Author's note:

Hey everyone! Turns out I'm working on this thing, too! This one will be a little different, as it'll be a series of short stories centered around each of the 'main' kids and their interactions with good ol' Red Nightmare as they get caught up in his schemes! Fun for all.

This is yet another installment of my Achieving Heaven Through Hell series,so go give those a read if you haven't already.

A Peaceful Afterlife: Yoshikage Kira goes to the Happy Hotel to redeem himself. Antics ensue.

Helluva Job: I.M.P. accompany La Squadra on a seemingly impossible/suicidal mission. MAJOR shenanigans ensue.

Only the Results: Vinegar Doppio attends the Happy Hotel and everyone gets a LOT more than they bargained for.

Overdrive: Joseph Joestar navigates the troublesome ins-and-outs of an increasingly chaotic afterlife (WIP)

This story is a direct sequel to my previous fic Only the Results and therefore contains MAJOR spoilers, so if you haven't read that one yet, go ahead and give it a look and a like.

Content warning: This series will deal with themes of child abuse and child exploitation while not explicit in any way, it may be disturbing for some readers, so please exercise care and caution when reading


Get Out Alive

Part 1: Setty

Chapter 1: Dickensian

The box-truck bounced slightly as it rolled over a jaywalker, a particularly wretched-looking draconian creature festooned with bracelets and necklaces of shiny stainless steel washers and polished shards of glass. Its scaly, emaciated form crumpled like a tumbleweed under the spinning wheels with a likewise similar dry crunch. The driver, a lanky, tallish Sinner who resembled a cross between a newt and some manner of feathered reptile, whistled and laughed.

"See that? That was a drake," he said, turning to his burly companion. "There's a type of Hellborn we don't see up here much. They's from Lust, see? We had one a while back. Good earner, but hard to put up for adoption since no one wants the fuckin' things! Not even Valentino!"

His companion, a larger, well-built sea-demon in a creosote-black suit and red tie, said nothing. The driver glanced over at the fishy stoic, stroking the fleshy barbels that hung from the sides of his mouth and down off his chin, giving him the impression of a 1920s Yellow Peril villain. The guy was big, but not so much as to be exceptional in the Hellscape, and strong-looking in some undefinable way. Sure, he had the build of a heavyweight boxer, but that shit didn't matter much in Hell. No, the guy felt strong, carrying a strange sort of weight to him. In Hell, it was best to trust one's intuition with this sort of thing.

He was also quite the looker, with hard chiseled features and long, pretty rose-colored tentacles for hair, tied in a neat shoulder-length pony-tail save for the playful one serving as his bangs, curling across his forehead in a cowlick. The Sinner wryly noted that this more than anything was the root of Belladonna's decision to hire him. The horny old goat loved her eyecandy, even if, to his knowledge, she rarely ever sampled. Lady Belladonna, or 'Ma' as they called her, hired the big galoot allegedly as extra muscle without consulting any of them. This was typical of Ma, though. She spared about as much thought to her employees' opinions as she did the kids'. In other words, sweet Fred Astair. Still, it paid to get to know the new meat.

"So, uh, Red Nightmare, was it?" He said, smirking. "I know that name. Sheeeit, that was an impressive tear. What happened with that? Catch the blackjack dealer cheatin'?"

Red glanced at him out the corner of his eye, smirking. "I suppose you could say I had it out for the housekeeping."

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha!" He laughed, slapping his knee. "That's for sure! Hey, I don't think we was properly introduced. My name's Watkins, Eye Watkins, I'm Ma's Street Manager. Guess we'll be seein' a lot of each other, eh?"

"I'm sure we will, Mr. Watkins," said Red, his smirk blossoming into a shark-toothed smile before he turned back to stare out the window. "What can I expect?"

Eye Watkins puffed at this, failing to recall the last time someone who wasn't some brat called him 'Mr. Watkins'. "Normally, I'd say you can expect to sit on your ass and play witcher self. Like, maybe you get called in to rough up some Fagins and Goldies time to time, but–"

"Fagins and Goldies?"

