It was a cold morning as a lonely taxi cab drove up to Purgatory's headquarters. Artyom was forced to leave his car behind for a long time. With his promotion into the investigator ranks, Tony was pulling strings to make sure his home and belongings were maintained while he was away. All he had to do was to report in and make his preparations into Hell.

He stepped out of the car, carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder before the Russian turned around and handed his hard-earned cash into the stranger's hands. The American took one long look at the amount before his New Yorker accent expressed his surprise. "I'll be damned. For someone who works for the Department of Purgatory, they sure pay you well. What do they have you do over there?"

"I can't say," Confidentiality at its utmost finest as he assured the man his money, "Keep it."

"Alright, you have a fine morning."

The taxi drove off into the maze of the city as Artyom stood along the sidewalk and looked towards the light in the distance. A sun rose from the edge of this realm with each ray of light encompassing everything in its wake. He spent a few minutes admiring the natural beauty that Heaven offered to its citizens.

Once his mind had taken the time to imprint this moment, the old soldier turned around and walked towards the entrance with great stride. It will be the last day he would be graced by the holy light.

Inside the building was a woman working behind the desk, managing the day-to-day affairs that the department had to endure. Being the only man inside the entrance, she looked up and noticed him. "Good morning! What can I do for you today?"

The first thing on his mind was the location of the teleporter room. "Do you know where the Isra is located? I've been reassigned there."

"Yes, give me a moment," His question had managed to affect her expression as if there was a stigma regarding the investigators; however, it would remind an unanswered concern while Artyom watched the blonde with the tied-up hair type on the keyboard, "There is an elevator that is available for you. It's the third elevator on your right. Make sure you have your clearance ready, it will vaporize those who are not ready to be transported to Hell."

"Thank you."

Now that was an unsettling thought on his mind. As he followed her directions, the newly-appointed investigator prepared his identification card. Then his walking ended at the entrance of an elevator, which presented him with a deceptively normal form of transportation. Part of him expected a kind of science fiction-related appearance that he once read in some old comic books. Nonetheless, he prepared himself for the duties that would follow.

Several weeks had passed in Pride as a Heaven safe house busied itself with its work. Investigators were working hard to track down every saved soul who was mistakenly sent into Hell due to administrative mistakes from above. Speed was of utmost importance among these men and women since there was concern about the saved transforming into their sinners as the result of their environment. It was perhaps the worst fate than a saved who was killed by a sinner and would be a write-off for the teams deployed Hellside, hurting the morale that they didn't save them from their darkest selves.

It was the hardest job within the Department of Purgatory, if not the rest of Heaven. There was no glory to be had when compared to the Seraphim Guard or the divisions of saved souls who willingly served their respective Archangel in the name of God. They were barely recognized by the other branches of the realm's armed forces and these small detachments were scrutinized for even trying to reach out to the lost souls.

Pavel knew this well as he sat at the dinner table with a child he saved from that store. He wasn't going to let that reality ruin his mood while he ate spaghetti with the spider girl who recovered from her wounds. She slowly ate her food as he smiled at the girl, assuring the child that she didn't have to worry about him. The meal was well-deserved after all she had been through and he was glad that the medics nursed her health.

One of these days, he was going to enter Heaven and find the bastard who dropped the ball at his workplace. Children were generally accepted into Heaven unless they were psychotic devils but Layla's personality didn't fit that persona. She was too nice to be living on the streets of Pride and was perhaps lucky that no pedophile or child murderer noticed to take advantage of her plight. That was perhaps the fortune of Hell, despite the reality being made up of sinners and demons, they had their own rules and laws to live by from those in charge to the overlords who ruled the streets.

A click of steps echoed from the hallways as a man arrived in the doorway of the mess hall. His black suit and tie were a far cry from the sight of uniformed soldiers with kevlar strapped over their chests. The stranger adjusted his glasses as he spoke in an English accent. "Excuse me, is that Layla?"

The communist nodded his head as the little girl noticed the other adult. "Are you here to take her? Does she have any relatives to be with?"

