Heaven. Metatron's 13th floor. The far back wall of the great library of personnel scrolls wherein all the deeds and histories of ten million angels are recorded. Hekla, in her Housekeeper uniform, stands next to her wheeled bin, staring back through the dim stacks in the direction of the now invisible entrance. She's been silently standing here for over an hour.

Finally, she stops breathing. Tips open the bin lid. Bends to reach inside to lift out a covered tripod cauldron. The average human would find this awkward, as the cauldron is bronze and extremely heavy. It was cast in ancient china nearly three millennia ago, decorated with writhing serpentine phoenix/dragon patterns. Hekla hoists the caldron by its sturdy ears, sets it upon the marble floor.

The angel regards the cauldron for some long moments. Then crouches and grasps two of the cauldron's tripod legs and lifts it to waist level. Again, because she has angelic strength, this is easy for her. Tilting the cauldron outward, she tips it until the lid crashes to the floor. A gout of hellfire erupts, quickly spiraling outward until it's a huge 20 meter tornado of flame.

Hekla turns and, walking backward, plays her hellish flamethrower over the stacks. The scrolls and shelves ignite instantly, spreading the fire to adjacent stacks. She works methodically across and outward through the library. By the time she reaches the entrance, it is miraculous how she herself is not alight in the roaring explosion of flame bursting through the columns at the library entrance.

She doesn't stop. Works her way around the perimeter of the floor. Furnishings and scrolls explode like dry timber in a crown fire. A few angels have fled through the elevators, the rest fly like darting pigeons upward and downward via the escalator shaft in the center of the floor. Hekla is careful to make sure they've all escaped before she herself takes the down escalator, flying on her fairy tern wings. Angels shriek and flee as she spirals downward toward the first floor. Some of the human Elect stand gawping and have to be dragged away before they get extinguished. The angels doing the dragging are not gentle about it.

Hekla alights at the top of the escalator to the lobby. Pauses a brief moment, as if making a decision. Then, still holding her flamethrower before her, steps onto the escalator and stands straight and unmoving as she descends to the ground floor. Michael blinks into appearance and shouts angrily to the crowd of security angels cowering away from the escalator well.

Stop her!

Two guards run up with their crossbows and fire. Their aim is excellent. Two bolts penetrate Hekla's back between her shoulder blades. She discorporates in a glittering cloud. The cauldron crashes and tumbles into the down escalator to Hell. Lands with the tornado flaming up the escalator, melting the stairs as it continues to roar. The lobby fills with roiling black smoke.


London. A nondescript office building in a rundown northern suburb. Triple S Security. Evgeny comes running into Bohdan's computer lab. Bohdan taps a few keys, and the video display reruns.

Look at this! She's carrying some weird flamethrower down the escalator. Then she explodes!

No body. Just fairy dust. Interesting.

An incoming call icon appears on one of Bohdan's screens. Bohdan enables the video conference.

Crowley. You saw the clip? What was this all about?

Angel Hekla seems to have gotten the hint I sent her. That's a Hellfire cauldron she's carrying. She was assigned to work as a file clerk in the personnel department. Guessing she may have torched quite a few records there.

What's Hellfire?

Supernatural flames. Stuff they tried to kill Aziraphale with. The heavenly jackasses kept the cauldron in storage after that murder attempt. Instead of returning it to Hell. Hekla knew where it was.

Was this a suicide?

Doubtful. We'll have to see how she's reincorporated to find out.

The fire didn't kill her?

Nope. Look close – she's been shot from behind. Angels use crossbows.

Evgeny and Bohdan peer at the screen as Bohdan pauses and enlarges the critical seconds.

Her own family shot her?

Yep.

There's a pause in the conversation. Then Evgeny 's monotone:

We still have those zero days.

Good. Burn it up. What if they try to run backups?

Bohdan grins as he replies:

They only think they have backups.


Hell. Dagon and a squad of Praetorian Guards contemplate the now empty cauldron at the base of the melted and twisted escalator. Beelzebub saunters up from around the corridor. Dagon turns to her:

Got it extinguished. Good thing I happened to be close by. Escalator's a mess, obviously. Where did this Hellfire cauldron come from, anyway?

Beelzebub stands over the cauldron, leans down a bit to examine it.

It's the one I sent up to extinguish the angel Aziraphale in punishment for preventing Armageddon. The angels did not return it.

How did it wind up getting thrown down our steps? And where is its lid?

Malacoda trots up and bows obsequiously.

Lord Beelzebub. Lord Dagon. Do you have any statement at this time?

Beelzebub merely glances at him.

I await your draft. Dagon, come with me.

Beelzebub turns and walks back down the corridor, Dagon at her side.

The guards look expectantly at Malacoda. He gets out his somewhat crumpled pack of Marlboros and tips out a cigarette for each. There's just enough for the guards, but none left for him. He crumples the carton and drops it to join the rest of the debris on the floor. The guards all light up using their fingertips, and take a deep drag. Malacoda takes a pen from behind his ear and poises it over his reporter's notebook.

While the guards and Malacoda converse, a disposable demon peeps down from the cavity of the wrecked escalator. She listens carefully, unseen by the oblivious demons below. After the group leaves, she scoots through the clouds of smoke still lingering in the lobby, slips out the door. A grey Ford Fiesta Ola is waiting. She hops inside and it peels off.


Heaven. Quartermaster's floor. St. Isidore and a group of bearded tech angels come running up to the angel's desk.

Quartermaster! The demons have hacked our computer system again! The personnel database is gone! They've taken remote control of our servers and are wiping drives. . .

Another angel comes running up, hopping up and down and from side to side in attempts to breach the wall of backs surrounding Quartermaster. Her incorporation is a small young Asian woman, with uncharacteristically chocolate skin and fluffy curly black locks.

St. Isidore . . . Quartermaster . . .

St. Isidore glances at her.

Not now, child.

But . . .

She falls silent. Turns and walks off.