"Fagins is what we call small-time pickpocket and beggar gangs, usually led by some scumbag adult or Sinner, yeah? Used to be one, myself! A Fagin, that is. Still a Sinner. Led my own little gang before I got recruited by Ma."

"Ah," grunted Red, amused. "Dickensian."

"Whuh?"

"Fagin the Jew was the ringleader of the pickpockets in Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens."

"Huhn." Eye Watkins eyed up the apparently brainy muscle. "If you say so, Professor. Anyway, that's what Fagins is, those kids usually scrap with ours for beggin' spots and the prime pickin' fields. You just have to show up and crack a few heads and they fuck off. Goldies is a bit more dangerous. They's girls and twinks what operate without a pimp or mistress. Unionized hookers, see? They usually pay rent to larger gangs, but they run their shit democratic-like. Ma usually keeps 'em in check by offerin' 'em our aged-out products when the time comes, but them roughin' up our wares for the best trawlin' spots ain't uncommon. They can be mean and armed, so sometimes it's worth it just to pay 'em off instead of scrappin'."

"I see." Red craned his head as they crested an overpass, looking to the countless glowing fires far, far away. PC Central was burning, the high columns of thick black corpse-smoke a veritable forest on the horizon. The Fifth Great Turf War well into its tenth day and showed no signs of slowing down. "You said 'normally', before."

"Ayuh," Watkins grunted, nodding. "Ma's lookin' to expand our operations now that all the important backs is turned. Remember what she said this mornin'? 'In every crisis is an opportunity' she says, like she's the first person to ever say it. The ways she sees it, I figger, is that every ganglord and Overlord sees free real estate and runs off for that, leavin' small operations like ours to cut into their asses and make some gains. If the turf they gain in Central is juicy enough, they're more'n likely to let us move into their backyard."

"Risky," said Red, pursing his full lips and tapping them. "Even with the leaders dead, PC Central has a high concentration of powerful demons. The fighting will be fierce, enough so that even larger organizations will have to dedicate much of their manpower to taking and keeping territory. If it were me, I'd dispatch a select few operatives to guard the backyard, bring the Fagins and Goldies to heel, and chase off scavengers like us."

"Uh-huh?" Eye Watkins said, now acutely aware of that curious weight that seemed to emanate from the newbie. "You got, like, experience with gangs or somethin'?"

Red turned to face him, his toothy smile not at all friendly. "Or somethin'."

Desperately wanting to change the subject, Eye Watkins cleared his throat. "So, uh, what brings you the 'Donna? I bet Von Eldritch's offer is still on the table. Good money in that, for sure! So, why're you here?"

"Too much… attention, and I didn't exactly make friends with the patrons of that establishment," said Red. "Figured I'd try and keep a low profile for a bit. This operation, as it is, survives by maintaining a low profile but has ample room for expansion. I guess you could say I see a lot of potential at the 'Donna."

Eye Watkins considered this for a second, confused. His reptilian mind strained for a logical explanation.

Oh!

Of course!

"Oh, yeah!" Eye Watkins said, smirking lowly. "The pay may suck, but free room and board! Not to mention the, uh, benefits."

Red arched an eyebrow at this. "Benefits? Like, what, dental or…?"

Eye Watkins threw his head back and guffawed, slapping his hands on the steering wheel. "Haw haw haw! Dental! That's a good one! Haw haw! You're a funny guy, Red!"

Red stared at him blankly, causing his laughter to die off. "Heh… well, y'know…" He nodded his head to the back of the cabin, to the box containing the 'product'. "Employee discount, like? We don't tell Ma, right, it's kinda an unspoken thing at the 'Donna. Me? I prefer 'em with their sellin' points grown in, but the Carriage House has somethin' for everyone, if you get me."

He turned to leer out the driver's side window at a pair of scantily clad succubi strolling down the street. He didn't notice the enormous, taloned hand slowly reaching over for him, a mirror-polished Seraphim Steel gauntlet appearing on it in flashing segments as those deadly claws reached for the nape of his neck.

