The tires of a tractor slowly ground to a halt on the barely-paved asphalt in front of a decaying gas station. An imp couple, seething with rage, following the trail. The first one to step out was the husband, gritting his teeth, marching in with reckless abandon. The wife practically jumped. "Hey, wait, Moxx…!"

Moxxie kicked the door open, almost taking it off of its hinges. "Where is he? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE!?" He marched in, swinging his head and body around, angrily looking at every corner of the building. Silence. Pure, unabating, filling the room. "…fuck. Fuck! FUCK!"
Millie ran in, patting her husband's shoulder. "Hey, hey! Look, Moxx, I know ya wanna get this guy, I do too, but ya can't just… charge in like that!"

"Oh, who gives a rat's ass, I'll rip his goddamn head off! Right off! That fucker's gonna pay!"
"…" Millie just looked at him, her eyes widening a tad. "…riiiight, well, he ain't here… maybe we can… I dunno, calm down a bit?"

Moxxie looked down to the ground, took a deep breath, closed his eyes… and slowly shook his head. "Yeah… yeah. I'll save the ripping and tearing for later, dear… augh, this fuckin' guy…!"
It's been a while since Millie has seen him like this. It worried her. She nervously swallowed before stepping through the crime scene. The windows facing her were completely drenched in blood, small pink bits of matter dripping down. Millie hopped onto the counter and looked down. "…well, we ain't gettin' anything outta them. They're toast."
Moxxie followed, climbing on, wincing and gritting his teeth as he saw the bodies. "Oh, that… oooo…" He was clenching his fists, suppressing something… "That… piece of shit!" He ejected the expletive out. "He goes out for one goddamn minute and he's already killed… rrrhhhh…" He was furrowing his brow, squinting his eyes shut, lifting his face up to the ceiling.
Millie carefully stepped down into the Pollock painting of gore behind the counter. "Hey, Moxx… they got a piece."

"Piece of… oh." Moxxie's eyes opened up. The gleam of metal… and specifically a shotgun. Almost like a kid in a candy shop, the weapons specialist jumped down, grabbing it. He racked the pump halfway. An expended shell, red plastic with a brass cap on the end. He pumped it back all the way with a click, ejecting it, another shell waiting to chamber. Moxxie picked the shell off of the ground, raising it up. "…12 gauge. We need-"

"I'm already on it!" Millie was rifling through the small boxes and knick knacks in the counter, chucking items out if they weren't any use to the ground. The blood soaked into the goods.

While his wife was doing this, Moxxie leaned down, noticing a beam of light coming out from the side of the counter. Several holes. He vaulted onto the counter, looking towards the phone receiver at the back end… then on the floor. Splotches of blood. Footprints going to the broken phone… then marching out. Unfortunately, it was only confirming what he already knew, although a slight smile crept up knowing that the bastard got a pellet or two to the leg.

Mille withdrew a box filled to the brim with 12 gauge shells. "Got some!"
Moxxie swung his head around to look over. "Good." He racked the slide of the shotgun forward, a mad grin slithering onto his face. "Let's go."


"Operator."
A man hidden in shadow, wearing a green suit, holding a phone up to his ear. He was sat at an ornate desk, papers stacked and strewn about. The phone was constantly ringing, and he was always getting more work. Correspondences, letters, memos, all at his fingertips. A voice rang out from the other end of the phone. "Andrealphus. I need to speak to Stella."
The man at the desk tapped his fingers. "I'll connect you right away." A few presses against an analog keyboard haphazardly connected to a socket in the wall and the phone disconnected. Another call. "Operator."

"Sev, you need a break. Get Helsa in or something, she knows about our agreement." A familiar voice, blindingly posh in its execution.

Seviathan looked over to the receiver of the phone. There was a light turned on. The boss was on the line. "I'm fine. Those imps aren't calling anymore. It's just the letters I'm having to deal with." A man hands him a piece of paper. He reads it over…

"Oh, good… well, I am genuinely concerned, see, because every single call to the Goetia is getting redirected to you during their busiest hours. It's got to be draining."

The paper was notifying 'whomever it may concern' that the imp Stolas was fornicating with stole the grimoire after his death and both are now trapped in the living world. A shout into the dark. He wheeled his office chair to the side, phone still nestled in between his shoulder and ear, and threw it into the paper shredder. "I appreciate your concern, Lucifer… but with all due respect, you aren't my father. I'll take a break when I take a break."

The voice on the other end burst out into a soft, reserved laugh. "Oh, well, you know how dads get… I apologise, Sev, I'll let you get back to work. I have things I need to attend to before the meeting anyway."

"Right." The boss hung up… and a phone call rang out soon after. Seviathan von Eldritch, a member of lesser royalty, answered the call soullessly by pressing a few buttons on his keyboard. "Operator."


The portal opens. Immediately, the quiet room in which the doorway was held was filled with the whistle of desolate air, sand grinding against sand, dust flying through. Contaminants from an unknown world. All four of the men stared into Hell. The loudspeaker creaked on, its volume cranked up. The voice was professional, cold. "You are to walk through the portal, use the drone for aerial recon, and step out when we tell you to. You are not to travel any further than five hundred meters. We expect that our radio signals coming through the portal will dissipate after that."

Alpha looked up. The observation room's window has been replaced with a mirror, so all he was doing was looking at himself. "Are we good, then?"
"Copy, you are go for insertion."

Alpha nodded. He walked towards the portal, its sides crackling with arcane energies incomprehensible to humankind, holding a briefcase with one hand and an assault rifle slung around his shoulder.

Beta looked towards Gamma. "Shit… this is really happening."

Gamma let out a small laugh. "What, getting cold feet? Ya signed up for this."
Alpha looked down through the portal. A separation between the mortal realm and the afterlife, cold concrete and dusty soil. He took a deep breath, slunk one leg through the portal, and carefully stepped on the other end. A moment to appreciate his footprint, looking down at his boot, now deforming Hell's ground. The squad leader lifted his boot off. Whatever indentation occurred was quickly blown away by the wind.

Delta patted Alpha's shoulder. "Sir."
Alpha was shocked out of his moment, clearing his throat. "Err, yeah, sorry... it's safe." Alpha looked forward, stepping fully into the portal, being engulfed in the proverbial inferno. His squad followed in lockstep.

The first words in Hell weren't from Alpha or Beta or Delta. That glory went to Gamma, who interjected within the silence of the squad.

"Looks like Albuquerque."