The vestiges of energy left in the machine. The gib receptacle is empty. A portal opens. The two humans look on from the observation booth. "…right, that's all we got." The portal into Hell whirrs and crackles, its size leaving something to be desired. "You ever been spelunking?"

The other scientist looks over to his partner. "…can't say I have."

"That's the situation we're dealing with. We have to keep equipment light, make sure they can fit…"

"But we can do it."

The scientist slowly nodded. "Yeah. We can." A wavering of his lips. His eyebrows furrowed slightly.


The three imps conversed in a private room, closed off from the rest of the barbershop. Moxxie had been stitched up, bandaged, a stain of yellow surrounding the wound. Kriego had his face in his hands, the product in his hair barely holding his quiff together. "…I kept tellin' him ta knock it off…" He aggressively dragged his hands against his face, letting them clasp together at his front. "More than a month?"

The weapons expert closed his eyes for a moment, nodding. "We don't know where he is… we think he might be trapped in the living world, but it's hard to say." He threw his head back in the ratty chair he was sat in. "We can't get up there to look and nobody's really… responding to us."

Millie chimed in. "An' now we got humans runnin' around down here! An' this… this bastard that we've been chasin' inta town!"

Kriego looked forward, hunched down. "…shit. Okay, okay, tell ya what…" He fishes through his pocket, opens his wallet, and takes a fiver out. "Can't help ya wit' all this stuff, but best I can do is give ya tha patch-job fer free."

Moxxie looks at the cash, shyly smiling. "Oh, it's alright, that's not necessary-"

Millie snatches the fiver out of Kriego's hand.

Kriego froze for a moment, letting out a snicker. "It's necessary ta someone, apparently!" A deep breath. "Aight, look, ya did come to tha right place. This town here, Tumbleweed, it's a junction. Stoppin' off point fer Frumentarii collections, ta get ta other places in Wrath, that sorta thin'. If anyone's windin' up anywhere, it's here."

The marksman looked to his wife for a moment, glowering slightly before making eye contact with the barber, lips pursed. "Have you seen anyone of that description?"

Kriego leaned back, sighing, crossing his arms. "Nah, an' it's likely I'd remember. Hell, I ain't seen beige imps 'round these parts, so I'd probably make som' sorta mental note if I saw one." He looked to the right for a moment. "…tha sheriff in town might be yer best bet. He tracks who comes an' goes in town usually. He'll tell ya if he saw them 'round here."

Moxxie rose an eyebrow. "Sheriff? You guys still have those?"

"A' course we got those! Ain't got enough money flowin' inta tha town fer them fancy-schmancy police stations." He stood up, opening the door and pointing to the left. "Jus' down tha street there."

The two imps peeked out. Moxxie paused. "…thank you."

"Don't mention it… oh, dang, almost fergot…" He took his wallet out and started fishing some money out… a lot of money. Waaay too much money. Once he got five hundred hellbucks out, he handed it to Moxxie. "Here."

Moxxie, in disbelief, blinked a few times. "…uhhhh… no, no, we're alright, um-"

Millie's elbow found itself roughly punching into Moxxie's shoulder. She mouthed the words 'free money' to her side, glare fixed on the man offering.

"You're gon' need it. Trust me." The barber-surgeon waved the stack of cash in the air before the gunslinger in front of him reluctantly took it. A few seconds pass and the city boy crams it into his pockets. "Y'all take care, ya hear?" An'… don't worry 'bout payin' it back. Jus' get my brotha' back here safe an' sound."


A farmhouse about two hundred metres away from the small portal. A group of men, lightly armed, having slinked through the rip in space one by one. Their faces steely, stoic.

The scientists on the other end shivered for a moment before stepping towards the microphone. They pushed the button in. "…okay. You have the go-ahead to approach the house."

The group on the other end silently nodded, boots stepping through the sand.


The two imps walked out of the barbershop, back into the dust and heat. The town was bustling, probably the busiest Wrath would get. Moxxie leaned his head back against the barbershop's glass storefront, squinting his eyes shut. "…hun, can you do most of the talking? You're better at this than I am."

Millie let out a soft, comforting chuckle, wrapping her arms around her husband. "Ohh, Moxxie, it's okay, I'm sure you'll get ta 'im! Jus' need ta ask an' all." She looks inside. "Besides, at least we got a lead of som' sort."

Moxxie places his face firmly in his hands. "Ghhhh… after a month? A... month." There was a considerable amount of venom in the imp's voice. "Agh, Millie, what have we been doing this whole time!?"

"Hun, we've been doin' plenty! It's just…" She looked down at the floor. "Nobody seems ta…"

"To care?"

"Well, I..." Millie was silent for a few moments. "They ain't available. Or maybe we jus' don't know where ta get in touch… it ain't yer fault-"

"Look, okay, okay…" Moxxie interrupted, spitting the words out, a clear trembling in his voice. "We should… we should talk to the sheriff, at least maybe we'll get some help with… tracking Striker down." Moxxie pinched the bridge of his nose. "Then we can… we can… we can go to the saloon too. See if there are any leads if the sheriff doesn't know."

The southern belle nodded softly, a worried expression on her face… before she went to pat his shoulder. "Aight, Moxx… but if that don't work…" She pulled him in for a hug. "Then jus' don't beat yerself up over it. Okay?"

Moxxie slowly, almost reluctantly returned the hug, nestled in Millie's shoulder before exhaling rough. "…haaah… okay, okay…"

Neither really believed the agreement was genuine.


Inside the farmhouse were two imps, one male and one female. They were sat down for dinner, enjoying their own cooking. They are so connected that words elude them; they knew what was happening in their household, they both knew how they were feeling. All that was needed was their shared company and the wafting scent of barbecued hog.

Cutlery clanked on the plate, chewing was softly muffled, and the sounds outside were amplified by the relative silence inside. The man perked up upon hearing a bump and scuffle. "…ey, hun, ya hear that?"

"Tch, ohhh, it's probably nothin'. Ya kno' things get noisy 'round tha wintertime." She takes a sip of the cup of water set at the corner of her plate. "Mmh."

"Dang, it's wintertime? Coulda fooled me, tha crops haven't been takin' up…" Another bump. The slight sound of clacking. Unnatural. Boots crunching parched dirt. The man looked out the window. "Now what in tarnation is that-"

The man saw a figure, covered head to toe in equipment indiscernible for the short time he got a glimpse. A rifle barrel pointed towards him. The muzzle flashed, throwing out the gases of ignition out its vents, and before the man could hear it, lead flew through his head, blowing it out.

The woman heard a slight pop and was immediately deafened. Her ears rang as she witnessed her husband fall to the side, splatters of red now coating the wooden table in which they sat. Before she could turn, before she could register what had happened to her husband, and what will happen to her, she went limp, her vision went black, and she fell to the floor to join her husband.

Despite the slowing of their neurons, the exsanguination through the holes in their head, their inability to move, taste, feel, see… they found that, for a brief moment before they passed, they could still hear once the tinnitus from the gunshots cleared. The figures marched into the farmhouse, heavy boots now stepping against dirtied wood and stained linoleum, their equipment rattling against their fatigues and webbing.

"…pop them again, make sure they're dead." The first gunshot once again threw the tinnitus into whatever hearing was left, and despite not feeling it, the imps could still hear the muffled bass of the rifles firing into their flesh.

The sound of their limp bodies dragged onto the floor, their annihilated heads smacking onto the wood underneath, then down the stairs, was the last thing either of them heard before they fully drifted away.

The humans now had their material.