"An' so I said to 'em… ya can go shove dat cellphone up yer ass!"
Two imps laughed raucously. They were older, more muscular, unrelated to the ones affiliated with IMP. They sat in chairs that looked like they would collapse under the weight, and the building they were in was little different from the one Joe and Lin owned. The only differences, in fact, were their purpose. Little knick knacks on shelves. A front counter with a rusty cash register. Outside the windows, a few gas pumps. A black van with its gas cap exposed and screwed off, the nectar of refined petroleum flowing in.

"Aaah, shit… we got a customer over there! Looks like a city slicker."
"…IMP. What kinda trash is that?"
"Never seen 'em here before." One of the attendants looked towards the shotgun under their counter. "Hope they behave themselves."
The gas cap is screwed back on, closed, and the man filling the van up turned to the building. "…ah, relaaax, it's just Joe and Lin's farmhand up the street. He ain't any harm to us." The attendant exhaled in relief as he said that, but the other was still tense, staring at the assassin as he walked up to the door. A little physical chime as the tan imp walked in, not bending his back at all but rather pivoting with his hips.

A look with his hypnotic yellow eyes through the building. Checking for rooms. Exits. Windows. A few seconds pass before he even acknowledges the attendants. "Howdy. Ya don't got a phone I could use, do ya?"
"We gots a payphone over there, it's just in the back."

"Aaah." Striker practically hissed that word out. "Thank ya."
The cowpoke, without any sort of hesitation, drew his revolver out of a shoulder holster. Both attendants ducked. Bang. A blessing-tipped round hit one of them in the shoulder, practically blowing their arm off. Bang. Another one hit the head, taking a chunk of skull and brain off with it. Bang bang. The tan imp tried to hit the attendant under the counter as they reached for their shotgun.

The crack of wood splintering under the counter, the murderer hit with a couple of pellets to the leg. He falls to the ground. "Ahfff… you motherfucker…!" He crawls back. The attendant pops out while the assassin shakily aims his revolver with one hand.

Bang. Blood splattered on the window beside the attendant and he slumped to the floor, slamming down onto it with a loud thud.

Silence. All Striker could hear was the ringing of his ears and his own chest heaving up and down. He used the counter to pull himself back up, put his revolver away, and hobbled towards the phone.


An ornately-decorated house, filled with servants as far as the eye could see. Bluish-purple colouring with golden and white detailing. Star motifs. A Goetian legion patrolling the outside of the house.

Two Goetia sitting at a table where there used to be three. A mostly silent dinner, the food opulent yet the enjoyment spartan. Stella spoke first. "Are you ready for Petri Crucem?"
Octavia slowly nodded. She was looking hard at her plate as if the food would whisk her away from her current situation.

Stella twisted her lips, looking at Octavia judgementally. "Are you absolutely certain? All of the Assembly's eyes are going to be on you, Octavia. All of Hell's eyes are going to be on you. As heiress apparent to the estate-"

"Yeah, sure, mom, I get it." Dismissive, spat out without much regard for what Stella was saying.
"Do you? Do you really?" Her temper was beginning to boil… before the loud ringing of a phone knocked her out of it. "Oh, hold on, I'll get it." She stood up, walking over, and put it to her ear. "Stella."
"Where's my money?"
The widow blinked a few times, looking over to Octavia, before whispering into the phone. "…where the fuck were you, it's been a goddamn month-"

"I'm here now. Where's my money?"

Stella looks at her daughter. A few seconds pass. Octavia stared back at her, before standing up and walking to her room. Her door slammed shut. "…your money's coming. I don't have it yet."
The tan imp, standing in the back of a derelict gas station, emptied of life, grit his teeth on the other end. "What do ya mean ya don't have it? You're a fuckin' Goetia, you got the money."
"…look, I know it's strange but… tomorrow. We're heading to the Assembly, Octavia's going to inherit the estate, and I'm hoping either my brother or I are appointed as regent. We'll have the money then, though it's going to take a while to embezzle it all-"

Striker punches the wall beside him, grunting. "That wasn't the deal and you know that wasn't the deal! After I whack the motherfucker, you pay me, that's how this shit works!"
"Yeah!? Yeah!? Well, if you want the money so fuckin' bad, kill my daughter! Yeah, just fuckin' murder her, then maybe the estate will go to us instead of her!" Stella angrily hangs up the phone, receiver roughly clacking against the plastic.

Striker could only hear a tone from the other end. He glared at the receiver before absolutely assaulting it with the phone, plastic against plastic, over and over, cracking pieces off as he grit his teeth and screaming in an all-out release of both anger and frustration. "Motherfucker!" He threw the phone against the wall, letting it bounce back and dangle on its wire, before limping away slowly.


So much blood. Blood on the driveway, blood dragged into the house, rag after soaked rag haplessly tossed aside as the imps try desperately to staunch the profuse loss of fluids. "Lin! LIN! GET MORE GAUZE, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Every breath came the bubbling of a collapsed lung, every pump of her heart a gush of liquid.

Millie was pressing down with all her might, soaking what she could up with the materials she had. Her clothes were covered with arterial spray. Once one rag, one gauze was completely saturated with red, she tossed it, replacing it with something dry. "Shit… shit… she's really gushin' here!"
Joe was feeling around in the wound cavity, getting his hands dirty, feeling for arteries to clamp off. "Keep it up, Mills… what's your man doing in there!?"

Moxxie was in the kitchen. He was concocting something. Both of the imps tending to Loona were concerned, since his role was to keep Loona breathing and hydrated… now there was no water going into her. He rushed back, a funnel connected by a plastic tube, along with a bowl of clear fluid now nestled in his hands and arms. He was holding something else in his palms, but it was hard to discern what. "Okay, okay, hold on…" He placed it to Loona's side, revealed the object… a rusty meat injector.

Millie looked over to her husband. "The hell are ya doin'?"
Moxxie tied a bloody rag around one of Loona's arms, using it as a tourniquet and roughly patting the crook of her elbow. "Tryin' to get some fluids in her."
Millie was looking at her husband like he had two heads. "By injectin' her with that!?"
"You got any better ideas, hun, I'd love to hear them." Millie looked for a moment before letting out a sigh. Moxxie unscrewed the needle portion from the meat injector, shoving the plastic tube over it, as much as he could to make a seal.

Lin walked back in with an assortment of clothes, sheets, gauze, and fabric window blinds, dumping them next to Millie. Moxxie snapped his fingers and pointed to her. Lin rushed over to him. "What'd ya need?"

Moxxie gave her the funnel. "Hold it up, pour that water into it." Lin did what she was told, and immediately, clear fluids began flowing out of the needle. Moxxie felt for the largest vein, lined the squirting needle up, and pushed it in, grabbing some dry gauze and lightly wrapping it around to secure it. The bloody tourniquet was untied, the veins grew less prominent, and Moxxie disappeared into the kitchen again. "We need to keep pouring fluids in!"

In the kitchen. He grabbed another bowl, running the tap. Slammed it against the counter, grabbing a box of table salt. Sprinkled as much as he thought was necessary. He took a spoon, frantically stirring the solution around. The imp took the spoon out, grabbing the bowl by both hands, and marched as quickly as he could back into the room. "Okay, I got another batch." Placed down next to where the other bowl was. The other bowl. It was put down? It still had fluid in it.

Moxxie looked up. All three of the imps were staring at him solemnly. They weren't doing anything. Loona was no longer bleeding. No longer breathing. They all turned their heads to look at the hellhound. Joe took his hands out of the wound, and Millie started removing the rest of the gauze.

There was no hope for her recovery. She was dead the moment that round hit her heart.