Hell in a crapbasket

Episode 1, Limbo: Level 1

"I'm on the highway to Hell~!" The notes of the world-famous song echoed through the empty road as three motorcycles zoomed by.

"We've been playing that song ever since we got here, change the tune already for fuck's sake!" Yelled out one of the bikers, trying to make himself heard over the song.

"Never!" Another answered, turning up the volume even more.

"And how is Ralts still asleep, anyway?" Piped up the third biker, glancing briefly at the occupant of the passenger car.

The radio man looked at the sidecar attached to his bike and the diminutive fellow snoring soundly in it. "Fuck if I know, that's just how he is."

"Can you at least turn it down already? I like classic rock as much as the next guy but I'd also like to not have my ears bleeding because someone wanted the volume knob turned to full blast!"

"Heathen!" He responded, but turned down the volume nonetheless.

"Look alive fellas, there's something ahead!"

Everyone, including the ever-sleepy Ralts who for the briefest moment cracked one of his eyes open, saw ahead of the group what looked to be the underworld's equivalent of a toll booth. Above the entrance was a sign, simply stating "Underworld Immigration Control".

"Even in Hell, there's national borders?" Cletus stared quizzically at the building.

"It is Hell, what did you expect? Something other than bureaucratic torment?" Quipped Alien as he parked his bike.

"I figured they would welcome every sinner with open arms, it's not like they are restricted by the amount of landmass available, right?"

"What do I know?" He shrugged. "I didn't even think Hell existed until a week ago."

"Speaking of-" Sloth took off his helmet and swept his long hair out of his face "-remind me to kick your ass after we're done here."

Alien winced slightly but didn't retort. Once he was done disentangling Ralts from the sidecar, they all turned to look at the checkpoint. Taped to one of the windows, was a smaller sign, saying "Estimated wait time four to five centuries."

"...Miss me with that," everybody agreed.

There were no walls surrounding the city, nor could they see any guards, so the group took the easy way and marched forth, passing by a billboard which proudly proclaimed "Welcome to Limbo, population: 47,700,062,472 souls". The air was thick with the smell of sulfur, with an undertone of ash, just on the edge of being overwhelming but not quite.

The four humans made for an unusual sight down in Hell.

The one leading them, Cletus, was an unassuming portly man, with an unkempt beard and armed with an old-school revolver.

Following him was Sloth, the resident 'pretty boy'. Long platinum blonde hair came down to his upper back, and his lanky figure was mostly hidden by his heavy sweater… which somehow didn't bother him with the heat of Hell.

Towering above the others was Alien, who was carrying near-effortlessly Ralts on his back. The two were as different as could be. Where one was tall but soft, the other was lithe and bony. Where Ralts was eternally sleepy, Alien's eyes were darting back and forth in eternal paranoia.

As they ventured deeper into the heart of Limbo, they spotted many glowing wisps floating to and fro, not unlike people in a busy city. When concentrating, one could see translucent silhouettes around each 'core'. If they could perceive the group, none made any sign of it, continuing on their way and phasing through their bodies on multiple occasions.

"So this is what souls look like," muttered Cletus. "Smaller than I expected, but to be fair not too long ago I didn't believe souls existed, to begin with."

"Speaking of souls," piped up Sloth, "How about you finally tell us what happened to our own?"

Everyone looked at Alien.

"Well-" he fidgeted a bit under their gaze "-you remember that website I sent you guys a few weeks ago? The one with the red and black and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"So that might have been a contract to sell our souls in exchange for eternal youth. And once I realized that, I gathered you all to get back our souls from one specific demon…" He trailed off, visibly wilting a tad.

"Which one?" Pressed on Cletus, his patience starting to run dry.

"...Lucifer," he whispered.

If looks could kill, the glares Alien was receiving would've turned him into ash immediately.

"Lucifer? Hold the fuck up..." Cletus looked at the Romanian/Italian with a glare that morphed from anger to confusion. "Which iteration? There are so many damn depictions of ol' Lucy in popular media that you might have to be more specific."

"You fucked up big time," Ralts muttered from over Alien's shoulder, so quietly that only the latter was able to hear.

Alien glanced at Sloth, who had still had yet to react in any meaningful way. He found himself on the receiving end of a very disappointed stare.

With a sigh, Alien shrugged. "I mean, yeah, there's a lot of iterations, but there's only one real version."

"Alien, my man…" Cletus massaged his temples in an attempt to stave off a migraine. "What the fuck is the quote-on-quote "real" version supposed to be like then?"

"..I'll answer with another question: can you make some good pancakes?"

