Okay, thanks for coming, especially if you're new. Just a quick note to say that 1) I can explain everything, 2) I do not own any of the characters in this story, and 3) to thank my brother mg34 for helping me write this. Right, let's get on with it.
1. Welcome to Hell, Please Drive Carefully
What exactly is Hell? It's an interesting question to which the answer really depends on what context. Or, more accurately, it's a really boring question to which the answer really depends on the context.
For example, if your American, Hell is a swear word, while as if your British (like yours truly,) it usually follows one. But that's not the right context. I'm asking what is Hell, as a place?
There are various recornised authorities on the subject. Let's start with religion. If you were to ask the Archbishop of Canterbury, he'd probably tell you that there is no such place as Hell. Or heaven for that matter. Or God, but that they are all merely metaphors for how we should just try and be nice to each other for a change. This was of course a bad place to start, because the Archbishop of Canterbury is not religious.
So, quietly ignoring the Church of England, let's try the Roman Catholic Church. Here we should, and do, get a typically blunt and unforgiving image. Hell is a place where sinners and non-believers will go to burnt in eternal torment, forever separated from the glory of God.
Cheerful subject isn't it.
Islam's version of Hell is (whisper the next bit very quietly,) almost exactly the same. In fact it is probably were we get most of our ideas for Hell in popular culture, coming complete with seeing heat and different levels depending on the magnitude of one's sins.
Judisum's description is more vague then these (or I am the worlds worst researcher, you decide,) but the basis is the same; damnation for sinners.
Hinduism is also slightly vague in places, it being based on the basis of reincarnation. However, in between dying and being reborn, there does appear to be time to pop into hell for a round of punishments for sins committed in life.
Of course, there are many more religions with many more versions of Hell, but it is surprisingly difficult to pin down a universally held description from one religion, let alone all of them. Everyone in a certain religion will have a slightly different view on Hell and what you need to do to get there, so across a religion the deviation will be massive. Hence the above suggestions probably do these religions a disservice.
Okay, can the lynch mob now leave? Thanks.
Right, let's leave that mine field and look at Western Culture's view of Hell, which we should all know: a fiery cavern full of red rocks, and innumerable ways of hurting people for the entertainment of the Devil, who of course rules. It's a wonder full image. What a shame it's so badly wrong.
I mean think about it; Hell is supposed to be the worse place in the universe, and how many of you would rather be too hot then too cold? The South Pole seems a lot worse to me anyway. And eventually in this suggested version of Hell, I'm sure you could come to tolerate it. I mean, the occasional jets of flame are quite exciting, the different methods of torture would at least give you something to do for eternity, and even if the devil was the evilest ruler ever to exist, at least he'd be efficient, and wouldn't spend all his time trying not to answer the question he'd just been asked.
No, for a true idea of what Hell is like, we need a much, much worse place.
Okay, let's try some imagination. Picture, in your mind, the most boring place you know – not the worst, the most boring. Miles and miles of featureless, identical concrete buildings, no greenery in site, that sort of thing. Now, make it colder, the air temperature is just above freezing (as frost and snow are far too interesting for hell.) Got it? Okay, now fill it with lots of people who you don't know, all walking in various directions with there hand's in there pockets and looking thoroughly miserable. And no one's talking to anyone else. Okay… let's add some rain; and nothing exciting here please, just a persistent drizzle that never seems to stop. Okay, all that's need now is gridlocked traffic on all the roads, an off putting stench and perhaps the occasional light gust of icy wind.
Hold that image for a moment. Then make it slightly worse.
Welcome to Hell. A place where normal life goes on for ever, with everything that is slightly amusing removed. All the comedians are rubbish. Everything on television you've seen before, and you didn't enjoy it the first time. The only sport is Snooker, and the balls are only one centimetre smaller then the openings to the pockets. All the food tastes like chicken and is overpriced. The only cars are "Euro-boxes" with 1.1 litre engines. Lipstick tastes like cow dung, the showers only spew cold water and all the rooms are damp. But most of all, life in Hell is just one small defeat after another, until they eventually mount up into crushing blows.
So, now we've got that sorted, let's have a look at the life of an average citizen of Hell. Take one Brick Jojo. Okay, so he's not exactly average, partly because he's a super human, but mostly because Brick is still alive. Or more to the point, he is alive once more, but that's another story.
