You were empty. You couldn't walk one step more. You don't, as the billboard reads, need a hellhound – you need a Big Texan. For over two hours, you had marched out of downtown and into the outskirts of Imp City with no specific destination. You hadn't interacted with any demons during that time, since asking them for help would be less than beneficial to your survival, but to your disappointment, they didn't return more than an occasional glance. Nevertheless, you finally answer your body's plea to stop. Hosting the billboard is a small two-storey apartment building with pillars on each corner, satellite, and one boarded window. You collapse against the wall and uncover your mouth to replace the greenhouse in your lungs with the cooler air of the night. Each breath is loud and full, and you cough to release the slime constricting your windpipe. Never before did you have the desire to inhale the air in your old backyard. You look to your right. Three stairs lead to the front door, behind which a demon must reside. You had avoided the hellhordes for long enough – if you want to survive, you would have to advance towards them. A gambler you never were, always working to defy chance in each aspect of your life, but in this moment, you have decided to wager your life. If they reject you, then so be it.
Against your body's wishes, you will yourself upright and press your right boot into the concrete to take the first of six steps towards the door. It was all in now.
You take your second step. The lights, you notice, are off, so whoever lives here must be asleep.
You take the third. Let sleeping dogs lie, but there is a chance that they're still awake.
Step number four. She cannot be the only one.
Step five. If all else fails, you still have one forty-five.
Six.

…it would be cosmically funny if Sekros lived here.

You lean against the doorframe and knock four times. In the stillness of the night, there is no response. More forcibly, you knock again. Every silent second passes in a century. Why would they be such heavy sleepers if they had to contend with a prior home invasion? You decide to knock once more, at which point you would declare the place vacant and break in. It is now a quarter to nine and you have had it with Hell. For the last time, you raise your fist-
"…oh, crumbs."
-and turn your attention to the frustrated voice inside. "He can't leave us alone for one night. Keys, keys…" You pull your mask up again. You pay no mind to processing his thoughts – all you wonder is whether or not you would have to use the gun. "Sir, if you do not mind me saying this, but-" The door opens to reveal no one. "Oh! Excuse me; I thought you were someone else." You turn your attention to the raspy voice where the doorknob used to be. It is, and you give a shocked look at – and he at you likewise – an imp.

"I can't thank you enough." You cast your ruined flesh onto the small couch. "I had," you blow off steam, "the worst fucking day. A building caved in and crushed me to death, I wake up here, everyone's trying to kill me in some way and I almost vomited – seriously." You gain a clear view of the pudent demon as he turns the light on. "Thanks."
"It is a pleasure." You find it surprising that someone this formal exists in this world. "Do you require anything?"
"A lot." You unload your heart's desires. "I need the biggest fucking bottle of Bayers, I need a forty-ounce slab of beef drowning in peri-peri, I need a shower, these boots off…"
"Honey, who did ya let in?" A female voice – he's not the only one in this house.
"I think he is a new arrival, Millie. He does not appear to be in good shape."
"…and some goddamn air freshener." You look at your host. "Who was that?"
"Oh, that was my wife." He extends a hand at you. "I am Moxxie, by the way."
"Ryan." You grip your covered hand around his. "Allen." You take note of his voice. It seemed quite familiar to…
The stout Millie enters the living room with a wobble and a grunt, using a wooden spear as a crutch. Moxxie promptly redirects his concern to her. "Millie, I told you to keep the pressure off your ankle."
"Look, I'm not just gonna let you invite random strangers in without me knowin'. He could be-" She gets cut short upon seeing your decrepit state. "Dark lord! What happened to him?"
"He said he got crushed under an imploding building."
You know you have heard him before. Millie continues, "You think it was the noon job?"
"It has to be. I mean, look at him! Do you remember the body I had to remove from HQ?" He points to you, knowing nothing about how you are processing your sudden revelation. "He's still wearing the same pants."
Moxxie. He was the one who struggled to drag you downstairs and into the dumpster. To think that you would not only meet the same demon who, so appropriately, pulled you down into Hell, but that he was also married to, and worked alongside, the female voice you heard while unconscious.
While you were speculating, you notice that Millie is scanning your body. It starts to tense up from this most vigorous inspection of the makeshift camouflage. "He looks pretty weird." If there ever was a time when your disguise would have to pass scrutiny, it would be now. "Hasn't fully turned yet. Moxx, is this natural?"
At least you pass for a defect. Moxxie draws the imp's attention, "It's pretty rare, but I have read of cases where a sinner would take up to two days to transform. He might very well be in the early stages."
Transform? You find it distressing that your disguise would eventually give way to something more gruesome.
"Well, consider us cursed." She turns to you, though you are too busy kneading your head to notice. "Look, I know this is all new and all goin' downhill in a burning wagon for you, but listen." She places a hand under your chin to lift your head, though you shy away from it. "Look at me." You were still busy digesting the misfortune you were in. How long until you change into one of those demons on the streets? Would you ever get used to this new life, or rather death?
"Hey, look at me."
There was another one, right before you. "I know this is hard for you, but you gotta get through this." Millie was right – it was no use moping over the foregone. "It's gonna be tough getting used to Hell and all of the nasty shit that comes with it." You dared not compare today with your first day at the PRB boot camp, but the sentiment rings as true as it did back then. Since the implosion, you have done nothing but plan, survive and persist – qualities that, all those years back, have been drilled into your head. Your aching head. "But you just gotta listen to me and-"
"Can I please have some fucking aspirin!?"
A stunned silence fills the air. You don't need any reminding.