Cletus stared at Alien as if he'd grown a new head. Sloth seemed to be handling it better, simply tilting his head. Ralts was apparently unbothered by the question, simply giving a thumbs up.

"I- I don't know? I mean, I took some cooking classes back in my teens but I'm no Michelin chef." Cletus replied with increasing confusion - and a lot of exasperation - at where his fellow traveler was going with his questioning. "What does this have to do with finding Lucifer?"

Sloth shrugged, giving a so-so gesture with his hand. "Decent, haven't had any complaints yet."

"Well, it has nothing to do with finding Lucifer, but it is very important for what comes after finding her: convincing her to give us our souls back."

"Her? Why are you so sure that this particular Lucifer's a girl?" Sloth continued, giving Cletus a moment to recollect himself.

Alien began to pace around, seemingly unbothered by the added weight of Ralts on his back."There was one particular detail that I noticed on the website: a certain symbol, repeated ad nauseam. I did some research, and found that the only other place where it appeared was a game from 2020, and that symbol was a pin that the game's version of Lucifer kept on her jacket. You've gotta agree that there must be a connection, no?"

Cletus and Sloth exchanged a deadpan look.

"So your whole plan hinges off a game from last year, and a whole lot of 'trust me bro'." The Finnish man groaned, remembering who he was dealing with. "There go my hopes…"

Alien shook his head, his furrowed brow giving way to a cheeky grin. "There's more. I dug around a bit more - you wouldn't believe what you can find with a VPN and a bit of luck - and figured out two more things." He held up one finger. "First was how to reach Hell in the first place. But you know that already. Second-" he raised another finger "-was that a couple of the other demon ladies from the game exist, in fact that's how I found out how to get here. You talked to one of them too!"

"Wait a minute," Cletus muttered. "So that gal who you were playing with in voice chat who was cursing like a sailor was..?"

"Malina, the sour demon, yeah. Apparently Hell has pretty good wi-fi."

"How did you even-"

"Sheer dumb luck, I found one of her rants on reddit and we started chatting."

The remaining three shared a puzzled glance for a moment. Ralts was the first to break free of it, as he was the most used to Alien's particular brand of bullshit luck.

"So, if you have a contact here and everything…" began Ralts, "What do we do now?"

The other two stared at Alien expectantly, his grin dying down as he slowed down to think.

"Well, uh… here's where it gets complicated." He began slowly. "Most of the info I got was when she was too drunk to think before speaking, so I don't exactly have the full picture-" He held up a hand to stop any comments. "-but! I do know that Limbo has a library, comparable to the one in Alexandria… and I quote: 'that fucking thing is probably bigger than that pile of ash in Alhe- Axid- the big place with the books'."

"So our next course of action would be to find this library?" Asked Sloth.

Alien nodded, ready to get going, but Ralts decided to intervene. "Hey guys, do you think they'll accept pounds in Hell?"

Everyone stopped to think about that.

"I'm pretty sure that they trade in souls."

Everyone glared at Alien.

"Stop glaring at me like that, it ain't my fault," he deadpanned.

"Hmm… I figure in that case I'd be interested in finding out what the value of a soul would be according to the labor theory of value." Cletus chimes in. "That way we can figure out an approximate exchange rate."

"That's a pretty good idea there, Cletus. Although… I think I have one that won't be quite that much of a hassle." A malicious grin appeared on Alien's face. "How about we just… 'permanently borrow' some money, souls, what have you."

"I dunno, seems kinda sus."

"Said the guy walking around with a gun ever since we got on that highway," he drawled out, bending down a bit to meet Cletus' gaze.

"Hell doesn't have gun laws." He paused. "...To my knowledge."

Alien shrugged, straightening back up. "Pretty sure the only laws out here are what the high demons decide."

"So robbing them is the only law, gotcha."

Alien scoffed. "You know what?" He addressed the others, extending his arms at his sides in a 'come at me' gesture. "Let's put it to vote. Who wants to rob a store in Hell say 'aye'."

"Aye," said Sloth with a grin.

"Nay," came from Cletus.

Ralts simply snored, having fallen asleep at some point during the discussion.

"Two votes for, one against, and one abstained. I'd say that I win!"

Cletus' sigh was drowned out by Alien and Sloth's guffaws.

"Am I the only one that's not surprised to see a Walmart in Hell?" Asked Sloth, pointing over his shoulder at the store.

"Considering what we've witnessed so far, not really." Cletus grumbled in disdain. "This place is like what I'd imagine Ancapistan to be like if it was a dimension."

"The fuck is Ancapistan?"

"You know what Anarcho-Capitalism is?" The Finn asked Alien in return.

"Like, uh…" Alien waved his hand, motioning to their surroundings. "But worse?"

