Imp City Streets EXT. Little Wrath Borough- Evening

A ramshackle dive, Attila's, idles decrepitly on the not-so-scenic inner banks of a wide magma river. The building is docked underneath a Brooklyn-style bridge and wedged in the corner of a street junction. The restaurant's dim and dying neon struggles to compete against the light drenched street. Kiosks, street vendors, and all other sorts of kinetic rabble congest the road. The mile high towers of Pentagram City loom monstrously all around, the thick wide skyscrapers cast down deep shadows that blanket the area. If the street wasn't so full and busy, perhaps one would be able to see the skyline. The boiling orange tar of the river on the other side of the street lulls, sluggishly dragging itself downstream.

Voice Over

Was never a fan of this place. Hell, I fucking hate it here. The festering ensemble in Little Wrath were never really my kind of people. I don't get what Jethro sees in them.

Attila's INT.

Dim lighting blankets the main dining room. What areas that aren't obfuscated by the stale lighting, the smoke from half used cigarettes fill the gaps with a hazy veil.

V.O

Maybe it's ignorance? Be a tall fucking order to not see how sleezy these imps are but...

A flicker, then a flame, then the budding of embers. A new entry to the spent chorus.

V.O

…those eyes, those damn sterling blue eyes...they tell me something else. Something...I don't want to believe...

Jethro

"...It's only been a few hours since they pulled out and already their stock has started to drop. If we go in now at 50 shares, we'd net a 3:1 return, easy."

Oswald, a rigid imp in his rough thirties, finishes lighting his cigarette and looks at Jethro, the imp across the table. Though they look similar in age, it's harshly obvious who time, and life, has favored. Outside of both of their store bought three-piece suits and their hung-up trench coats, one outlying detail draws a few scornful eyes. On Oswald's left horn, the only one he has, is the Sigil of Lucifer clearly branded on. However, it's turned upside down with a splintering bolt fracturing the image down the middle. Oswald doesn't seem to care about the looks. He's used to them. He exhales, the grey smoke puffing out and up.

Oswald

"You a fan of wolves?"

Jethro

(Slightly aback)

"Like, Hellhounds?"

Oswald

"Nah, like earth wolves, Like people call Mammon."

Jethro

"Never seen one before."

A moment, processing the odd notion.

Jethro

"They really call him a wolf?"

Oswald

"Mainly as an epithet, fucker likes money. Point is, wolves have a tactic for killing things out of their reach."

Jethro is curious to see where this is going.

Jethro

"I'm listening."

Oswald

"It acts like it's comfortable, weak, exposing its belly to the hidden predator. The predator thinks 'hot damn, what a meal ticket this is!' easy, right? it's got an advantage, so it lunges, goes in for an attack. Little does he know that that's exactly what the wolf was expecting. Sooner than he can yelp, he finds a couple of inches of bone deep in his neck and it's game over."

He takes a drag like a victorious detective.

Oswald

"If something's too good to be true, chances are it is."

Jethro crosses his arms speculatively.

Jethro

"I don't think wolves do that."

Oswald

"Said you never seen one."

Jethro

"I've seen dogs, and dogs don't do that."

Touché.

Oswald

"You're missing the point."

Jethro

"I don't think I am, you don't want to risk it."

Oswald

(Serious)

"It's not about risk."

Jethro

"Then what's it about?"

Oswald

"It's about common sense."

Jethro

"This is a great opportunity that could be passing us by."

Oswald

"Not if it's an ambush."

Jethro

(Steady)

"Look, I wouldn't be saying this if this was some kind of third rate company that we'd barely break even on."

Oswald

"Would honestly prefer that."

Jethro

"Why?"

Oswald

"Because it's The Goetia's!"

Maybe that was a bit too percussive. Oswald and Jethro tense a bit and send a few discrete glances to the tables around them. No one notices, they all seem too preoccupied with their phones and seem to be talking a bit excitedly.

Jethro

"I understand your concern, but that's why we need this."

Oswald

"You're taking a high dive without checking how deep the water is."

Jethro

"Can you stop with the metaphors for a second?"

Oswald pauses, considers.

Oswald

"Plainly?"

Jethro

"Please."

Oswald

"You're in over your head."

Jethro looks aside. The chatter has become talking as the excitement seems to have increased, like a murmuring trade floor.

Jethro

"And what about them, huh? You know as much as I do that they're jumping on the same exact thing!"

Oswald

"Goetia's are a bubble factory."

Jethro looks at him that says 'What did I say about metaphors?'. Oswald relents.

Oswald

"They do this to control the market. When there's too much competition, they pull out of a company and let everyone try and short it. Minute the little guy thinks he's got a win, Goetia's come back with a vengeance and wipe out all of their competitors in one fell swoop."

Jethro is skeptical.

Jethro

"And you're saying they've done this before?"