The tablets were welcome, more welcome than the one in your pocket. After downing the glass, you cover up and turn towards Moxxie. "Okay, I just need to be clear on this. This is," you throw your hands forward, "Hell Hell? Like fire and brimstone, eternal suffering, pentagrams, demons, Satan?"
"Ee-yes," he replies. "1456 Crowford Lane, Imp City, Pride, North America, Earth… Hell."
"Huh." His affirmation is easily absorbed. "Well I'll be damned."
"We all are," said Moxxie as you made your way to the kitchen.
In your mind, you once thought that the afterlife would appear more biblical. It was certainly hot in the daytime – to the reaches of major city centres in this time of year – and the sulphur, the brimstone, could not be ignored either. The only differences are that you found yourself in a modern apartment, with the electric inventions of mankind inside, instead of a scorched, inhospitable landscape with unholy palaces dominating the horizon. The couple's home is shrunken to accommodate their size, something you are reminded of when you bump your head against the doorframe. It is clear why artists prefer the latter depiction.
In the living room, Moxxie relays something about their guest that caught his attention. "Did you notice his hip?"
"I did," Millie replies. "You're saying that he's packin'?"
"No- yes, he does appear to be carrying a pistol. Seems pretty weird."
"Not really – it's probably for self-defence. Don't you already-"
"I do know," he interjects, "but doesn't it seem off to you that a construction worker would have a gun at work with him?"
"You're right…"
"And when I dragged him, he felt a bit heavier than he seemed. I assume he is also wearing body armor."
"You think he's got somethin' to do with those other shots we heard?"
Moxxie had almost conjured up a more sombre interpretation of the events in that office block. "Maybe. We need to find out more."

You have had worse-tasting tap water. The headache, along with your body pains, begins to subside. A unique thought has just sprung up in your mind – you are actually worried about taking a shower. Even demons-to-be have hygiene needs, but you start to wonder if you were ever going to transform. From recollection, you did take a beating from all the concrete that collapsed on you, but that couldn't have been enough to kill you, right? It didn't take long to hear the voices after you blacked out, either.
"Ryan, is it?" Millie stands in the doorframe, looking inquisitive.
"Yes – Ryan. Allen."
"Well, Moxx and I were talkin' about that gun on ya," she said, pointing at your hip. "What the deal with that?"
You told that spaghetti-fingered woman, so you might as well. "I was a merc – a high-class one. I worked for Phillips-Robertson Bugle."
"Doesn't sound like a big deal."
The innocuous name, working as intended. "Three-letters, dark agencies – if it's impossible for them to do, they call us."
Millie has a look of confusion about her. "Three-letters?" It really is a different world.
"You know, FBI, CIA," you clarify, "and also ones the public know nothing about."
Moxxie is intrigued by you describing your old job and has stepped in. "You were a mercenary?"
"Yeah," you say, "and a damn good one at that."
"What were you doing before you died?"
"My last job?" You look to your work pants. "My last job…"
As you head back to the living room, you share what you could recall from the operation, how your team planned to clear the entire building, what the disguises were for, how the apparent hostages were double agents, and how you failed to escape in time. "This isn't even my gun – I grabbed it from the yellowjacket. Of course, that was before… the building came down…"
What you wouldn't give to see your team again, to tell them about how you've been to Hell itself. For all you know, Cleef and company were sleeping with their eyes open. "I made a promise to them. That whatever Hell throws at me, I will fight it to the bare bones, and win. It's what they would've wanted." You coughed. Your talking must have sent the dried blood down your windpipe. The entire area covering your mouth has become a greenhouse once more. You fight your way through the irritation as you continue.
"I woke up to a massive headache. I first thought I had brain damage. I mean, red sky? Smells bad? The first demon I saw tried to kill me, so I fought him." You clear your throat. "Shot him three times, once in the head. Second one tried to run me over with his car and he crashed."
"Oh," Millie whispered to her husband, "so that's what happened outside."
"I then tore the first one's shirt off to make this," you raise your covered hands, "and this," and you rub your mask. "I also took some of his blood and rubbed it on me-"
You cough again. Unlike previously, this one was forced by Moxxie making an inquisitive face. You quickly move on to Sekros. "I started wandering, and this weird hunchback woman with spaghetti fingers went up to me. Pretty nice, actually. Wouldn't wanna mess with her, though; I think she poked some holes in some other demon that wore a wine barrel." The cough returns, now more aggravated.
"Are you okay?" Millie knows that you aren't. "You've been wearin' that thing all day."
"Yeah, yeah." The druggie encounter is next. "When she did that, I ran into this alley and there was this creepy-ass dealer…" This has to be your torment – a sickly mask you can easily remove, but under no circumstances should. You try to clear your throat. "He gave me a pill for the headache. I think I still have it-" You were quickly approaching your limit with each cough. "I'm really sorry." You head back to the kitchen to remedy your aching throat. "Excuse me."
The couple remains in the living room, with the only sound coming from the running water in the kitchen sink. Unbeknownst to you, Moxxie had processed every word you said, and is now sharing that information with his wife. "Millie?"
"What?"
He points to the dark kitchen, and then rubs his right hand all over his left arm.
It only takes a beat for Millie to understand. "You mean he's-"
The imp nods.
"Well, then we-" The faucet closing forces her voice down. "We gotta make sure first."