"Yessir… eheh heh heh…" He chuckled. "Somethin' for every–whoop! Shit! This is our stop!"

The box-truck squealed to a stop as it pulled over to the sidewalk, various cars and motorcycles swerving to avoid it with a shrill peal of horns and vitriol. The truck rolled up onto the curb, its growling diesel engine chugging to a stop.

"Alright, we're here!" Eye Watkins said, plopping a cigarette between his lips as he picked up a tire iron. "Time to let out the merchandise. C'mon I'll show–"

He turned to see the seat empty, he couldn't recall hearing the door slam shut. "Uhhh… kay."


Setty stood shoulder to shoulder with her street team in the stuffy darkness of the box. About two dozen of them could fit into these trucks, half on the floor, half hanging from the ceiling by their tails. Imps and succubi/incubi mostly, but also a smattering of other Hellborn such as satyrs and hellhounds. At 17 years old, she was the senior of the box. Indeed, she was the senior of the entire orphanage. Normally, her ilk were sold off before now, sent to work in clubs or for Overlords looking for pre-trained talent, but not Setty. Lady Belladonna saw in her a talent, a resource to be exploited, not only in her skills at the job, but in training and maintaining the others. They looked up to Setty, and would do for her willingly what the Old Goat could only manage with a belt.

'Useful'.

If Setty could call herself anything, it was 'useful'.

The truck swerved and rolled to a stop, jostling them in the dark. They were at their stop. She steeled herself for the unpleasantness to come. Sure enough, an infernal banging filled the cramped box as that utter bastard Eye Watkins pounded the metal sides with his trusty tire-iron.

"Look a-LIVE ladies!" He crowed from the outside. "Limber up and grab yer mints, it's workin' time!"

Groans and hushed curses filled the air between bangs, the latch clacked and the door rolled up, the light stinging their eyes. The unwelcome sight of Eye Watkins' moist, lumpy face greeted them as he pulled out the ramp. They filed out, eyes ahead as the leering Sinner counted them, 'encouraging' a select few with a clap on the rump. Once they were all out, Setty led them to the sidewalk, muttering instructions to some of the newer talent. Eye Watkins pushed the ramp back in and closed the door, making room for a second box-truck to pull up behind them. He gurgled a laugh and set off for the second truck, iron in hand.

"Ixie, you've smudged your foundation…" she said to a feminine incubus, prompting him to reach into his purse and pull out his mobile kit. "Red number six, it goes with your–hold on."

Eye Watkins chuckled as he walked alongside the truck, winding tire-iron back over his left shoulder and swinging hard. "Waaakeeey-wakey, munchkins! Time for your–"

His empty hand smashed into the metal sheet at full force with a low, meaty thud.

"OWWW! FUCK!"

He spun around to see Setty, his tire-iron in her hand. She locked him with a withering glare as she strutted over to the back. She shoved the rolling door up and pulled out the ramp as a trickle of ratty little beggars, younger kids, filed out. These ragamuffins were a little more diverse than her crew, consisting of pretty even numbers of imps, succubi, and hellhound pups. She was always impressed at how many of the critters they could fit in the back of these big ugly trucks. Fifty? Over forty, anyway. Once the last of the kids hand left, out hopped Syx.

At 16, he was the second-oldest kid at the 'Donna, and served more or less her role but for the minor army of thieves, beggars, and boosters. A dour, sour-faced imp, Syx was tall for his age and species. Five feet at the top of his crew-cut head, easily five and a half with his curved, caprine horns. Covering his eyes were a pair of opaque, black tea-shades, lending him a somewhat bohemian air when paired with his long, flowing duster coat. Behind them, if one were to look closely they would see what looked to be horizontal spindle-shaped markings across each eye. One could be forgiven for mistaking these for tattoos of some type.

They weren't.

"Thank you." He signed, deploying his telescoping steel walking stick.

"Evil-Eye's in a showoff mood," she muttered, sneering as she tossed the tire-iron aside. "Must be because of the new guy."