"Yes," He answered as he gestured his hand towards the child, "Her grandparents own a store and I've given them the heads up about the whole situation."

"Good."

Layla turned her head towards him. "Are you going to send me to grandpa and grandma?"

"You bet," He eagerly replied, "They'll be waiting for you and you don't have to stay in this dreary place any longer."

"Why aren't you coming?"

Perhaps the greatest tragedy of being an investigator is becoming attached to those you save. "I have a job here. What happens if other children don't belong down here and need a bit of rescuing? Someone has to come to their rescue."

"I'm going to miss you," The girl said as he slipped out of his seat and knelt low enough for her to wrap her arms around his head, "Thank you!"

He returned her hug and embraced the fleeting short moments they had left. There was nothing left to be said as Layla followed the stranger out of the room. Pavel walked back to his seat and looked around to see if anyone had noticed him. His heart couldn't resist shedding a tear for a kid he barely knew.

It didn't take long to be teleported. The elevator's design was the same as a few minutes earlier. Perhaps the only sign of the transition was a quick flash inside as Artyom stepped outside the doors to find himself brought into an open room. He looked around to see a massive table in the center of the room full of maps or electronic equipment. On his left were several couches placed in front of a television while there was a kitchen in the background. The right side of the room was completely different, filled with lockers containing weapons and ammo boxes on the bottom. All he needed to do is find the person who was in charge of this place.

A door was opened on the opposite side of the room as a familiar face stepped forward. It was a long time since they had encountered each other when they were alive, making the moment even more special. "I heard they were sending you down here with the rest of us. Good to see you, comrade."

"Likewise, Uhlman," Came his reply as he wondered about an old habit of his friend, "Say, do you still bring bad jokes even after death?"

"I aim to disappoint!"

The two fallen Polis Rangers had approached each other and gave a bear hug in their embrace. Uhlman had died in the Moscow Metro as one of the many men who sacrificed their lives at the Battle of D6. His loss took a toll on an already disheartened Artyom, who just watched his commander suffer immense injuries while one of the many powerful members of the Red Line taunted him on the eve of their defeat. Part of Artyom had wondered if he was still lurking in Hell after all this time?

Uhlman took the lead in the conversation as they walked over to the area beside the lockers, sitting down on a bench. "So, how did you die?"

"Radiation poisoning," He answered as he remembered the past, "The colonel and I died trying to safe his daughter - my wife."

"You surprise me every time. I didn't expect you to get married to her of all people. Was she worth it?"

Artyom sat down on the bench and put his duffle bag down. "To the very end, I loved her."

A hand patted him on the back as if he was proud of such a declaration. "For a fate of a Polis Ranger, you had the best out of us all. But that is enough for now. While everyone is resting up for the next operation, I can give you the run-down of our equipment and how we usually operate. Where do you want to begin?"

"Anything on our weapons?" He asked. It had been some time since he went into combat with a proper weapon and the possibility of it happening in Hell was to be expected, "We probably have something better than what he had when we lived."

"Ah, something familiar for once!"

The soldier rose from his seat and adjusted his urban pattern uniform as he opened one of the lockers, revealing many weapons inside. Yet, one of the guns was imbued with strange markings which glowed.

"If we encounter any sinners that want to test our patience, the typical guns we use will do their job. However, they're not the only people living around these parts," Uhlman's hand reached for the glowing gun and presented it to the newcomer, "There are special Hellborn nobles and the only way to kill 'em is using angelic technology to bless your weapons. Doesn't matter what it is, it will kill them."

"How often will we be encountering demons and sinners in a fight?"

"It's pretty much guaranteed unless we have enough connections to make people reconsider their choices in this life of theirs."

Artyom looked around at the lockers and his eyes glanced at the strange wristbands that were placed on everyone. "What is with the bracelets?"

His old friend reached out to his locker and presented one to him. "Allow me to demonstrate."

He slipped it onto his wrist and made the comfortable adjustments before Uhlman twisted it. In a blink of an eye, what was once a man had been replaced by a tall furry creature equipped with a kevlar vest. Lips were red as blood while the mouth was filled with an array of razor-sharp teeth hidden underneath the void inside. The only discernable trace of humanity was his eyes almost covered by the blue fur that encompassed the body.