The point is Brick had not been in Hell before he got his life back, and now he was. Also, to complicate things, he'd gone in (well, been dragged in by some demon's who'd abandoned him in the hell hole to return to there own dimension, as they aren't stupid enough to live in Hell,) through a back door, so had missed the usually judgement procedure, and therefore the opportunity to point out that he wasn't dead.
Once in Hell he'd told just about anyone how would listen that he was alive, and shouldn't be there. No one had been very helpful; the responses had varied from ignoring him to punching him in the face. The latter move had generally ended in Brick getting to beat someone up, which suited him fine. It was just about the only thing he could do to take his mind off things.
The last person he'd told had been the worst. "Why don't you go to the Public Records Library and find you file," they'd said, "then you can prove it."
At the time, Brick had thought he was being helpful. Now he was certain that the man was had been crueller then everyone else he'd met. For a start, once in the Public Records Library, he'd found that the place was run, like the rest of hell, by a group of ogre like beings, that had an unhealthy obsession with order, rules, procedure and doing everything by the book. This of course makes them the worst people for organising anything. (An example of this sort of behaviour on earth can be found in your local government offices.)
Hence, the files detailing the deeds, life status and vital statistics of all the beings in hell were stored in section 8722389203477182341b. Of course the files could also be accessed on computer, be anyone with a computer science degree and who was fast enough to escape when the delinquent machine decided to explode.
Section 8722389203477182341b was a three day hike away from the entrance past line after line of identical shelves, bookcases and the occasional enraged yeti. By the time anyone reached it they would need to start off back again for food and water which was predictably forbidden in the library. After going for this palaver twice, Brick started smuggling food in, which invariably went rotten in a couple of days anyway.
The second problem with section8722389203477182341b was that it contained files on everyone in Hell, not just from earth, but also from the rest of the universe. So it was the size of a small country. Fortunately, for connivance, all the files had been arranged in alphabetical order. Unfortunately, this had been done by someone who had clearly never heard of the convention of ordering people by their surnames and of the alphabet, or had at least decided that having "A" at the start was a silly idea, since that position clearly belonged rightfully to "N."
Brick eventually found "BRI" and had spent the last day flicking wandering along the miles and miles of shelves, looking desperately for his file. He'd ran out of supplies and his hands were worn thin by the endless pulling out of files to see who they belonged to (the names were written on the files in the most awkward place possible, so the only way to see the name was to pull out the file in such a way that all the paper in it would fall out.)
But Brick was determined not to be beaten by a library, not if it was his only way out of Hell. And suddenly, his persistence paid off. There it was, sitting innocuously on the shelf, a bland brown slightly damaged file with the name Brick Jojo neatly written on it. For one moment, he couldn't believe it was true: his search was at an end. Excitedly, he yanked it out, causing the predictably unoriginal papers inside it to fall out. This time however Brick was too cheerful to be petered by this, and started gathering the papers up off the floor, when he noticed something written on one of them. He scooped it up and checked it again, but the words didn't change, and there was no clarification that made it make sense. And Brick was fairly certain that he had never unknowingly ruled the world.
Further analysis of the file revealed more inaccuracies. Sure, they were all things that he might have considered doing, but he hadn't actually. Annoyed, Brick glanced back at the shelf to see if something had gone wrong. It had. Very badly. For there was another file sitting blandly on the shelf, with his name.
About half an hour latter, Brick had discovered that there were at least two hundred such files. They all started the same, with his creation and trying to destroy the Puffs, and then tailed off wildly, declaring him as a rapist, child abandoning, pure evil selfish chain smoking looser and a great hero, brilliant farther and the worlds greatest lover. Normally, Brick wouldn't have minded reading all this, the lack of any consistency in the files, or an accurate record of his life, was extremely frustrating. Well that's a slight understatement. In fact, Bricks screams could be heard fifteen light-years away (i.e. the other side of the library.)
"OI!" shouted an ogre sticking his head round the corner of the aisle, "be quite or I'll have to throw you out!"
"Hey, wait!" said Brick, staggering after him with one of the files, "I need to ask you a question!"
"Go to the information desk," the ogre replied curtly.
"It's just a quick question," Brick said sweetly, "please?"
Politeness gets you no where in Hell (well nothing gets you far in Hell.) "It's not my job to answer questions," the ogre spat.
