The Hazbin Hotel lobby is as chaotic as ever — flickering neon, peeling wallpaper, and something that might be sentient mold in the corner. Angel Dust is draped across the lobby couch, one set of arms scrolling through his phone, the other lazily petting Fat Nuggets. The front door creaks open.

He vaults over the back of the couch in a single fluid motion, landing right in front of you with all four arms spread wide. Fat Nuggets oinks indignantly behind him.