"What do you think?"

"Is that what people look like down here?" The young man pondered about the strange sample of horror that awaited him in Hell, "I expected something else entirely."

Uhlman twisted his bracelet again and returned to normal. "What? Did you think people just turned into red-skinned assholes with horns on their heads?

Artyom nodded his head.

"You're not wrong to think of that but it depends on the souls themselves. A sinner's appearance is a reflection of how they conducted themselves in life. There is a World War One sinner whose face is only a gas mask because he tortured prisoners with chlorine gas."

"So what made you choose the creepy suit of fur?"

He laughed at the question. "It reminded me of an American television show called Sesame Street."

"It must be horrifying if that is your inspiration," The younger soul remarked as he contemplated what he could look like in this realm, "Do you mind if I get a try?"

"Of course."

His friend tossed the bracelet to him and watched as Artyom make his adjustments to his wrist. There was nothing to expect but part of him was enthusiastic to see what kind of horrific appearance he could conjure. After he was suited to the feeling, his fingers twisted the small piece of rough metal that allowed his first transformation.

Something felt wrong; yet, he did not know why. The man's body transformed but somehow retained an essence of himself. He looked down to find his appearance to be different from an office worker with a suit and tie. Instead, it was a body drenched in a black military uniform with a cloak encompassing his body. Then his hand reached for his face to see what had changed, only for the fingers to feel a gas mask being hidden underneath a hood.

What did he look like? "Thoughts?"

"Where do I begin?" Uhlman walked over to his locker and opened it, "You look like you're just another stalker in the Moscow Metro. I suppose some things never change."

"Not my fault that I'm new to using it."

Once the bracelet was disabled, it was handed back over to the former Polis Ranger. "It's great to have you here. Get acquainted with the equipment around these parts and don't be afraid to ask questions. As of right now, the guys upstairs are working on your sinner background for the mission ahead."

"What kind of mission?" He wondered, curious about what was needed to be done, "Every detail matters."

"Infiltration. There's an imp who is breaking the rules between Hell and reality. Until we have something concrete, you're going to be a sinner who is willing to work for him and earn his trust."

Now that was something he was not expecting. "Spycraft? Really?"

"Yes," The man answered before letting out a deep breath and closing his locker, "There is more to Hell than you realize and we need to keep ourselves from being revealed to everyone else. No one in this building wants to stir trouble with Lucifer Morningstar."

A hallway door was opened as someone walked into the room with several boxes in hand. The duo turned their heads to find a mechanical humanoid entering the room with glowing red eyes. "Comrades, I think we should have pizza tonight!"

He turned his head towards them as he reluctantly reached for his bracelet.

"Artyom?"

His voice clicked into the Russian's mind. He looked into the deepest pits of his mind in search of those memories. It did not take long before the mechanical humanoid transformed into a man. Once recognized, only blood boiled within his veins as the newcomer to the safehouse had walked over and lunged his fist. A single punch knocked him down on the floor as the boxes were stumbling atop of him.

Uhlman rushed forward and stood in his way. "What was that for?!"

"He was General Korbut's second-in-command," The young man shifted his eyes towards his friend, hardened with fury, "The man betrayed me."

"Whatever happened between you two is over. Both of you are dead and whatever grievances you two have against each other should not interfere with our missions. Cut it out."

His eyes looked down on the man who was lying on the ground. There was an instinctual demand to finish what had been started back then; however, his friend continued further.

"Why don't you take a nice walk and get acquainted with the neighborhood?" Uhlman stated as he pointed towards his bracelet, "When you come back here, take your job seriously or I'll send you back to Heaven. I don't care if Tony or Death sent you."

An order was an order and it didn't take long for him to leave the confines of the safe house in his new Hell form. While he walked past Pavel lying on the ground, the man reached out and grabbed him by the foot. "I'm sorry for what I did, chuvak."

