Harry woke to the sound of screaming. He lazily sat up, pinned by one arm to the ground by the sleeping form of Hermione. Harry pulled his orange sweater on. Hellfire gleamed through the windows of the science facility. The warm light of the hellfire made Hermione's hair glow an almost auburn, lustrous color. They were in hell.

Hermione rolled over, crushing Harry's hand.

Harry stood up. The two had sheltered in a mysterious facility with giant pits of radioactive goop in it and no safety railings. Harry grunted. No OSHA compliance. Hermione woke up. Harry lit a cigarette and looked out the window. Through the smoked quartz glass, he could see the rocky brimstone plains rolling before him like a landscape of deceit and homelessness.

"Harry...?" asked Hermione.

"What?"

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Harry turned to her, horrified. He realized that he was immune to radiation because of his augments, but Hermione wasn't a cybrobot, so she would die. A single tear ran down Harry's cheek. An agonizing, slow death as her cells broke down under the pressure of the gamma rays. First her hair would fall out, then her teeth, then her eyes – it was sort of like hepatitis, except not as bad. The tear was oil, because he was an augmented person. Hermione stood up. Then she opened her purse, pulled out a medical kit and ate some anti-radiation pills.

"There, all better."

Harry sighed with relief.

Then Harry sat down again. He lit a cigarette. Hermione sat down and lit a cigarette too. The two of them smoked cigarettes. Then they finished smoking cigarettes. Suddenly there was a noise!

Harry sat bolt upright and reached under a pile of grubby laundry for his 34. Automatic. He aimed it at the door. Then the door opened/

There was a zombie who was behind the door, only the door opened, so it was standing in the doorway. It wore a green jumpsuit that said "MARS RESEARCH TEAM ALPHA BETA GAMELON" on it. Two shots rang out and two shells ejected from Harry's gun. Hot lead flew across the open space, sending ripples of force through the air. Two meaty thunk noises emanated from the shambling form of the zombie that menaced them, and the zombie, or whatever it was, died. Harry frowned.

"I did not know there were zombies in hell." he said.

Hermione shrugged.

Harry said "We'd better leave. It's dangerous here, there might be more zombies. There might be an entire horde of zombies outside."

He was right!

Harry and Hermione gazed in horror at the tableau before them. A veritable horde of shambling undead lurched and cavorted in front of the building they stood in, moaning and screaming and letting off small-arms fire. Harry began to unsheathe his subdermals, knowing that this fight was likely hopeless due to their sheer numbers, but suddenly there was bright light in hell, only it was bright holy light and not hellfire light. A giant beam of magic swooshy light energy destroyed the zombies, like a laser powered by Jesus. The screams of the undead became the screams of tortured souls released from their earthly (or helly) bonds. It was the spirit of Etienne Tristram who floated before them, driving the undead away. He was very nearly the pope once. He had a french cast about his transparent blue face, and wore a cardinal's large hat and the traditional cardinal's red trench coat.

Harry was so surprised he dropped his cigarette.

"Who are you?" Harry and Hermione asked in unison of the ghostly, radiant and parochial figure that floated before them.

"Ask me who I was." he said.

"Who were you?" Harry and Hermione asked in unison of the ghostly, radiant and parochial figure that floated before them. As an afterthought, Harry added "You're particular, for a floating radiant parochial figure." Hermione nodded in silent agreement. Harry loved her.

"In life I was nearly the Pope, Etienne Tristram."

The two stared in disbelief at the figure levitating before them. There was no noise. An awkwardly long pause ensued while everyone contemplated the situation.

"You don't believe in me." observed the GRPF.

Hermione blinked. "How do we know you really exist?"

"What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?" inquired the GRPF.

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Is this a trick question?"

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

Harry lit a cigarette because the GRPF was so annoying. "Listen, assclown. Stop fucking around or I will ventilate you." he threatened.

"Try it, punk." said Etienne. Harry pulled for his 34. automagic, fiber-optic nerves moving at near lightspeed. A nanosecond passed. Harry's arm leapt downwards, air smashed out of the way with a popping sound. A nanosecond passed. Harry's palm settled over the butt of his automatic, settling over the wood grain texture. A nanosecond passed. Harry gripped the automatic, pulling it free and raising it to face the ghost. A nanosecond passed. Etienne moved like lightening, pulling an arbalest from his pocket. He shot Harry's gun right out of his hand.

"Ow" said Harry. Harry stared in disbelief. "You draw so fast!" Etienne only smiled wisely. "In life I studied under the famous Rousseau." Harry was amazed.

"Can you teach me to do that?" he asked.

"Nope. I'm here to offer you teaching of a different kind - Spiritual!" said Tristram, smiling wisely. Harry frowned. Harry hated religion because it was all lies and there wasn't a shred of truth to them. Harry was a student of the philosophies of Friedrice Neizcehizesche, and held no truck with organized religion and spirituality. It was the opiate of the masses, in his opinion, a tool used by the corrupt and the depraved to control the weak minded.

"I don't need spiritual education" insisted Harry.

"Spiritual guidance, then?" Etienne said, smiling wisely.

"Okay." said Harry doubtfully. For now, he would humor this strange ghost. Hermione wandered off.

"So here is the first lesson." said Etienne. "Who was the first president of the united states?" Harry searched his mind quickly, but found nothing. "I don't know, I'm British."

He never saw the slap coming.

Harry wiped the thin line of blood from his chin and stared at the radiant parochial ghostly figure indignantly. Etienne Tristram smiled wisely. "You have a lot to learn." he said, and then Harry lit a cigarette. Etienne Tristram snatched it from Harry's mouth and put it out in his eye. Harry screamed in agony, a red aura of pain totally obscuring his vision.

"Harry, if I am to provide you with spiritual guidance, you must quit smoking." Etienne said, smiling wisely and kicking Harry in the stomach. Harry vomited, curled into the fetal position and passed out before he hit the ground.