You return in silence, and with a freshly-gargled throat. You couldn't keep your disguise on forever. You knew from the onset that removing it would depend on how much they trusted you. But you were uncertain if they trust you enough. Aside from the headaches and tiredness, you don't feel any different from before the demolition. You think back to when you first heard the voices. Did I still… Yeah, I still felt a heartbeat. Hell, I was breathing the whole time. You look at Moxxie. Does he think- does he know I'm still… Can I just take all this off?
"Hey, you can take that off now." It was Millie.
"Wha-" You are caught flabbergasted. "Really?"
"I mean, if it bothers you that much."
"…you're not going to…" Stab? Kill? "Judge me?"
"Wha- No! It's fine. Just throw it away when you're done."
You look to her, and back to Moxxie. You didn't think it would be that easy. This might actually be the break that you asked for. "Okay." Their eyes stare deep into you. "Hey, it's not like I'm gonna show my- Ah, fuckit." With that, you start undoing your makeshift gloves. "This had to go sooner or later." The couple watch on as the first rag drops, revealing a dusty, dirty hand. "You know," you continue as you remove the other glove, "I couldn't keep this on forever." Millie and Moxxie follow your hands up to your head. "It wasn't peaches," you undo the knot keeping the mask on your face, "but it kept me safe." With the knot undone, you pull the dusty red rag off your head. "You know, since those other guys tried to-"

"KILL IT! KILL IT!"

One second, from the very instant Millie shouted, became a lifetime. The impromptu crutch was now pointing at you. Defying her health, she planted her sore foot deep into the ground to launch her assault. Moxxie was surprised by the sudden attack, only for his eyes to lock onto his wife sending all her power through her right leg. In the second half, he had calculated the distance she would close to you with that one step which, prompting him to open his mouth, was not enough. You, in spite of everything your body told you, had squeezed out your very last drop of power and injected it into your bloodstream. By the time the second had passed, your left hand was already gripping the spear.
"Mill, your foot!" It was too late; she stumbles and her first attack whiffs across your chest. As Millie tries to stand up, she leverages the spear towards her right. Taking no chances, you turn parallel to the shaft and, with both hands, wrench it against her strength. The combined torque is enough to break the spear in half, causing you to run forward. You twist back round just before you slam against the wall. Now with equal footing, you catch her next swing in a diagonal bind, with her half getting caught against the spearhead. It is in this instance that you get a taste of the imp's unnatural strength as she overwhelms your arms to ground your half. From the top of your eyesight, a disconcerting fact dawns – Millie still has one more spear. Her tail-end darts into your view. It's target? Your head, which you instinctively duck. You had to make a move, so you let go of the spear and rush the imp. Millie's tail slaps against your armoured back in an attempt to puncture it. She then lifts what is now a stick and lands a strike on your cheekbone. Though mitigated by the short distance and awkward positioning, it was still enough to make your head recoil in pain and change trajectory. A pity then, that it wasn't enough to prevent you from tackling her. Moxxie tries to grab the imp, but gets pushed aside before you crash into the wall. You didn't have enough speed to knock the wind out of Millie, though she still winced. The pinned imp launches a mighty right hook against your head, spinning your body and freeing herself. With your back still facing her, you tuck your head in to avoid it from getting skewered by her tail. As predicted, the tip sails over your head, but then curves downward and is dragged over your hair. You grab the spearhead with your left hand. You had made a promise – now it was time to live up.
You look over your shoulder. Millie has her arms raised, and her weight rests all on one foot. In one simultaneous movement, you torque your body clockwise in order to face the riled imps, point the spear towards Moxxie, and draw your pistol over his wife.