"Basically imagine our society as is, under the current socio-economic system of Capitalism…" Cletus began his explanation. "...But remove the modern nation-state from the equation as a mediator. Basically no regulations, no safety nets, just full-on cyberpunk levels of dystopian hellscape without the cool aesthetics."

"This is interesting and all, but can you two dimwits focus? We're planning a robbery, not a lesson on economics!" Interrupted Sloth, motioning towards the store behind the corner.

"He asked me a question and I answered."

The blonde man sighed, combing some stray locks out of his face. "Yeah, sure. Just pay attention, ok? This-" He waved around the hastily-sketched plan he was holding. "-Needs all of us to work." After receiving a round of nods, he continued. "Ok, so first Alien will sneak in from the back to cut the power, then-"

"Alright dude, really? Stealth heist? We have a gun, can't we just walk in and be all 'down on the floor'! Or something?" Alien's leg was twitching, only Cletus' hand clamped on his wrist stopping him from just barging in.

"A gun isn't a magic wand that you can just wave in someone's face to make them do what you want." The Finn pointed out. "It's a tool of destruction that you use as a last resort when all other options are exhausted, we clearly have plenty of options for approach here."

The two glared at each other for a solid minute, neither willing to back down. Ralts' voice cut through the tension.

"Uh, do you guys mind if I stay outside?"

"Sure, you can stay on the lookout for like the local cop equivalent or whatever," Sloth answered with an understanding nod.

"Aight, fine, whatever." Alien broke off the stalemate and turned to Sloth. "So, I cut the power… somehow. Then what?"

With a gleeful smile, the Canadian began to explain once more.

They said that working at Walmart was like selling your soul to Satan. Now, as he stood behind the cash register of Walmart's Hell branch, Sergei knew exactly what they were talking about.

Every day was the same torture: screaming Karens, payment cuts due to shoplifting, long hours, weird rancid smells coming from isle seven that nobody wanted to investigate, the doors malfunctioning but that was expected… same old, same old.

The actual buildings themselves were starting to show their age with the lack of maintenance. Budget reallocation his manager called it.

And if that wasn't enough, the power grid somehow had shut off. He assumed that it was maybe a fuse or something. Well, it was someone else's problem.

"Employee 111, it's your turn to do the maintenance this week!" His manager yelled from the doorway of his office.

Блядь. (Translator's note: it means 'blyat')

As he left to go retrieve the spare fuses from the maintenance closet, he didn't even see the cash register float up into the air seemingly on its own.

He finally, finally, reached the fuse box. Whose idea was it to put that thing in the ass-end of the shop? Oh, yeah, management. Sergei opened the panel, only to see dozens of fuse fragments drop down on the floor, along with a puff of acrid smoke floating upward.

...Of course, the fire alarm didn't activate. It never did.

Still, even the wall behind the fuse box was cracked. How hadn't he noticed that earlier?

"...I need to lay off the Generic Caffeinated Drink(™)."

And just when he thought it couldn't get worse...

"Holy fuck the register's gone!" One of his fellow employees could be heard yelling in the distance.

"Goodbye to all our paychecks!" Complained another.

"Who's the genius that left the safe open!?" Bellowed the manager.

Nobody answered.

Later when the power was restored and the police arrived at the scene so everyone could be questioned about what happened, it was discovered that the security footage had cut off almost right as a pair of mortals had stepped in.

"I'm afraid to say," began McChief Investigator Ronald, of McPolice Private Security "That your current Gold subscription 'insurance' doesn't cover potential robbery by mortals. Would you like to upgrade to Platinum?"

"I'm afraid that our local funds can't cover that and higher management refused to allocate any more for security purposes." The general manager of the store explained with frustration.

"Well in that case I'm afraid you're shit out of luck then."

Now with some souls in their pockets, the group went on to find Limbo's library, which for some reason didn't seem to have a proper name. Quite the oversight there.

Along the way, one sleepy fellow spotted a café just behind the corner. "Hey," he muttered near his carrier's ear. "Think we got the time for a tea break?"

Alien slightly turned his head to look at the man draped over his back, quirking an eyebrow. "Really, Ralts? Now?"

"Finnish labor law guarantees coffee breaks for all…" He froze for a moment, staring at a small furry figure on the side of the road. When he blinked, it was already gone. He cleared his throat. "...For all full-time workers, I suppose that can be extended to tea as well. I'm down."

Sloth simply shrugged. "I wouldn't mind sitting down somewhere without potholes for once."

"Oh, fine." Alien rolled his eyes with an overly exaggerated huff. "I suppose we can have a little break."

With that, the four turned around, making their way to the café.