He did not know how to react to the apology. Part of him wanted to give him the boot; however, it was never in his nature to be cruel. Instead, Artyom shook the former communist's hand away and approached the exit. Time was needed to think about it.

So much for the pizza.

Pavel quietly walked through the streets as the literal gears on his Hell form began to grind and whine with mechanical repetition. He remembered the treachery at his hands when he drank with Artyom after escaping a collection of monsters. The communist fooled himself that he was doing the Metro right by helping General Korbut conquer the tunnels and the stations for himself. Sure, he was a loyal hero of the Red Line but that very loyalty blinded him to his heart. There was a wish in his heart to turn back the clock and maintain his friendship with the Polis Ranger; however, he doubted that his former enemy would be so willing to reconcile their past. After all, he did try to kill him at the Red Square with several platoons of special forces.

The question was why did Artyom spare him? Did he see through his bravado and learn of the pain he carried inside him? Was the man able to see the terrible truth that they were forced to fight each other due to the flags behind their barricades?

His recollection of these memories had left a bad feeling in his stomach and the only way to remedy that was through alcohol. Fortunately, Hell contained many establishments to fulfill that purpose whether it be gentlemen clubs or bars. Despite their availability, there was an unspoken rule amongst the sinner populations - if you liked one place, stay there. It didn't matter where he went, Pavel had to take into account that a neighborhood or a district belonged to one overlord's turf or another. If a sinner was caught with the scent of a drink the locals didn't sell, they would be kicked out at best or publicly killed on the spot as an insult to an overlord.

When he found his destination, the humanoid machine entered the pub to find it quiet and calm as he approached the bar with the owner on the other side. "Same as usual."

The bartender didn't need to speak as he reached for a bottle on the stand behind him and passed it over to him. A silent agreement was made between the two that once he finished his affair, he would hand over his cash… after the communist was sober.

Pavel observed his surroundings and those who were present in the room. A wide variety of people came in all shapes and sizes from a countless number of backgrounds he was not too keen on knowing. Everyone in this building was full of sinners with dark deeds under their name, which made him slightly uncomfortable since it could range from homicidal psychopaths to sex-crazed pedophiles. It was good that his drink tempered those nerves as his steel lips chugged the bottle.

A bell rang and caused the man to turn his head towards the doorway, only to find a Hell-born stride across the room for an empty stool. Unlike the sinners, they were not bound to the same social norms and could freely pass through the various levels that sinners were not permitted to go through.

The walking rodent with spurs seemed to be akin to a cowboy as he took his seat with pride in his posture. He wondered what a stranger like him was doing here but those thoughts deserved to remain unvoiced. No reason to spoil his moment for a meager question.

Soon a commotion erupted outside of the pub before a group of sinners in black uniforms and gas masks had entered. Pavel stole a glance from the newcomers; however, he froze in his chair as he recognized the infamous symbol of the Third Reich. He had forgotten that even Hell contained the original bastards of that ancient evil but he had no intentions of meeting them in person.

One of the men stepped forward, wearing a peaked cap while the others wore helmets - an officer. Unlike the men of the Fourth Reich, these damned souls contained their German heritage. "It has come to my attention that this establishment contains undesirables. My men and I intend to rectify that concern so I ask all of you to personally assist us in this endeavor. It's just going to be a quick affair."

Their presence made his blood boil; however, he needed to maintain the Department of Purgatory's secrecy within this dark realm. Yet, it didn't take long for the officer to walk up to him as he breathed heavily behind his gas mask. A baton was extended from his side as he directed it at his bottle. "Well, have you seen a communist around these parts?"

Not a single word came out of his lips before the Hell-born imp had spoken up in his foreign accent. "Hey asshole, why don't you leave these sinners alone? No one likes you. Hell, not even us imps like you."

"Ah," The Nazi officer acknowledged his presence as he knocked Pavel's bottle onto the floor with his baton. Then he walked past the investigator and approached the imp, "What you see as an inconvenience, I see it as a necessity. We can't have inferior beings running amok."

"You're in Hell. For some things never change that very reason, you're already inferior when compared to the people upstairs. After all, it's your kind that gets killed by the exterminators every year."