"Take no shit," Syx signed, deftly hopping up onto the sidewalk, weaving through the crowd as though they weren't there.

A hand grabbed her roughly by her bare shoulder, spinning her around. Setty unconsciously bared her teeth at the unprompted, unexpected contact. An icy wave of revulsion washed over her like a splash of cold sewage. His clammy hand felt as though it would leave a greasy stain on her very skin. She held herself in check, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort and disgust.

"You little bitch!"

'Evil' Eye Watkins loomed over her, his mustache-like barbels curling with indignant rage, his sore hand squeezed into a fist as he shook it in her face. "I coulda broke my hand!"

She eyed him up, visibly unimpressed. "Ha ha."

He opened his fist and wound it back. "You fuckin'–!"

She closed her eyes and braced for the slap, her expression still flatly contemptuous as she waited for it to land.

And waited.

She opened her eyes to see Eye Watkins gawping up and over his shoulder, his forearm clasped in the massive, studded fist of the new guy. Eye Watkins was a tallish demon, a touch under seven feet and lanky in a way that made him seem taller. Among the kids, he was absolutely towering. But this new guy was no kid. Red was tall, eight feet at least, and strongly built, like a boxer or maybe those gym-types that like the petite girls at the Carriage House.

Evil Eye didn't seem so big anymore.

"W-what're you…?" Eye Watkins squeaked, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow. He jumped slightly as he noticed that every set of eyes was on him, from the kids to the other 'Donna staff, and cleared his throat, affecting a deeper tone. "Hey! What gives, Red?"

"Just reminding you," Red said, his tone and smile pleasant, but his green eyes glowed like lanterns in his shadowed face as he loomed. "Not to damage the merchandise."

"Feh!" Eye Watkins tugged his slender arm from his hand, hoping he didn't betray the dull ache that throbbed there. "This one ain't workin'. She's just here to show the new meat where it goes and where to stick it!"

Setty started when Red turned his gaze on her, such jumpiness wholly unlike her but quite uncontrollable. She felt his eyes give her a quick scan; her wardrobe, a high-cut pink satin skirt with tattered black leggings and a midriff-bearing low-cut sweater and tank-top combo, left little to the imagination, and her flowing platinum hair was impeccably styled. She looked dolled up, an understandable assumption to make.

"Ah," said Red after a while. "I see."

"Do ya, now," Evil Eye grumbled, skulking off towards the other staff members. "Setty, you and Syx give the brats their orientation, introduce 'em to Red here, and get to work!"

With that he slunk away, muttering to himself, shooting her a rueful glare that promised reparation later.

"Does he hit you often?"

Setty spun around, glaring up at the Sinner. "What's your deal, Big Shoots? You expectin' a 'thank you'? Evil Eye'll have his way sooner or later, all you've done is made it worse."

Red said nothing, his expression flat and disinterested.

"I didn't need you to step in, anyway," Setty scoffed, jabbing her thumb at Evil Eye as he smoked with the staff members. "That pussy hits like a girl."

Evil Eye growled and flipped them both off. A harsh rapping filled the air as Syx hammered on a trash can with his cane. The assembled orphans stood at attention in neat lines according to their teams.

"C'mon," Setty grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

Setty stood before the assembled 'Donna residents, Syx on her left and Red on her right. Syx began to sign to the crowd, Setty, barely needing to look at him, narrated: "Alright, boys and girls, here's the deal. As you all have noticed, we're in a different block than normal. The Boss Lady sees some openings and wants us to get our foot in the door and expand our operation. This means we'll be running into Fagins and Goldies more often, and maybe even a few gangs, so stay on your toes and try not to attract too much attention. This morning, some of you were given these." Setty reached into her purse and produced a cheap Hellphone. "One for every grift'n'grab team, one for every pair of walkers. Hold on to these, don't lose them, or they're coming out of your earnings. If there's trouble, real bad trouble, you press this center button three times, like this."

She pressed the button three times, slowly, at half-second intervals. Next to her, the burly Sinner stepped forward, reaching into his breast pocket and producing a much nicer Hellphone.