Once they stepped inside, they found that the place was surprisingly empty, save for the single unfortunate soul manning the counter. Differently from most other souls, which just looked like little blobs of light or barely-formed silhouettes, this one actually had a semi-corporeal shape. It was rather faint, but one could make out a skeletal figure with thick square glasses on their face, garbed with only a sweater as the lower part of their body was too hazy to make out.

"Huh, a cafe run by a spooky scary skeleton."

"It's not even October yet," muttered Ralts.

The skeleton looked in their direction, his gaze flicking between the open door and the bell above it. He seemed to shake off his confusion and walked over to the door to close it, muttering something about the wind and a shitty loose lock.

The four found a table big enough for the four of them. Cletus and Sloth sat down easily, whilst Alien set Ralts down on a chair, the former remaining standing.

"So does anyone know how to use the barista machine?"

"I actually worked at a bar for a while, what can I get you?" Said Alien, his blank face turning into a Customer Service Smile (™) so fast that it almost gave the others whiplash.

"...Might sound surprising, but can you get me a green tea with honey and milk?" Asked Cletus, trying to not look at Alien's worryingly dead smile.

"Hey." Sloth waved Alien closer. When he was at arm's length, Sloth slung an arm over his shoulder. "So, you know a mudslide?"

"I've seen one, yes."

"That."

He then turned to the British man currently resting his face on the table. Ralts simply raised one of his hands slightly and showed the number 'three' as if that explained anything.

Apparently it did, as Alien nodded. "Aight, got all of that. I'll be right back, lads." With that, he made his way behind the counter, and began to rummage around. The group could hear some muffled curses coming from him, accompanied by a few clatters.

At first, the skellington manning the counter didn't really pay attention, but when Alien accidentally dropped one of the mugs and it shattered to a thousand pieces on the floor, that quickly changed.

"Lucifer's soggy panties, are the boards loose again?" He grumbled in a thick Polish accent as he came over to see what the damage was. "Kurwa, looks like another cut's coming out of next month's check, just what I fucking needed…"

Whilst the Polish skeleton cleaned Alien's mess - complaining all the while - Sloth and Cletus saw their friend quickly slink away towards the back, frantically muttering to himself. Ralts simply snored away, blissfully unaware of what was happening around him.

The bell rang again. The Polish skeleton glared at the door for a split second and then jumped up, stiff as a board after recognizing who'd just walked in.

"Miss Pandemonica, welcome!"

"Get me the usual…" The one known as "Hell's greatest bureaucrat" and the Tired Demon mumbled before releasing a long, drawn-out yawn. She hobbled her way over to the closest chair she could find, and slumped down on it.

Sloth and Cletus stared at the demoness next to them, unsure of what to do.

"Perhaps we should vacate…?" Cletus suggested with a whisper, trying to not make any sudden moves.

Just as they tried to get up, a familiar figure emerged from the shop's back, carrying a tray full of cups. What surprised them was the fact that there were not three, not four, but five cups balanced on it.

The skeletal barista had to do a double-take as a tray passed in front of him, seemingly floating of its own accord, and then the cups proceeded to lay themselves out on the table where Pandemonica sat.

"Hold the fuck up…" He said as he squinted his eyes and raised a finger questioningly.

Surprisingly, one of the cups stopped in mid-air, and both it and the tray turned towards him.

"Janusz? Aren't you supposed to be starting tomorrow?"

The cup and tray moved to the sides, and floated up and down.

"By Baphomet's saggy goat tits, why aren't you wearing your uniform?

Another imitation of a shrug.

"Go get dressed, Boss might come in at any minute and then we'll both be in trouble."

The cup landed on the table, and the tray slowly floated into the back.

The smell of coffee roused Pandemonica. She lifted her head up just enough to spot the cup, and she immediately snatched it. At the first sip, her eyes widened farther than would seem possible.

"Just how strong did he make that coffee?" Cletus muttered as he watched the demon begin shaking ever so slightly from the caffeine buzz.

"Yes."

The Finnish man jumped, not having realized that his Italian friend had snuck up on him, now clad in a black sweater a size or two too small for his frame.

"C'mon lads, enjoy. I made it all with love~" he said, his face still a blank mask.

"That can be taken in all the wrong ways you know." Cletus says as he takes a careful sip from his mug.

Alien scoffed. "At least someone enjoys the fruits of my labor," he grumbled, motioning towards the demoness clutching her currently-empty cup.

Pandemonica's eyes locked onto him.

"More."

With a surprised blink, he went to take the cup from the demoness's hand, but she jerked it away from him, clutching it to her chest. "No. Give me more."

"Well, you heard the lady."