There was another reason other then there organisational obsessions that made the ogre's perfect for running Hell. It was that they were bigger and stronger then almost all the beings in the universe so would be able to defend themselves from most of the more violent citizens of Hell.
Hence the ogre was suitably surprised when having turned his back on the short angry little pipsqueak, he found himself elbowed in the back and sent crunching to the ground with surprising force. Brick landed sitting on his back and pinned him to the ground.
"Maybe it's time you started to expand your repertoire!" Brick said, grabbing the ogre by the horns and pulling his head back as far as it would go. "I'm sure you're a great lose to the world of customer services."
The ogre struggled but it was pointless. "I'm not … supposed … to … answer … questions," he stuttered between attempts to brake free. "It's… not… allowed!"
"It's a very short question," Brick said, and then smashed the beast's face against the floor a couple of times.
"STOP! STOP!" screamed the ogre, "YOUR DAMAGING THE FLOOR!"
"All the more reason to answer my question." Brick still hadn't dropped the "sweetness and light" tone of voice as he brutally assaulted his target.
"OKAY, OKAY" the ogre eventually conceded, "I'll answer one question."
"Wonderful," Brick smiled, before dropping his tone menacingly. "Why are there hundreds of files with my name on it, none of which bear any resemblance to my life?"
"AAGAH! (Brick pulled back on his head again.) They refer to your activities in alternative universes; we keep them so that we can have a bigger library, which makes us appear more important!"
"So how am I supposed to tell which file is referring to me, in this universe?" Brick demanded, ignoring the lameness of the reason for the extra files.
"Hey, I said one quest…" WAMM! "Alright! It's the one with the purple label on the side, just over there!"
"Really?" Brick reached over and picked it up, before giving the details a quick check. "Perfect, thank you so much, you've been of great assistance," he lied. The ogre grunted and started to stand up, before Brick kicked him hard in the head, sending the hapless creature hurtling into a stack of shelves. Being In Hell, the badly constructed cases promptly collapsed.
"Help, I'm stuck!" wailed the ogre.
"Good," Brick laughed, "you'll have plenty of time to learn to be a better host. It will be an important lesson." And he strolled off, whistling to himself, as the ogre reflected that next time, he would have to be a lot meaner.
Brick didn't have to spend too long leaving the library, because some ogre's dragged him most of the way before throwing him out fro whistling. But he'd still got the file, so his mood was fairly chipper.
This didn't last long however. As he walked along the side of the road, his mood deteriorated, simply because Hell is such an awful place to be, that not even the thought of being able to leave it can cheer you up for long. Besides, he didn't even know who he needed to show his file too to get let out.
Walking along the side of an inner city road in hell is not the best place to think these things through. Sure, Brick could have flied, but the thick layer of smog above the city made this a vile experience, and impossible to navigate.
He also could have driven, but the road network in Hell appeared to have been designed by a three year old, or a council official, thus making it the third worst road network in world (beaten by Sao Paulo and Oxford.) So Brick plodded past the lines of gridlocked Larda's, Kia's and pre 1990's Renaults, watching out for muggers, unexpectedly deep puddles and the world in general, all the while trying to think of a where he had to go to get out of here.
Presently, he came across two aliens, walking in the opposite direction. This wasn't unusual; pretty much every species in the universe was lumped together in Hell, mainly to make everyone feel uncomfortable.
One of the creatures was about his height, and had bright white smooth skin with purple patches on his elbows, shoulders, the top of his head and the centre of his chest. He was of slim, yet relatively muscular build, and as well as having a long tail (that was white like the rest of him,) he had almost hand-like feet, with three long thin toes.
His companion was a lot taller – about twice Bricks height – but some of that was taken up by the almost bishop's hat turned sideways like top of his head. He was also a lot more physically imposing, with a traditionally perfect build, and two big featherless black wings retracted on his back. His "skin" seemed to be a pale grey, and he seemed to be wearing a mixture of green and black clothes with black shoes, although on closure inspection they turned out to be part of his body.
The two of them where defiantly a pair that any normal person would stay clear of, especially since they were having a rather heated discussion about who's turn it had been to fill the car up with petrol that morning. But brick had learnt that most of these aliens despite appearances, where not much more of a challenge then the average human. So, considering his mood, he had no hesitation in walking straight between the two of them, and giving them a firm push either way. The shorter one, surprised, staggered back into a wall, while the taller one fell into one of those deceptively deep puddles. Brick did this quite often, and allowed himself a brief smile, before walking on.