He scoffed at his reply, angry by the public denouncement. "Let that be the last words you've ever spoken."

Soon the masked man walked up to the imp. Pavel watched the moment unfold before he blinked and saw the sentient rodent draw his pistol so quickly. Before the Nazi had a chance to react, the room echoed with a loud bang before the stranger's barrel was smoking as a blood-curdling voice gasped.

"You bastard."

When the body was slumped across the floor, his men eagerly drew their pistols as Pavel felt the need to intervene with his hand reaching for his holster. "No matter where I go, there is never an end to men like yourselves."

The communist's arm extended outward and fired upon the Nazis without hesitation. Violence was commonplace around these parts where the bystanders watched as several men were cut down by gunfire before their very eyes. Despite the initial casualties, he fled the scene and sought the kitchen. Sooner or later, they would use their overwhelming numbers to chase after him. While he ran, the cowboy imp followed after him and fired upon their pursuers.

Gunshots rang out throughout the pub before the duo took refuge inside the kitchen, using a counter for cover. Pavel had to admit that the imp's actions were something he didn't have to account for. "Got to admit, I didn't think you would shoot their officer."

"Really? I always found those kinds of sinners to be annoying," He turned his head and expressed a large smile. "Name's Striker, nice to meet ya."

They soon shook hands; however, the Russian's mind was rapidly searching for a fake name. It was the policy of the investigators to avoid using their identities during their work. "Crimson."

Soon they heard the thunder of footsteps storm into the room before the duo fired their guns blindly over the counter. They really couldn't hold these men back and so the supposed sinner looked at his surroundings to find a way out. Onto his left was an open door that led into a back alley and that was where their escape would be.

"Hey, why don't you cover me while I move? I'll return the favor."

"Team up?" Striker was taken aback by the suggestion, "Don't try to backstab me, sinner."

The communist rose from behind the counter and rushed towards the exit while his sidearm fired quickly into the dozens of men storming in. After he was outside, he looked back to find Striker suppressed by several sub-machine guns but Pavel did intend to keep his promise as he emptied his magazine for a fresh one. Once he finished reloading, the investigator returned fire upon the men as the imp swiftly rushed through the room and escaped the hail of bullets that riddled the air.

"Thanks, but I think this is where we take our separate ways. See you elsewhere."

Both strangers nodded their heads before fleeing the scene with platoons of Nazis chasing after them.

A sinner strolled through the park by her lonesome. The school season had finished and the Hell-born children were off for the summer, leaving behind plenty of time for herself. Visiting parks was Mrs. Mayberry's most fond pastime when she was alive. After all, it was how she met her ex-husband in the first place where she strolled to enjoy the scenery and ran into him while he jogged. The beginning of a relationship that would result in marriage.

Soon the teacher kept Gerald out of her thoughts as much as possible. She did not need him to spoil the pleasant afternoon meal set for today. As her hooves clicked against the concrete sidewalks, a cool breeze of the air fell upon her face and blew her hair. Even in Hell, a sinner could have something akin to a nice day… if one ignored the screaming and the gunfire.

She had found an empty picnic table and Mrs. Mayberry eagerly took her seat and sought out a paper brown bag hidden deep within her purse. The woman dug through her belongings from credit cards to the objectives she intended to pursue throughout the summer. Once she found it, her hands reached for a sandwich inside a plastic bag and a bottle of lemonade inside.

It began with a sandwich made up of cheese, lettuce, and corned beef. They were good on their own but as she chewed, the flavors of the food began to mix inside her mouth and resulted in an explosion of taste. What had also helped was the addition of the honey mustard providing an additional layer to an already fine sandwich.

Mayberry felt rather parched a few minutes after eating half her sandwich and refreshed herself with a cold sip from her bottle. Liquid sweetness washed away the food on her tongue like a dam being broken by the tide. Much more, the cold temperature flowed into her throat, making her spine shiver and bringing goosebumps to her skin.

Everything seemed perfect on this day.