The man gave no other response, simply leaving the table to do as he was ordered. Just as he left their sight, the bell rang again.

Nobody else within the group could see who the newest patron was from the angle they were at, but judging by the skeleton's horrified expression, it wasn't exactly someone they'd want to meet.

"Oh kurwa mac…" The unfortunate Polish skellington managed to utter before his skull got obliterated, the fragments scattering onto the walls and floor behind him.

"That sounded like a shotgun." Cletus says with worry.

"How can you tell?"

"They make a distinctive kind of sound when fired." The group's firearms expert explains while rubbing his ears which had begun ringing as a result of the firearm going off within the enclosed space.

His words were further proved right by the clunky sound of a pump-action being operated, followed by the cluttering of a spent shell falling to the floor.

The group quickly noticed that Pandemonica was shaking with fear underneath the table.

"Wait, what's happening?" Ralts' gaze flickered between the demoness cowering next to his legs and his two companions.

Both Cletus and Sloth glanced over the side of their booth to see who it was that entered the establishment. Green combat armor, ash-grey helmet, powerful arms holding up a still-smoking shotgun, it was none other than...

"Whoa, isn't that motherfucking Doomguy?" Cletus, ever the fan of classic boomer shooters comments in awe. "He's got his green security armor and everything, not to mention the iconic Shotgun from the original nineties games..."

The other two were too transfixed on the new arrival to notice Pandemonica's whispers, but Ralts did manage to hear her repeating "Please don't find me" over and over again.

Cletus' commentary quickly drew the attention of the man in question, who turned to look at them. The lack of transparency with the helmet prevented the group from seeing the marine's expression, but the fact that his weapon wasn't pointed at their faces was taken as a sign of temporary non-hostility.

"Uh, hi?" Cletus greeted the man as he carefully got out of his seat. "You can probably tell that I'm not a demon right?"

The marine released an affirming grunt and nods.

"Okay, cool." The smaller man sighed in relief.

The marine then pulled out something from his pocket and showed it to the Finn. It was a slightly crumpled picture. The image was slightly out of focus, but one could easily recognize Pandemonica's cloud of hair.

Cletus looked towards Sloth and Ralts with a questioning look.

The diminutive Brit decided to speak up. "Sorry, can't say I ever saw her. What about you guys?" He asked, giving a pointed look to his friends.

"Nope, never seen her." Sloth said, taking a sip from his shot glass. He then grimaced.

Cletus had to fight against his own urges, to tell the truth, but ultimately he didn't want his friends to potentially suffer for lying so he shook his head.

"I haven't seen whoever that is either, sorry. We're kinda new around these parts."

Doomguy nodded slowly, putting the picture away. He then pointed to the group, tilting his head.

The trio looked at each other.

"I think he's asking about how and why we got here," Ralts guessed.

"That's a pretty complicated thing to answer," Cletus responded hesitantly. "But I'll try my best."

As the Finn began explaining what happened thus far on their journey in a long-winded manner, he was soon interrupted by Sloth downing his shot and slamming the glass on the table.

"One of our friends fucked up, we sold our souls by accident and now we're gonna kick ass to get 'em back. That's it."

"I guess you could explain it that way, yes."

"Also holy shit that tasted awful."

Everyone stared at the Canadian for a long moment, before slowly returning to their discussion.

With another nod, Doomguy pulled out a small card from another pocket, handing it over to Cletus. On it was a small pentagram, a picture of his face - sadly with the helmet on - along with the words "Flynn T. Blazkowicz, demon hunter, all-around badass and protector of humanity".

There was a part about being a proud pet owner but it had been scratched over in a clearly hasty manner.

While Cletus was examining the calling card, Doomguy walked past him to hand a pistol to Sloth. Then he stepped back, and gave a military salute. Ralts and Sloth hesitantly responded in kind, followed shortly behind by Cletus.

The marine froze mid-step, partially outside the door. He turned back to Cletus and produced yet another picture from somewhere. It looked much older than the previous one, and portrayed a fluffy brown rabbit in what he assumed was Doomguy's arms.

"What is…" The mortal man began before he got a better look at the picture. "Oh, hold on, is that Daisy?"

The marine tilted his head questioningly before leaning forward and grunting. Even through the opaque visor, Cletus could feel the intensity of Doomguy's stare on him.

"Look, I'm a big fan of your work. That's why I know, okay." Cletus quickly came up with an answer that was as close to the truth as he could be without giving too much information away.

Doomguy simply scratched his helmet in confusion in response to that. He then shook his head, and pulled up the picture again.

"I might have seen a little furball that may have been Daisy earlier outside the building, if you're lucky you might still be able to find her-" That was all he could get out, as the door was ripped off its hinges and the marine rushed away.