As quickly as it started, the bout halts. The damned couple is frozen as you had your weapons trained against them on a hair trigger. They know that one wrong move could cost them their life. Your chest has been brought to an intense boil, your heart sent into overdrive, and heavy panting escapes your mouth. Your head dashes back and forth between the two imps, your grimy hands aching with pressure. There was no telling who would be the first to move, even with you holding an advantage. You wouldn't, unless it was absolutely necessary, and Millie hasn't budged ever since you aimed at her. It couldn't remain like this. You knew that this fight must cease – this duo may be your very saving grace.
"You give me," you recollect your breath, "one shot." As you panting calms down, the room becomes filled with silence. Each long, agonizing second marks one more in which you wait for any kind of response. Only one foolish twitch was needed to cause a fatality. It was surprising then, that the first vocalization would be a laugh; one that was stifled, but eventually broke free.
"Millie?" You and Moxxie turn your befuddled gazes to the source of the fit.
"Okay." It takes a while, but Millie finally regains her pep. "I take it back. Guess you really are a big deal."
You are taken aback by the sudden reversal in temperament. "Well," you say as you lower your weapons, "this is weird."
"Heaven, I was just about ready to stab your sorry ass! Guess we can't leave good meat like yours stinkin' up the place!"

Moxxie walks toward you as you sit on the couch. "Ryan, I should apologize. This whole conundrum can be attributed to me. I…" As difficult as it was to reveal his guilt, he could rest easy once that burden has been removed. "I tipped Millie off about you being a human. I tried to stop her, I didn't want you to die so pointlessly, but she gets… very excitable about killing." A beat, and he continues. "You may not know this, but it is illegal for living humans to even be in Hell. Not that any authority seems to care – they would search for any excuse to shoot you on the spot. I wish I could make it up to you." The imp is relieved that this night did not turn more gruesome.
You take his words to heart. If a target has now been placed on your head, then you would not mind having the damned couple to aid in your safekeeping. "I guess you can let me crash here while I put myself to good use."
Moxxie contemplates your request for a moment. His thoughts first turn to bringing you back to the living world, though that would mean having to get through his employer's dismissive skull. Even if you went back, how would you try to explain this to your friends? Surviving such an implosion and digging one's way out so that they couldn't find your body is too implausible an explanation, since you already would have regrouped with them. "Well…" There was no other road to take – Ryan stays. "Alright."
A demon – a demon! – has lifted your spirits, somewhat. You shake his hand, and Moxxie lets out a slight chuckle as he affirms his grip. You finally have someone to vouch for you.
After the handshake, the white-haired imp turns to his wife. "Millie?"
"Yeah, my little gun nut?"
"I think an apology is in order."
Moxxie assists her in walking towards you. Her yellow eyes and sprightly smile stands at your eye level as she extends a hand. "Sorry for tryin' to kill you and all. I just had to make sure you weren't tryin' to dupe us. No hard feelings?"
Not your hand, but you lean forward and raise your eyebrows at her. "Promise you won't kill me?"
Millie raises her hands and cracks her thumbs under her fingers. "If there was another you tryin' to kill you, I wouldn't even off that you."
"It's…" Another you? Anything could happen in Hell. "…settled then?"
"Haha!" She tussles your hair with vigour. "You're gonna need a job, though. And a nickname."
"Already have one – Red Bastard. It was my callsign."
"Hmm, you're not actually red under all that, but I suppose it fits." Millie drifts off for a while, during which you inspect your arms. You definitely need a shower, lest your nickname actually fits. It would have to wait for the morning, since you were well and truly out of steam.
"Hey!" No one was prepared for what Millie was going to say. "You can work with us!"
"...what."
"Oh come on, Mox! He can't just sit around doin' nothing. He's a professional killer, for Antichrist's sake! He needs the action!"
Moxxie does have his reservations; it's just that his wife was making too much sense for it to matter. He surrenders with a shrug. "I suppose it wouldn't be too bad to have a new face at work."
Millie performs a victory lap in ecstatics. The mere prospect is enough for her to literally bounce around the apartment. Finally, the imp stops to gather her breath, and looks to you.

"So whatcha say, Red Bastard?"