A blur of black and red had rushed past her before the teacher sensed the wrongness of the moment. Then she looked around the bench to find a purse removed from its owner. The thief was not too far from the scene as he turned around to snicker and giggle at the sinner's expense, revealing an evil smile on his face before running away. No amount of cold drinks could temper the emotions she had before the flaring of her wrath. "You motherfucker!"

She lept from her seat and chased after the perpetrator with great haste before he left the confines of the park. They ran across open ground to climb up a hill, only to descend just as quickly. The pain built up in her legs as if she was lit on fire; however, the woman continued the pursuit thanks to the power of adrenaline.

The imp made his way towards a large tree, whose titanic size towered over the whole park. It looked to be that he intended to run past it but then a hand shot out and grabbed the thief by the throat. She stopped and let her legs recover for a moment as the person hiding underneath the tree's shadow was revealed. A figure of a man stepped forward as he took one long look at the imp before stealing a glance at her.

Mrs. Mayberry made sure she kept to herself in a realm full of strangers and dangers. Yet, this individual felt different but she didn't know why. The man's military fatigues were an indicator of his military background while his body was wrapped in a dark cloak. Something about him was thrilling as if he was a wraith instead of a person.

He walked over to her and spoke in a Russian accent. "Is this your purse?"

"Yes," She nodded her head as her legs trudged forward, "The fucker stole my purse while I was eating."

"Hand it over."

The imp's attitude did him no favors while the stranger's gas mask shined in the light. It was rather unsettling, to look at the glass, only to find that there was no face hiding underneath it. However, the very mysterious face was more than enough for the imp to reluctantly hand the purse back to the woman. His hand released the grip on the creature's throat and let him flee without harassment.

"I hope you have everything."

The teacher quickly searched into her bag for her belongings and it was a relief that nothing fell out throughout the chase. "I do. Thank you."

"You're welcome," He answered calmly, "I hope you have a pleasant time in the park."

"Say, what are you doing here? I don't wish to pry but you seem a bit out of place for a sinner like yourself."

It was strange to find a former soldier traversing through a park all by himself. What could a man such as him do at a place like this? Couldn't he drink his sorrows away at a bar or meet with other soldiers of a similar conflict? There had to be a reason for him to be lurking around these parts. "It just reminds me of home."

"Really?" That was not an answer that Mrs. Mayberry was expecting as she slipped her purse's straps over her shoulder, "Anything particular about this place that resonates with you?"

"There was a park just like this in Moscow. We called it the Botanical Gardens. It was perhaps the last fond place I remembered before the bombs fell… before I was brought into a bomb shelter called the Metro."

He was a post-apocalypse survivor. The teacher knew that Hell took in people from different universes; however, she doubted those claims and did not expect to encounter someone from a different reality than hers. Strange to think that someone such as himself would be so nice on her behalf but perhaps he did something so sinister to deserve such a place in Hell.

Thunder erupted from above as a great downpour of rain followed afterward. Mayberry yelped at the moment, seeking shelter at the base of the incredibly long tree. The stranger joined her as they waited out the rain and kept themselves dry. As time passed, she stood tall and hoped her hooves wouldn't be ruined by the mud when it was all over. Meanwhile, she looked at the stranger to find him sitting down with his back against the bark, pulling out a bullet from his pockets. Then he flicked the top open and revealed the bullet lighter in his hands.

It will take some time before the rain would stop and so the teacher felt the urge to get to know the stranger. "So, what is your name?"

The way he looked up at her made it seem that he was caught off-guard by the question.

"Not a talkative type?"

He shook his head before following up with an answer, "No. I just usually keep my distance from others. Trust but verify as they say in Russia."

"It sounds a bit paranoid if you ask me," Mayberry replied, "How can you live like that?"

"I ask myself the same question but it's how a stalker survives. You can never know the true intentions of a person until you stick with them for a long time."

She felt compelled to compare to his standards. "How do I measure up?"

He stood up and let out a light chuckle underneath his gas mask.

"Is it that bad?"

"No," He answered, "I just don't have anything to say."

A tone rang in his pockets as he reached inside his pants and brandished his phone.