"Wow, that man really loves his pet bunny alright." The Finn mumbles in awe while looking at the remains of the establishment's entryway.

"Oh pashol nahui," groaned a voice nobody believed they'd hear again. "Now I have to fix my skull and the door? That's it, I quit!" The headless soul that was the bartender threw his apron on the ground, adding to the mess, and left the building.

Everyone looked at each other, unsure of what to make of the situation. That was when Alien decided to make their reappearance, holding a big pot of steaming coffee.

"What the actual fuck went down here?" He asked, looking at the wrecked café.

"Oh nothing much." Cletus said nonchalantly as he handed the Italian the calling card he was given. "Just had the green meanie himself waltz through the doorway, shoot the barista and impromptu interrogate us."

The Italo-Romanian man was upon him immediately. "You met The Doomguy? Wait, what did he ask- Nevermind that, you met Doomguy?"

"Yes." Was the other man's simple, deadpan answer.

"Drat, I was late."

"Actually," Sloth interrupted the two, "I think there's something we'd all like to know."

Everyone looked at him in confusion.

The man peered down under the table, and everyone's gazes followed his own, Alien only realizing then that there was a demoness down there.

"Why was he looking for you exactly?"

Feeling the weight of everyone's inquisitive stares, the not-so-tired-anymore demoness crawled out from under the table, and dusted herself off.

"I suppose that I do owe you at least an explanation in exchange for keeping quiet on my behalf. But only after you-" she pointed at Alien "-give me that coffee."

The man in question looked at the pot of coffee in his hand, then at the cup that was broken on the floor when she'd scrambled to safety.

"Oh by Beelzebub's rotten arsehole just give me the whole damn thing." The demoness said as she snatched the steaming hot pot from the fake barista's grasp and began guzzling down like no tomorrow.

The pseudo-mortals look on in amazement as the demoness empties the entire pot in one go with several audible gulps.

"Didn't think my coffee was that good," Alien joked.

"Your mudslides could use some work though." Sloth shook around the empty glass to accentuate his point.

"Eh, I worked in a cafe, not a bar. Never actually tried to make one of those."

"Can we get back on track?" Ralts pulled everyone's attention back to the demon in the room. "So, Doomguy and you?"

"Ah, y-yes," Pandemonica clamped down on her hand to stop the jitters. "Nobody really knows where he came from, but one day he simply appeared and began to kill demons, lost souls, anything that crossed his path." She sighed. "Thankfully Limbo is quite extensive, so I never had to worry about running away from him. But if he's here and searching for me…"

Everyone leaned forward a bit, the anticipation fraying their nerves.

"...He wants to go deeper into Hell. The only way for a mortal to go further is to have a demon accompany you, and as it stands I'm one of the very few left here." She buried her head in her hands, her whole body beginning to shiver anew.

Then she froze.

"You… you want to do the same, did I hear that right?" She asked.

"If it helps us get our souls back, yes."

"I mean…" Alien interposed himself between Cletus and Pandemonica. "We don't need to kill anyone. We just want to get our souls back. There's no reason for us to fight."

"Lucifer, right? She's the one you seek?"

"Aye."

"I'm afraid to say that you are on a fool's errand." Her gaze sweeped over the group of 'mortals' before her. "As you are, you have no chance to survive the deeper circles. Let alone garner an audience with Lady Lucifer. You'd be torn apart, eaten alive, or enslaved."

The demoness's dismissive tone cut through their confidence like a hot knife through butter.

"Do we have any other choice though?" Cletus asked grimly.

"Why yes-" she steepled her fingers, her gaze boring into Cletus. "-you could leave."

Everyone sighed in unison. Then, Alien stepped forward, standing right in front of Pandemonica.

"Not. A. Chance." He leaned down a bit, blank gazes meeting into a nonverbal battle. "We all came this far because I made a mistake, and I'll see myself chained into the worst place Hell has to offer before I give up. Who do you think you are to stop us?"

"...And your chances of success will be higher if we're there beside you." Added Sloth, lightly elbowing his friend.

"Someone needs to be there make sure you don't screw up and damn us all to living the rest of eternity as soulless husks." Cletus throws in his own two cents.

Alien sighed. "There you have it. Now." He straightened up. "You said that Doomguy would need you in order to go deeper into Hell. How about I cut you a deal?" He said, a grin growing on his face.

The demoness blinked. How could a mortal mimic a Demonic Grin (™) so well?

Regardless, she gave one of her own, her horns growing a bit in an attempt to cower the stubborn human. "A deal with a demon? You are either very brave, or have lost all your sanity. Humor me then, what is it that you want?"

