Chapter 1: Hard Times
Dante sat alone in his shop, his feet parked on the desk in front of him. He anxiously chewed a toothpick as he sank back into his seat. It was the middle of the day and the sun's rays peaked through the blinds of the shop's windows. The rest of the shop itself was dark and ominous like a morgue. Dante twiddled his thumbs as he looked over at Rebellion, his sword, propped up against a wall. He studied the mantle of his blade and noticed that it was considerably dusty. He then shifted his gaze to the telephone on his desk, staring at it as if it were a challenge, an obstruction to his livelihood. 'Ring damnit,' he thought to himself but the phone just sat there unresponsive. Dante dug his hand into his trouser pocket, 'I should have enough here for another pizza.' He opened his hand to check and saw a meagre twelve dollars in coins and a single note. 'Yip just enough but then again', he looked at the phone, 'I should probably save it for a rainy day.'
Dante heard footsteps outside the shop's front door. He shot up in his seat, his mind racing at the prospect of a new customer. The footsteps grew louder as they clacked against the concrete floor. 'It's a woman,' he thought, salivating, 'A damsel in distress?' The footsteps grew louder, louder, Dante shuffled in his chair, stood up and patted his red coat to rid it of any creases. He strolled over to the door and slicked back his ice white hair before gripping the handle. "One, two, three," he said, pressing the handle down and flinging the door open with all of his might. "Milady it's going to be okay, you've come to the right pl-." Dante held his breath, his face twitched from embarrassment. "Wow Dante, never knew you were such a charmer." Trish leaned against the door frame, her hair glowing in the afternoon sun. Dante sighed, "Come on in."
Trish waltzed into the shop, her blonde hair flowing in stark contrast to her black skin-tight leather pants and corset. "I see you've been busy," she said as she glanced over the shop. "Just work as usual," replied Dante after closing the door. Trish ran her finger over the telephone, turned and sat on the desk. She smiled at Dante whilst pressing her finger to her bottom lip. "I think this place could use a makeover. Don't you?"
"I'd paint the walls pink if it would bring in more business."
Trish giggled, "I could really see that happening."
"You laugh but I'm desperate at this point. I hardly have enough money to buy pizza."
Trish shifted her weight to one side as she reached into her back pocket. She pulled out an envelope. "This is from the last job you had."
Dante snatched the envelope from her hand as the words left her mouth. He tore it open and checked the contents. His face told Trish that the money wasn't a lot. "You know I'm seriously considering getting a job as a bus boy," he said. Trish stood up from the desk and strolled over to Dante. Placing a hand on his shoulder she said, "Hang in there. You're only one crisis away from hitting the jackpot." Dante flashed her a smile as she walked over to the door. She opened it and paused for a moment. "Let me know when the next job comes in." With that she walked out and shut the door behind her.
Chapter 2: Jackpot
Dante was fast asleep at his desk. He snored in his seat with his feet propped up on the table top as usual. Thunder roared and lightning lit up the room in blue streaks as rain came pouring down outside. Dante was far away, too far to be woken by the storm. He murmured a few words in his sleep as he adjusted his pants around the crotch.
It was the middle of the night and most of the city had drifted off into that wonderful place. Some of the bars were still open, their neon signs polluting the serene atmosphere of the night. Drunks howled like a pack of jackal as they downed their pints. A bell rang, "Last rounds, last rounds will be served now." The barman hollered over the rain and the drunks. One drunk in particular was green in the face after hearing the bell. The thought of another round made his stomach twist and turn. He grabbed his gut and bent over to hurl but the barman saw this and shoved him out the door before he could. "Get outta here. come back and pay your tab when you're done." The drunk stumbled out the door and dashed into an alley beside the bar. He put his hand up against a wall and coughed violently as he spewed a half-digested burger with fries into a dumpster. He stood up slowly from the dumpster and stared out into the road that ran past the alley and the bar. All of the of the shops on the other side of the street were closed, not a light on in any of them. A single car was parked on the other side of the street. The drunk was now soaked from the rain as he stood there ogling at the wet road. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something move. He took a step forward out of the alley, onto the curb and looked to his right. The road sloped gently upward and then became steeper until the drunk could see only the peak. He strained his eyes as he examined the top of the road, it was almost pitch black up there. He stared for a few more seconds and then finally saw a figure in the darkness. It looked like it was running, the drunk leaned against the wall to keep his balance whilst taking a closer look.