"Mr. Red's phone tells him where you are at all times. Mr. Red is the Boss Lady's new negotiator. If any of you get in trouble, press the button three times like that and Mr. Red will come and sort it out. Team leaders, it's on you to keep an eye on your teammates and make the call. Only call if it's something you can't handle, that goes double for you walkers, Red's not here to shake down Johns. Just like yesterday and the day before, just like tomorrow and the day after, you all watch each other's backs. We're all we got. Understood?"

A strong, affirmative 'huh!' rose up among the children and they filed out to do their work, Setty's 'girls' pairing up and setting out as the ragamuffins broke off into teams of five and fanned out through the alleys and across the street.

"Good speech, Syx," said Setty, smirking. "You really know how to run a crowd."

"Klk," Syx clicked, taking off down the trash-strewn alleyway before effortlessly scaling the fire-escape, disappearing over the roof.

"One click means 'yes'," said Setty, turning to Red. "I'm gonna go shadow the new girls. Don't wait up."

Red said nothing as she strutted down the sidewalk


The day went by as they usually did. Setty watched her wards as they stood around, displaying their wares, practicing their allure. It was a simple sell for the succubi and incubi, practically second nature, but she'd taught the hellhounds and imps well. The closest thing to interesting was when a John, a tubby imp, tried to 'dine and dash' on Ixie and Trell, her best pair of incubi 'girls', only to get tripped by a heavy steel chain hiding in a feather boa and beaten on the ground by the pair. Sash, a long-legged impess with a cracked horn and manic smile, stepped in with her icepick, only to be bade 'stop' by Setty from across the street. Ixie's chain and Trell's coin-rolls in a sock were teaching him plenty, to say nothing of the steel-capped high-heels the 'girls' were slamming into his ribs. Sash was enthusiastic, though, Setty would give her that.

After the John had been robbed and sent on his way, limping and bleeding, things settled down. Setty sighed and lit up another cigarette. They were learning quickly, these girls. She doubted Boss Lady would want her out here another day. Back to the Carriage House, back to… work. She shuddered openly and shook her head, her skin crawling. She always enjoyed these vacations, these reprieves from the unending grabbing hands, greasy touches, hot breath and tongues and…

She felt her gorge rise as her heart thundered in her chest. She was still for a while, breathing in… and out. In… and out. She brought the cigarette to her full, black lips and took a drag, savoring the flavor as it chased away the bile. There was no helping it. No helping it. No… no way out. One more year and she'd be out of the 'Donna, and then what? More of the same, only then she'd be just another succubus, a nobody, yet another bed-warmer for some gangster or brothel owner. If she lucked out, she could land a position at Vice Incorporated and spread sin on Earth, not that that prospect held any sort of allure. What would she do? What could she do?

"Fuck this…" She muttered, heading down the street. "I wonder what Syx is up to…"

She passed by a few of her compatriots, the little beggars did their best to look cute and pathetic with big liquid eyes and hopeful moues. The older ones did acrobatic routines, usually in pairs, backflips and handstands and somersaults. Others would perform magic tricks and sleight-of-hand, making objects disappear and reappear in unlikely locations. One of the boys, a hellhound, had a fiddle on which he belted out crude but enthusiastic music while others danced. Change and bills flew into the upended hats and tin cups. Even in Hell, people could be moved by the amusing antics of cute kids. Then were the sifters, boys and girls who had mastered the art of being too pathetic to look at, easily slipping by pedestrians and cleaning out their pockets and purses with thin, nimble fingers. One such sifter, a female satyr named Tosh, brushed by her. Setty's long heart-tipped tail suddenly wrapped around her ankle and yanked her feet out from under her. The little grifter squeaked as Setty effortlessly lifted her off the ground by the ankles, her hand out.

"S-sorry, Setty!" Tosh said, bashfully returning her wallet. "F-force a'habit."

"Where's Syx?"

She pointed to the roof of a building across the street. "Up there, keepin' an ear out."