Nobody would ever know it, but in that moment Alien felt ready to run away. Dealing with the usual idiot was fine, but a demon was another matter altogether.

But…

Everyone counted on him.

His eyes narrowed into a glare. "You help us get an audience with Lucifer. You help us survive until we get there, and will not fight us at any point. In exchange, we will do our best to keep Doomguy away from you, and…" He picked up the coffee pot, twirling it in his hand. "...wouldn't you want the chance to drink my coffee every morning?"

Neither said anything, both unwilling to back down. Alien felt beads of sweat trickling down his back, every instinct in his body ready to run away. But he could not, would not back down. Not ever.

"An interesting proposition," Began Pandemonica, her grin becoming somehow even sharper. "What if I were to disagree?"

A new wave of fear hit Alien, overshadowing everything he'd ever felt before. He almost collapsed, falling to the ground to beg for forgiveness.

Almost.

Instead, he laughed. "Then I would find someone else! Or hell, I might just be crazy enough to figure out a way through on our own!" He leaned back, spreading his arms out and channeling all his bravado into one last line. "You would regret it for the rest of eternity."

A tense silence filled the room.

Everyone waited with bated breath.

Then, a giggle filled the room. Pandemonica covered her mouth with the back of her hand, still staring at Alien.

"Very well then. I hope you are ready to suffer, because I won't go easy on you."

"Eh?"

"Well, you did promise me good-morning coffee, no?"

The three humans looked at Alien with gazes full of pity.

"Well, it was nice knowing you fam, hope you won't die from all the CBT she will subject you to." Cletus remarked half-jokingly.

"Oh, I see…" Immediately, Alien's demeanor changed, his confusion melting away. He gave Pandemonica a challenging glare. "Feel free to try."

On the flip side, Alien's mind was full-on screaming.

The office door creaked open. After a moment of fumbling around, Pandemonica found the light switch. It was a rather tiny room, the lack of space accentuated by the massive amount of loose paper, binders, and empty cups littering every surface possible. The smell of dust, ink, and coffee was thick, almost overwhelming to an average person. For Pandemonica, it was her world almost 24/7.

The demoness' eyes locked onto one specific pile of documents sitting in the middle of her desk. Almost mocking her with its presence.

"And to think I was just done going through that psycho's mess… he's efficient, I'll give him that." With a roll of her eyes, she proceeded to ignore them, telling herself that she'd deal with them at a later date - not like it mattered considering how many of Hell's denizens died on a daily basis from the slayer's rampages.

Instead, she navigated through the mess on the floor towards the many filing cabinets lining the back wall of her office.

"Who to start with," She muttered, idly gazing at the labels. With a shrug, she just opened the drawer marked with an 'A'. She would go through all four of the mortals anyway, might as well be orderly about it.

And after just a few moments, she was holding a dossier. It had a label, though its contents had been messily crossed off, and in a small corner, someone had written 'Alien'.

It was… surprisingly barren. Nothing extraordinary, just a boring old human. Except that he'd sold his soul to Lucifer, allegedly by accident, but she knew that part. So how was he able to stand up to a high-level Vótasi spell? He was nothing more than a walking corpse!

"Lady Pandemonica, these new reports just came in. It's an absolute disaster out there, the PR and HR departments are completely overwhelmed at this point and are demanding that we fix the situation or they walk!" The door burst open, showing one of the many interns running around Hell inc.

To be fair, everyone that wasn't a higher demon like her was classified as an intern until they received a sufficient level of seniority. For calling herself a CEO, Lucifer really had no idea how a company worked. Which then of course fell on her to fix, like everything else.

She simply motioned for the pile of the other reports, massaging her eyes. The intern quickly followed the unspoken order, leaving the reports and getting out of dodge as fast as she could.

Alone again, Pandemonica rummaged through the records again, finding files for each of the mortals. Just like Alien, their true names were scribbled out, replaced by those stupid nicknames they used for each other. If anything, it was a surprisingly smart move out of a bunch of mortals, to hide their true names from the eyes of Hell's Record Keeper.

...But how did they have the power to overcome her Domain?

They must have been helped by another High Demon, there was no other way. That restricted the list of suspects considerably, but she still wasn't that closer to finding out who would dare.

With a sigh, she resolved to put that aside for the moment, and do what she wanted to from the start. She dug out her telephone from one of the many piles of paper around, struggling a moment to hoist it up to her ear after she'd extended the ridiculously long antenna. She was sure they had some kind of spell to make things lighter, why couldn't anyone decide to make it standard-issue for those contraptions?

After a moment, she finally managed to compose the number, and waited for the other person to call. It took several long seconds, but she finally answered.