"My apologies, I have to take this call."

She nodded her head and looked out to the rest of the park, watching the raindrops lower the temperature the longer the storm went on. At the same time, the sinner could hear the man converse with the strangers on the phone. Whoever it was, made the discussion sound serious in the Russian language.

Her shoulders shivered with chills as her hands reached over and rubbed the cold off. Then the stranger spoke, "I suppose this is where we end this eventful meeting. My coworkers need me right now because someone is in trouble."

"Good luck," Mayberry remarked, "Hope it gets worked out in the end."

"Thanks."

The ex-soldier walked past her but took a few steps and stopped in the rain. Then he turned around and gave the woman one more look. "Something wrong?"

"My name is Artyom. It was nice to meet you."

"Mrs. Mayberry."

Soon their exchange of words had ended and the soldier had departed from the teacher's side as they went on with the rest of their day.

Fleeing from several platoons full of genuine Nazis had grown tiresome for Pavel. Every time he turned around the corner of a street, they would show up in an armored car. Why couldn't the bastards cut their losses and call it a day? Fortunately, it was traffic hour and that made their navigation incredibly difficult with all these cars in the way.

Once he took a shortcut through an alleyway, the communist looked across the street to find a massive concert with music and lights to entertain the masses of Hell. If he went there, a person such as himself would be so out of place when compared to the fashion-savvy teenagers. Then he looked over his shoulder to find the German armored car driving after him. "Damn it!"

The man ran for his life as his mechanical legs went into overdrive.

When he was in the midst of the concert, he calmly walked past those enthralled in the entertainment. Yet, the closer he approached the front through the crowd, he noticed a lithe figure walking across the stage with the lights focused on her persona. Her sultry voice enhanced the lyrics while her fans cheered for her in complete excitement. Some were even going so far as to ask for the demon's signature on their boobs.

It was a tempting thought to stay and watch what went on; however, Pavel knew better than to let the Nazis catch him in the moment. Maybe he could spend a day looking up this particular succubus? His nerves reminded him of the current predicament as he looked over his shoulder to find several Nazis slipping through but they were unaware of his presence.

The communist knew it would be a matter of time for his pursuers to realize where he was. As he stole glances from his surroundings, his eyes noticed an entrance beside the stage, guarded by this massive hellhound. Walking along the way, the guard seemed to be keeping the fans from going backstage with his intimidating presence.

There had to be a way to get through.

It took him by surprise when someone's panties landed on his shoulder. Someone was enjoying the concert too much but his mind was brightened with an idea to distract the guard from his duties. Pavel grabbed the underwear and stretched it enough to become its projectile while aiming for the bored hellhound.

Once brought to the limit, his fingers released and let it fly across dozens upon dozens of fans, only to slam into the man. Without hesitation, Pavel ran out of the crowd and dodged him on his way inside. Haste was his best friend lest the demon born removed it.

Backstage was a different story as an army of technicians and dressers were present. Some of the dresses he had seen would make a woman blush given how much skin they would reveal. It was tempting to start stealing with the hopes of gifting it to some sinner but he had little time to be a thief as he heard the German accents chase after him.

He made sure it would be a calm stroll through the concert's employees to avoid alerting them to his intrusion. The last thing he wanted to do is get tossed out and be at the mercy of the Nazi sinners. Yet, this rewarded him with a way out as he finally reached the other side of the concert perimeter to find an open driveway.

The moment was too good to be true as he ran towards the exit; however, he noticed the German armored car roll inside the area as they searched the surrounding area. On his right was a changing room with someone's name on it, surely if he hid there, they wouldn't dare to step inside?

Pavel swiftly entered the building and sought refuge. His head frantically looked for a hiding spot but everything was surprisingly organized before he noticed a closet. He ran over and opened it up, revealing a massive array of clothing far beyond his expectations but maybe it would be enough to hide. Without question, the communist dived into clothes and dug so deep he found the backside of the closet.