Setty unceremoniously dropped her and crossed the street. While she wasn't a damned gecko like Syx, she made short work of scaling the building and was soon on the roof, looking around. Syx would often find the closest thing to a center of his kids' area and get as high up as he could. The blind mute could hear a gnat fart a block away, and the height let the wind carried smells and more. He could effectively keep tabs on most of his kids this way. Setty sourly noted that Boss Lady probably wouldn't ever give Syx the boot, he was just too good at his job, too stolid and dependable. The fact that he was easily the best pickpocket, lockpick, and acrobat this side of Greed no doubt also factored into this. Setty mused he may just break the mold and get hired on as staff!

Now only if he'd smile more…

She looked around the roof, finding Syx perched on the corner parapet, ear cocked.

"Setty," he signed over his shoulder as she approached, not looking back. "Quiet. Come listen."

She padded over, even in heels and on the gritty tarpaper of the roof, she learned long ago how to be Syx's kind of 'quiet'. She set her rump upon the parapet next to where the imp boy was perched. She drank him in for a moment. She'd often find herself just looking at him as he sightlessly took in his surroundings. He wasn't handsome, a little plain, if anything, with deep red skin and a rounded, snoutless face. Setty realized long ago she was well beyond caring about such things as looks. Some of her regulars could be considered 'babes', according to the other girls, not that their touch made her any less sick. Besides, she liked the way Syx looked, it played well with his calm, cold demeanor. He kept himself neat and tidy, probably because he could feel it when something was out of place. His hair, bone-white like most male imps, was dense and curly, carefully cropped into an angular crew-cut. Sometimes she'd wonder how he'd look if he grew it out. Murci, her best friend at the Carriage House, would joke with her that he could probably rock an immaculate afro, complete with a little comb stuck in it. She felt like giggling at this, like always, but stifled it. Syx was listening to something.

She cocked her head to listen, surprised when she could detect voices coming from the alley below. If she could hear them, she bet Syx could feel their heartbeats or something. Careful not to make a sound, she turned to look down, seeing the staff-members. Three of them, Eye Watkins and the other drivers - she never bothered to remember their names - stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the exit. Standing opposite them was Red, his arms crossed over his chest. Their conversation drifted up as though on an updraft.

"...anna last 'round here, you're gonna have to learn to play ball," said one of the drivers, standing to Eye's right. "Actin' like you're better'n us ain't gonna get you far!"

"These things only unnerstan one thing, pal," said the guy on the left, brandishing his fist. "Like a mongrel dog, ya gotta put 'em inner place when they yap! That little slut is Ma's best girl, but the second she starts letting that get to 'er head… whap! Correction, like."

Red said nothing.

"Aw, what?" Sneered Eye Watkins. "We offend you or somethin'? What? You think these things is kids? They ain't! They ain't even human, never was! They're product, y'hear? Merchandise. They're here to make us money, one way or another. The sooner you learn that, the easier this is for everyone!"

Red said nothing. In fact, he didn't even seem to be listening. Curiously, he appeared to be looking over them, to the mouth of the alley, as though expecting something.

"Klk klk," Syx said, leaping over to the street-facing parapet with that familiar eerie grace, snapping his fingers. "Setty. It's Ixie."

She scrambled to him and leaned over the parapet, gasping at what she saw. Ixie was stumbling down the street, his fishnet top in tatters, the weaponized feather boa stripped to the chain and wrapped around his slender neck in a crude garrote. His right hand was clasped to his face as tears ran down one cheek, and blood down the other.

"M-m-muh-Mister Red!" He sobbed. "Mister Red!"

Setty's eyes narrowed and she leapt off the roof, her small wings flapping, useless for flight but suitable for gliding and soft landings. She set down in front of the disheveled incubus.

"Ixie," she said, her tone low and dangerous. "What happened?"

The lad sobbed something, hand still clasped over his right eye. She reached up and pulled it away, hissing at what she saw: over the incubus' right eye and onto his cheek was what looked to be three Vs stacked atop one another, burned into his flesh. A branding.