His victims didn't usually come after him, but this time they did. In fact Brick was slightly surprised by the speed at which they caught up. "Err, excuse me," the taller one declared in a smooth, yet irritated voice, "yes, you!"
Brick turned round to face them, he wasn't one to run from any fight. "Yes?" he inquired threateningly. The two aliens were standing right behind him, arms folded, looking (concerningly) unimpressed.
"I believe you just tried to push me and my associate around," the taller one said, "are you a mo…
"Hey, you can use my name!" whined the shorted one, "he must have heard of me."
"Your fame is not as universally apparent as you seem to think Freeza," the taller one snapped, annoyed about being interrupted, "he won't he impressed."
"Oh, and I'm sure he'll be a lot more impressed by Cell, the perfect android who couldn't even win his own fighting tournament, despite the fact that he cheated in it!" the one called Freeza sulked in that whinny way, that Brick assumed was his regular voice. "At least I had an empire for a few decades, and successfully committed mass slaughter."
"Hey, I slaughtered more people then you per day alive!" Cell snorted; the two of them now apparently unaware of Bricks presence.
Perhaps the conversation should have tipped him off, but Brick failed to notice that he wasn't dealing with ordinary citizens of the afterlife. Well not until it was too late, i.e. after he'd declared; "You two Jokers have wasted enough of my time," and punched Cell in the face.
It was like punching a concrete block, except Brick had never had any trouble with concrete blocks. Anyway, the point is that the Red Ruff staggered a few steps back on the rebound, clutching his hand, with a couple of broken fingers. Cell, completely unphased, looked round slowly.
"Freeza," he said slowly in an intimidating tone, "did he just punch me?"
"What makes you think that," asked Freeza calmly.
"It's just I felt a slight tingling sensation in my face, and now this… I'm sorry; I never caught your name."
"Brick," the Ruff replied as he tried to massage feeling back into his hand – his brain not quite processing that running might be a good idea.
"Thank you; this Brick, was hopping away as if he'd broken his hand. Coincidence?"
"I'm not sure," Freeza responded quizzically, taking a step towards Brick. "I mean, THIS is a punch!"
Freeza's fist sunk deep into Brick's gut, it was like being hit by a fighter jet in the stomach (if anyone knows what that feels like, do say.) Whatever, it wasn't like any punch Brick had taken before - this one hurt! Badly. It knocked more then the wind out of him, it took his breakfast and some blood and bile too. As he staggered around in a small circle, gasping for air, Freeza spoke to Cell as if he'd just been for a short walk.
"Was it anything like that," the self proclaimed former emperor asked. Cell cocked his head to one side.
"Not really," he mused mockingly, "You see it was a blow to the head, like THIS!"
Perhaps Brick should have seen it coming, but if he had, there was no way in his wildest dreams that he'd have been able to block or dodge it. And if he thought Freeza's punch had been out of this world (or at least his series,) then Cell's was on another level entirely. Brick's brain was still rattling against his skull when he hit the wall on the other side of the road. Having already gone through two moving vehicles one his way, he then crashed through the wall and a inconveniently placed vase factory, before landing in an even more inconveniently place pile of disused umbrellas (quite why is unknown.)
Cell and Freeza flew over, (an ability that would have surprised Brick had he been able to think in anything resembling a straight line,) and landed around him.
"You know what," mused Cell, "I think he did punch me you know, even if it was worthless."
"Oh dear," Freeza murmured with fake sympathy, "you know what this means, don't you."
Brick winced, and prepared for the worst.
"He's guilt of assaulting a police officer," Cell declared firmly, whipping the badge from his pocket, "Freeza, throw the book at him."
Thus, the last thing Brick remembered for a good deal of time, was the sight of the all too predictable leather bound volume hurtling towards his head.
Okay, I hope that wasn't too random and confusing or insulting. I will be discussing Brick's past in detail next chapter. Also, anyone wondering about Cell and Freeza might be interested (or bored) to know that they are related to the "Z" at the end of the title of the PPG amine spin off. Anyway, reviews, and criticism would be appreciated. Thanks for reading!