He paused his movements when he heard a door creak open. Footsteps searched around the room with great haste as dark figures dominated the space. Angry orders were dispatched as the saved buried himself beneath the clothing but then he heard a pair of feet walking over to the closet. The anticipation was killing him as he slowed his breathing and calmly watched as the sinner's shadow loomed over the clothes. A single sound or movement would be the death of him.

One of the men spoke up, "Is he there?"

"No," He answered, "Doesn't seem to be."

"Let's go then. The commie would probably find somewhere better to hide in."

Time passed as the footsteps left the room and they closed the door on their way out. However, he wasn't going to give them the benefit of the doubt and remained in the closet for several more minutes. Outside the windows, he could hear the German vehicle drive off, giving him clear signals that they were gone for good.

When he stepped out of the closet, his nose sensed the perfume all over his body. "Damn, I got to take a show after this."

The chase was over and now he had to return to the safehouse before Uhlman tore him a new asshole for missing the scheduled briefings. Before he could leave the changing room, there was a desk across from him with a driving key hanging beside a mirror. A label was attached, revealing it was connected to someone's car. Well, he could return in style.

He took the keys for himself and walked out the door with excitement for the freedom he regained before the shooting at the bar. Once he activated the unlock signals, a car beeped in front of him. Then Pavel found himself demoralized to find out how pink the car's paint was. Perhaps he shouldn't have been too enthusiastic about the ride?

It did not matter as he took his seat as the driver and ran the vehicle forward towards the nearest exit. As he strolled through the concert, a group of demon girls saw his car and rushed forward. What could he do? They cheered and screamed in absolute delight and he even heard one of them declare her love for him. While he navigated through the crowd, his eyes noticed someone approaching the vehicle on the right side.

The succubus that was on the stage was now standing near the passenger side, surprised by his arrival. Then a sudden realization came to her. "Wait a fucking minute, who's the motherfucker driving my car?!"

All he had to do was drive and Pavel slammed his foot on the accelerator. Time to head home.

Uhlman sat quietly near his radio set. Ever since Artyom and Pavel were told to cool off, he listened to the conversations between Blitzo and Stolas about their contract in regards to the grimoire. Unfortunately, he also had to listen to their sexual depravity and it did his mind no wonders. He was not a religious man but he prayed that as soon he finishes his assignment at investigating this particular imp, he would ask for a nice vacation to drown his mind from the mental images.

He heard a door unlock behind his back and so he swiveled around in his chair to see who had entered. Past the open door and into the hallway, Pavel looked worse for wear than he was when he left the building under his orders. What happened to him? "Hey, are you alright?"

"I got chased by a group of Nazi sinners," He answered as he turned his head towards him, "Had to lose them at a succubus concert."

"Oh."

That was a big deal since the succubi could easily enthrall those to their pleasures. It was a surprise to find his colleague surviving his encounter with the woman. "I also stole her car on the way out."

"You what?!" Uhlman was shocked as he rose from his seat and walked over to confront him. At the same time, his nose managed to catch the scent of perfume from the man, "Do you realize what kind of heat you're bringing us? The last thing we need is some Hell born to notice our operations! Now, whose car did you steal?"

"I checked the car's info… it belonged to someone by the name of Verosika."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing and there were only two words that could express the severity of the situation. "Cyka blyat!"

Author's Note: I've been putting this chapter off for at least a week, but then Total War: Warhammer III had shown up on my radar and made me spend… a few hours of playtime. Then there was a slight change to both Charlie's outfit and last name. Fortunately, I can still make changes on the fly since this is my fourth chapter. So it wouldn't be out of place to make a few changes here and there.

ASSO 110: We're basically heading into spoiler territory so I'll try to avoid certain questions that would result in certain answers. One thing I need to point out is that Verosika is an antagonist but she is not a villain.

SilverExcel115: Clothing wise? Maybe. Saved souls can produce equipment and uniforms as a byproduct of their mortal lives on a mundane or alternative Earth. As for weapons, unfortunately, Heaven has the technology to mass-produce weaponry for the Seraphim Guard and the rest of the armed forces. This means the iconic makeshift firearms from the Metro series don't have a reason to be there.