She knew who did this.

"Th-they–" Ixie sobbed. "They have Trell!"

Syx was at her side in an instant as Red and the others walked uselessly out of the alley. Setty spared them no notice, reaching into her boot and producing a long, thin stiletto. She roughly pulled Ixie's chain from his neck and wrapped it around her hand and forearm before taking off down the sidewalk. She heard Syx click twice for 'no' as she ran. She didn't care. No one treated her girls like this and got away with it. No one.

Red marched up to the sobbing teen sitting on the sidewalk as Syx cast a comforting arm about his shoulders, Ixie seemed to be trying to curl in on himself. Wordlessly, he knelt down and grabbed the lad's chin, forcing his face up. A branding, and a familiar one, too. The stacked, stylized Vs in a circle were the calling card of the Vees, the three Overlords Vox, Valentino, and Velvet. The placement of the brand and its target was no coincidence. This was a message.

"Heh, looks like some Goldies roughed you up, eh, boy?" Eye Watkins snorted. "That'll learn ya to sell too hard! Shame they uglied you up so much, guess it's the gloryholes for you, twink!"

"This brand," said Red, pointing to it. "It's the Vees'."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, naw. Goldies do that sometimes," said Eye, waving dismissively. "Brand up our wares like they's some bigshot Overlord to scare us off their turf. It's always a load a'shit. Haw haw! What'd they use, Ixie? The good ol' coathanger and lighter routine?"

"They make coathangers out of Seraphim Steel?" Red rumbled, pointing to the wound, to the sizzling, purified tissue there.

Eye Watkins processed this information for a second, his smile dropping like a stone as his face paled, skin becoming somehow more clammy. "Y-you mean it's… legit?"

Red nodded and stood up straight. "They do this to tell their rivals they're moving in. Spoils the wares."

"Fuck." Eye Watkins turned back to the other street staff. "Fire up the trucks! We's gettin' the fuck outta here right now!"

"Belay that," Red said, pulling out his phone and sending a general summons to all the phones on his list. "Warm up the trucks and load up the kids. You'll wait until I get back."

"Fuck the kids!" Eye Watkins spat. "I ain't gettin' skinned alive for no brats!"

"Ma'll do worse than skin you for losing so many earners," Red muttered, tapping at his phone, the locator on Setty's and Trell's phones were still working. "You will stay put until I get back."

"I lost? I lost?! HA!" Eye Watkins and his lackeys marched up to him, his eyes glinting like broken glass. "You lost 'em, Red! This was your job! Even if we do wait for the brats to come back, this little slut's too cut up for anything but handies and gloryholes! His buttbuddy's prolly gettin' cut into lunchmeat as we speak! And Setty, I hate the little cooze, but she's our best earner, runnin' off to get skinned alive and–"

Red did not bother to look as he swung his massive arm out in a backhand, the Seraphim Steel gauntlet blurred into a shining arc. There was a sound not unlike a steak being dropped on a steel sheet as metal met flesh. Eye Watkin's head spun about on his shoulders, making two whole rotations before sagging to a stop, backwards. He was face to face with his shocked coworkers, his eyes darting between them as though trying to understand what happened. His confused expression slackened as his eyes flashed, the fetid soul annihilated. Eye's head sagged down his back, his neck resembling a meaty cord wound tight, dragging the corpse off balance. The other drivers gasped and stepped back, the realization of what just happened suddenly dawning on them.

"Warm up the trucks and load up the kids," said Red, airily, helping Ixie to his feet. "I'll be back shortly with Setty and Trell."

He did not wait for them to respond and made his way down the sidewalk, his pace leisurely. He snapped his fingers with a gunshot report. "Syx. If they try to leave before we get back, call me."

Syx 'glanced' back at the trembling, stunned adults, the barest curl forming at the corner of his mouth. "Klk."


Author's Note:

Well, I don't think anyone's gonna miss that guy.

So, this story has 5 chapters that I'll be posting weekly, it's currently completed, but I like to have a backlog of content to work with.