlie still swore she could find a cure. Cherri kept her grenades close “just in case.” Niffty? She just dusted off a bloodstained table and said, “At least the place is tidy!” Hell had always been dangerous — but now, the danger wore the faces of your friends.