"So, is that little 'mass murderer' incident cleaned up?" Asked an unmistakably british voice, without even bothering so much as to say hi.

"Not yet, I'm afraid. I'm not bringing good news, Lady Lucifer."

"Uuurgh…" Hell's CEO, the most powerful demon in all of Underworld, the Morningstar, God's firstborn, groaned like a petulant teen. "Then what is it? Another complaint about the budget cuts? I'm telling you, all our souls are being spent as efficiently as can be! I only purchased two bottles of L'Rouge last week!"

Pandemonica glared at the wall, glad that her boss couldn't see the face she was making. "...No, that's not it. Although now that does explain where everyone's wages for the year went."

"Are you talking back to me? Are you saying I'm not running this magnificent company in the most sublime manner imaginable?"

"No ma'am, I would never, ma'am."

"Good."

"Still, about those news I mentioned. There's four other mortals running around. And at least one of them is powerful - or stubborn - enough to shrug off high-tier compulsions. And they seem friendly with said madman. They called him 'Doom guy', if you can believe that."

The line went quiet for a long time on the other end.

"...yes. The situation may be dire. May I ask for-" she didn't get to continue, as her words were drowned out by Lucifer's howling, hysterical laughter.

After a whole minute - she kept count - Lucifer finally calmed down enough to speak coherently.

"Did I hear you correctly?" She began, her tone even, as if she hadn't just laughed like a madwoman. "Doomguy, you said?"

"Er… yes?"

"And they're friendly with him."

"Yes."

"Can you describe these mortals to me?"

"Well, uh…" Pandemonica wracked her head for a moment, caught by surprise at her boss's sudden shift in demeanor. "One of them was really short, and slept most often than not. Another was slim, with really long almost-white hair. Their… 'leader', I assume, was portly and looked very pale and unkempt. Oh, and he had a gun with him."

The line was silent for another long moment, and Pandemonica began to inch away from the phone, fearing another round of laughter. Instead, she barely picked up on Lucifer's whisper.

"...And the last one?"

"Really tall, slightly pudgy, glasses-"

"-almost emotionless face, and incredibly stubborn," Lucifer echoed Pandemonica's words.

The Sadistic demon had to do a double-take.

"Do you know these people, ma'am?"

A dry chuckle came from the phone. "Personally? Only the last one. But I have all of their souls. 'A mistake', he said. 'You can keep mine, just give the others back', he said. He said he would find me, no matter what. And if they're friends with the Unchained Predator… they might just do that."

For once in her millennia-long life, Pandemonica was fully awake. But she couldn't relish in the feeling, as her mind was running a mile a minute, trying to make sense of the resignation and terror she could hear in her boss's usually flippant and prideful voice.

"I… I don't understand ma'am, what are you talking about?"

"Listen to me, Pandemonica. You need to get into the good graces of these mortals. Try to convince them to not sic the Hellwalker on us, or everything will be destroyed. I know you're only a few millennia old, but there are stories about that- that monster. It has destroyed countless versions of Hell, for ages on end. It does not rest, it only hunts and kills. Its rage is eternal, its crusade against demonkind unending. One does not simply stop the Doom Slayer."

"I mean…" she tried to come up with any ideas. "They're not traveling with this 'Slayer', so maybe we could just have them killed? They forced me to strike a pact with them so I cannot touch them, but there are many who could-"

"No! Absolutely not!"

"Ma'am?"

"If placed in a dangerous situation, and they survive? Then it won't be only the Scourge of Hell that we must worry about. They're Hollow, don't you understand? Corpses that live off of sin! If they learn to catalyze that sin, they can learn to use Vergehen to the same levels of a High Demon!"

Pandemonica almost dropped the phone in shock at the revelation. If that was true, then…

"Ma'am… I believe one of them may have already started to do it."

A long silence stretched out between the two of them.

"...It's Alien, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That… is not that bad, actually. He is very good-natured all things considered. His abilities should be rather minor, all things considered. It's the others that we should worry about."

"...So… what do I do?"

"Become their friend... and pray to Father that they agree."

Some of you may be aware of the failed fic that was "Music Gang Ruins the Multiverse". It was a doomed endeavor to start with: big cast, not enough people helping out, loss of interest.

So I decided "fuck it, I'll make a new and better one, with Blackjack and hookers." And here we are.

Big thanks to Cletus for helping me write this, without him this wouldn't have been even half as funny and chaotic as it is. Do check out his fic, "No Rest For The Wicked" on Questionable Questing. I haven't had a chance to catch up to the latest chapters, but I assure you it's a good read.

Here's to more madness to come. Cheers.