The bedroom that Brick shared with his brothers looked like that of any other sixteen-year-old: it had a red carpet because Brick had demanded it, it had three twin beds because the brothers refused to share their old king-sized one anymore, it had a plasma flat screen for amusement, a desk for God-knows-what, a few lamps, a table, three bean-bag chairs, and heaps upon heaps of garbage.

The Boys didn't care. Neither did Him, and neither did Mojo Jojo. And, being the only living residents of Hell, theirs were the opinions that mattered.

Brick scarfed down the last of his banana, tossing the peel into the chasm and wiping his chin on his sleeve. As the speck of yellow vanished into the pit's eerie maw, something stirred from deep down within it. Awakening.

The air crawled.

The hellfires slithered.

The darkness ached with thousands of anguished groans.

"Shut up!" hollered all three Rowdyruff Boys, and the spirits hissed back into silence.

"Do they have to do that every time?" Boomer whined, Cheetos dribbling from his lips.

"Stupid jerkasses," Butch growled through a mouthful of hamburger.

"You'd think the Devil himself would be able to shut them up, wouldn't you?" Brick said, snatching up a Coke and guzzling it.

"Yo, that's mine!" Butch suddenly cried, glaring daggers at his redheaded brother.

Brick shrugged and Butch seethed.

Eyes flaring, Butch ripped the can from his brother's hands and lobbed it up into the air. The Boys watched in silence as the can arced above them and plunged deep into the chasm's jaws, disappearing far out of sight. Boomer and Brick looked at clambered to the edge of their island of a bedroom and peered down into the ocean of blackness surrounding it, their eyes searching for a glimpse of the can even though they knew from experience exactly what would happen.

There was silence.

Then, there was cacophony.

The darkness exploded with whispering. Moaning. Crying. Shrieking. It was as if the Coca Cola had incinerated the spirits' very souls. The air twisted and trembled with the sound, practically threatening to burst. It was louder than ever before. A glacial shill shivered through the Boys' bones, rattling their eardrums and throbbing in their lungs. They were paralyzed. All they could do was sit and stare at one another, until suddenly their fear was blown into smithereens.

Brick was laughing.

Head over heels and doubled up, he clutched his sides and choked with mirth, his mane of red hair flinging around him in a scraggly blaze. Butch and Boomer sniggered. The gleeful roar of the three brothers drowned even the spirits' most desperate cries. It was as if they were five years old, all over again.

"Dude!" howled Butch, turning to Brick with twinkling eyes. "That was an AWESOME one!"

"Word," said Brick in his sixteen-year-old velvety tones.

Boomer tried to speak but found himself completely devoid of breath. He chuckled and wheezed while his brothers cackled.

"But what if somebody hears us or something?" Boomer finally managed, his sapphire eyes flitting over the other island-rooms bobbing like lanterns in the dark.

"Who th' hell cares?" Butch snickered, thumping his brother on the back and then grabbing hold of another Coke. "We've done this a million times and if even if somebody DID notice it, they obviously don't give a shit. And neither do I."

Brick hovering over him in anticipation, Butch popped the top of the can and dumped its sparkling contents, the stream of soda trickling down into the hell-mouth below.

Spirits shrieked and hilarity resumed.