The bar's front door clicked open and two men staggered out onto the sidewalk. One of them saw the drunk and asked, "Whatcha lookin' at?" The drunk took a moment to register the question, then replied, "There's something coming down the road." The two men swivelled their heads to see. "There's nothing there." Said one of the men. "I could've sworn I saw something," the drunk said as he gently rocked back and forth. The two men shook their heads, walking off into the darkness. The drunk waded back to the bar. He stopped before opening the door and took one final look at the road. Nothing was there. He opened the door and entered. The last rounds had been served and the barman was wiping down the counter with an old rag. The drunk dragged a stool out from under the bar and perched himself on top of it, leaning on the counter. "Maurice, you paid your tab yet?" Asked the barman. The drunk stared up at him and removed a wallet from his jacket pocket. Maurice fingered through the folds of his wallet and tossed some notes onto the counter. The barman grabbed the notes and fanned them out. "This isn't enough," said the barman. "I don't have anymore, I'll pay you tomorrow," replied Maurice. The barman lurched over the counter, grabbing Maurice by the collar. "You've been saying that all year." The barman's eyes were bloodshot and his nose was an inch away from Maurice's. "I don't have anything, what am I supposed to do?" Pleaded Maurice. The barman fumed, his face as red as his eyes, the veins in his forearms pulsing between skin and rippling muscle. "I'm tired of your shit." The barman thrusted his arms forward causing Maurice to fall ass first on the floor and roll onto his back. The barman grabbed a knife from under the counter and crept around it towards Maurice. The other patrons all watched in shock as the barman stood above Maurice with the knife firmly clenched in his hand. He raised the blade above his head, practically foaming at the mouth. Maurice's eyes were fixed on the blade, he was paralyzed with fear and shuddered uncontrollably.
Maurice watched the barman in sheer terror as he said, "No more." Maurice heard the sound of wood groaning and cracking. The barman looked up. The wooden rafters above the bar shattered into splinters and scattered all over the floor. A demon, two men tall, plummeted through the roof and crushed the barman. The demon's skin was sky blue with black holes for eyes and a gaunt build that made it look diseased and hungry. Maurice was covered in the barman's blood, he stared at the demon as it groaned. Shackles around the demon's wrists and ankles scraped the floor as it rose to its feet. All of the patrons were now frozen in place, none of them had ever encountered a demon before. The beast examined the room, growling, then roared and leaped out of the bar and back onto the roof above. Maurice and the other patrons did nothing but stare at the barman who had been squashed like a grapefruit, his mangled body lying motionless on the floor.
The phone in Dante's office rang in a shrill tone. Nothing. It rang again and Dante's was stirred from his sleep. His eyes opened drearily as he looked around him, disorientated for a moment. The phone rang again, catching Dante's attention. He shot forward in his chair and picked it up. "Devil May Cry," Dante said in a half yawn. "Hello?" said a tiny voice on the other end of the line. "Yes, Dante speaking," said Dante whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I'm on the other side of town, there's a monster here." Said the voice. Dante's eyes came into sharp focus and he leaned in to the phone, "Where exactly on the other side of town?" "The fountain by the clocktower, hurry, it's looking for me," Said the voice. The line went dead and Dante slapped the phone down onto the receiver. Dante got up from his chair and drew his twin pistols, ebony and ivory. He twirled them with a gunslinger's flair and held them out in front of him, "Accurate as always," he quipped. He holstered the pistols and dashed over to his blade, Rebellion, laying against a wall. He grabbed the gothic longsword by the handle and sheathed it using a clip attached to the back of his trench coat. Dante walked over to the door, pressed the handle down and flung it open. Looking into the night he said, "Time to make some money."