Oswald

"Countless times, yes."

Jethro

"When?"

Oswald

"Jethro…"

Jethro

"You're making some pretty big accusations that could cost us a lot of money. I just want to know if this is just one of your 'things' or is something actually serious."

Oswald

"Things?"

Jethro

"Yeah, things, your...conspiracies, I don't know."

That may have hurt, but Oswald's got tough skin.

Oswald

"Okay. You remember Mahoney?"

Jethro

"Course I do."

Oswald

"He thought he could short The Big Top. Goetia's pulled out of AKM and he took his shot. Fucking nailed it too, got AKM for everything it's worth. But, just as his company started becoming the major shareholder, Goetia's came back with double what they had, fucking obliterated them."

Jethro

"Oh, come on! Mahoney! Guy was an awful investor, of course he got fucked. Doesn't mean there's this grand conspiracy-"

Oswald

"The fuck it does. Parker&Johnson, Revenants United, fucking Cyprus Limited! All bet against bigger dicks, and all got fucked."

He fishes around his pocket determinedly.

Oswald

"And this isn't a conspiracy. These are facts."

He pulls out his phone, opens it up to a specific screen and slides it over to him.

Oswald

"If you tracked the market more often, you'd see that."

Oswald composes himself and watches Jethro look through the compiled news articles. He can see the glint of the screen in his eyes, the illegible headlines being sluggishly scrolled through. They tell the story of success and prominence for all of the companies previously mentioned, but their brutal deaths shortly follow. Jethro seems to hate this, but a knowing look steadies his eyes as he slides the phone back to Oswald. He doesn't pick it up.

Oswald

"I'm not being an asshole, I'm just…"

Jethro

"I get it."

Jethro sighs, looking at the excited faces of the imps who have forgotten about their meals, who are now standing and wildly conversing with each other. They seem drunk with exhilaration, ordering scores upon scores of food and wine, the most opulent of opulent. Jethro has a pained look on his face, a longing expression.

Oswald

"Jethro, if it was a good bet, I'd back you one-hundred percent, no question. But I bet this entire meal that before we finish it, these guys'll be homeless."

Jethro

"Homeless?"

Oswald

(Remorsefully)

"For us, that's breaking even."

Jethro looks like he wants to stand on the table and tell the whole diner of what's to come.

Oswald

(Quickly)

"And you know that not a single word can convince them otherwise."

Jethro's shoulders slack as he slouches back in his chair.

Jethro

"So we watch it burn?"

Oswald takes a drag.

Oswald

"We'll stay afloat."

Jethro sits in those words as Oswald offers his cigarette to him. Jethro takes a long drag before handing it back to him.

Jethro

"What if you're wrong?"

Oswald

(Regrettably)

"You know I'm not."

Food arrives, pleasantries are exchanged. It's almost impossible to hear with the roaring din of excitement of the imps, who have gone almost ballistic over their prospected success. Jethro is uncomfortable, both at the scene and his food. Oswald has a few bites of his, but notices Jethro's...unique selection. Before Oswald can comment, his phone buzzes. It's a notification from his stock tracking app. 'Goetia's double down on healthcare giant SMS.'

V.O

I don't even have to look at it to know what it is. Jethro can't look at the imps, who've all turned into woeful statues; So I do. I see the life drain from their faces, see the remains of their stomped out hope vanish. Their jobs, their houses, fuck, maybe even their wives; all gone...Fucking Goetia's.

Oswald sighs. All of the imps stare at their phones, then to each other. It's a quiet horror, their faces drained of all life, all meaning. They all quietly sit down, heads low. Some whimper, a few sob, but most stay quiet. With hollow choreography, they pay their bills and begin to leave in a staggered exodus.

V.O

Working a 9 to 5, paying rent, fuck, eating at a restaurant. It's easy to forget what this place is. It takes moments like this, when you can see dread, actual dread, become real; watch it metastasize into the worst case scenario. It makes you remember where you are, it makes you remember that this...this is Hell.

Rain begins to fall. It's just Oswald and Jethro now, the stale ambient music of some soulless jazz bounces off the empty chairs and tables. It's a mess all around their neat table, the only boat still afloat. Jethro looks solemnly at his undulating dish.

Oswald

(Attempting levity)

"What... exactly is that?"

Jethro

"Hm?"

Oswald gestures to the Lovecraftian looking dish.

Jethro

"Just another bad idea."

He pushes the plate to the side, fishes out his wallet, and places the full bill on the table before getting up and walking out. He isn't angry, but he wants to leave Attila's, maybe for good.

V.O

I knew he wouldn't take it well.

He takes a drag.

V.O

I try to water the phantom eyes I feel on me with the tarry cloud I breath out, but they don't blink, they don't even twitch.

Oswald puts out his cigarette in the table's ashtray, grabs his coat, and heads out.

V.O

Fucking hate this place.