You have never slept better in your life. Your morning breakfast has never filled you better than the slightly off-flavour serving of ham and eggs on toast. Your morning shower and upkeep was never as long as the one you recently took. You still had to wear the same outfit as yesterday. This is your first morning in Hell, your first morning in a new life, and your first clear look at the spare room. Mounted on the wall by the desk, a rack bears a score of firearms and melee spanning over the past century. Most were familiar, but a select few were until now unknown. It was a dream to look at – not only was every weapon well-tended, but the balanced layout allowed your eye to effortlessly glide over the complement. You and Moxxie proceed to remove the weapons from the stand, and place them in neat cases. "So this is where your money goes, right?"
"Mostly ammunition and knives. Some of these guns, like this one," Moxxie holds an SMG-45, "I get for Millie. She always asks for something that has little recoil."
"Really? I mean, she's pretty strong; she could probably one-hand an elephant gun."
"No, she doesn't use firearms that much. She is more of a- Don't pack those in!"
You slam the brakes and reopen the case, only for him to scuttle over to you and unpack the more expensive knives. "Hey, what's the deal? These are some good knives. You don't use these?"
"It's not that they are inmaculate- Okay, they are," Moxxie corrects. "It's just that our customers can opt to keep weapons we use as a memento. It's not my policy – it's the boss', and I would rather keep our collection instead of giving it away to random strangers."
"Hurry up! The van's here!"
By coincidence, Millie used the exact same words Daniel had the previous morning. "Just a few, Black!" The honking continues. You step out of the room and help carry the imps' luggage.
Moxxie's thoughts are still shaded by some doubt. "This better not go south." The group steps outside to the sounds of honking and one impatient voice.
"C'mon, c'mon! Those fuckers aren't gonna drop if you three keep walking through tar pits all the fucking time!" Parked across the street in a decaying grey van is yet another imp, one that would far exceed any trophy standard. "Three?" Do his yellow eyes deceive him? He looks out the window to the group. There is Moxxie, that blight on the face of the earth. Millie has two functioning legs again. And…

"That fucking meatbag's still kicking!?" You stop dead in your tracks. "Moxxie! Explain why his corpse is not rotting in the dumpster right now!"

"Damnit, you could've made sure it was dead first!" He reaches into his coat. "If I have to do everything-"
"Blitzo, wait!" It was Millie to the rescue. "Ryan here is a pro mercenary," she explains, "and I think he can make a good addition to the team."
The boss' eye is visibly agitated. "You're seriously not trying to twist my balls, are you?"
"Of course not!" She turns to your halted proceedings. "Just finish packing, Red. I'll vouch for you."
"Hey," you reply, "I think I can vouch…" Millie was already at the door. "…for myself." At least she has good intentions. "Come on, David-"
"Moxxie."
"Oh, yeah." The eggs haven't fully settled yet. "Come on, Moxxie. Let's keep going."
As the two of you carry the last few cases, you tune one ear to the bandy. Millie was busy explaining her version of your events from the past nineteen hours as if she was selling a used car to Blitz, you heard it as, who just wants to know the price. Moxxie struggles, but loads his final case alongside yours. "You do know that this job opportunity is not guaranteed, right? I don't think the boss will be in good cohorts with someone like you."
"Is it because I'm human?"
"Likely. He may have made some…"
The voice of Blitzo turns your heads. "Do you have any idea what his lanky ass is gonna do to me if he finds out?"
"…less than favourable compromises for the sake of his entrepreneurship, but he still has limits he would rather not reach."
"What, it's not like he'll just waltz his behind into HQ," Millie said. "It'll be fine."
You find yourself in a superposition – until the boss makes a decision, you're just as likely to be either outside the van or in it, and you know where would rather sit. "Is there any hope for me?"
The imp sighs. "Call it wishful thinking, but he may be dumb enough to at least give you a shot."
"It'll more believable than saying a demon did it," Millie continues in the background.
"At least the ratio that rag on me could even out."
"I can't promise that," you tell him. "I don't think it's dumb – you get paid to kill, I got paid to kill. You ask me, it's a perfect fit."
You hope it is a perfect fit, considering that the overlap between mercenary and assassin is only partial. As you close the rear door, you are greeted by Millie. "You're up, Red. Blitzo wants to see you."
You are taken aback. Is he really dumb enough? You would need to make a good first impression to land the job. In the case that you wouldn't, you… You don't have any other option. You shake your head and blow off some steam. Make it count.
You have Millie's support. "Good luck, emergency rations!" Never mind finances, whatever conversation Millie and Blitzo had involved you making for a repast. Welcome to Hell, where job contracts include cannibalism clauses! Say hello to Blitzo!

"I'm…" His sneer entraps you so well, you forget that there is someone in the passenger seat. "…Red Bastard. I hear you pay to kill."
Not a sound comes from him, but his daggered gaze scans you in a disbelieving, judgemental fashion.
"Well, if you need any proof I was a merc…" You unfasten one button, and then point to your exposed vest. "I'm wearing Kevlar."
The imp stops on your armour. After a few seconds, one hand pops out to knock on your vest, as though body armour was a foreign concept to him.
More credence would have to be given, so you produce your pistol. "Mollie told you this already, but this is what I used." He doesn't move one bit. "To kill that one demon. Two in the chest, one headshot." He seemed so talkative until you showed up. You lean in and reduce your tone to a more sinister bass. "Then I covered myself in his blood."
Those oversized horns must make sticking your words difficult. Blitzo leans out of the window, and then proceeds to smell you. You assume that he noticed some leftover from the demonblood that you couldn't pick up. This would have chalked as the most disconcerting job interview in the world – your world, that is. Slowly retracting, the imp buries his right hand in his coat, and then sniffs. He speaks. Deliberate and stubborn, but he finally speaks.
"Ten words or less." Out pops his hand from the under the coat, now brandishing – and pointing at you – a black and gold duelling pistol. "Tell me why I should hire you."
Your struggle couldn't be more blatant. Ten words. It would be disrespectful to look at your watch right now, so you calculate your response in silence. The others dared not to interrupt.
"I've been in Hell for nineteen hours." That may not be enough. "I'm still here."
Not a word from him. What then, if not give your own testament, would you have to do for the van to carry an extra body?
"Walk backwards." A car passes by. "Slowly."
The daggers in his eyes, the pistol in hand, the stilted way he ordered you. Tension begats surprise. Your attempt at questioning the imp is countered by him shoving you with the barrel.
"'Kay, okay." You walk, and then jog to avoid a pickup truck, backwards, until the wall stops you in your tracks. Both your gazes were inseparable. Everyone knew what this was.
"Sir, I don't think-"
"Now Moxxie, if he really is the badass your wife sold him as, then I at least need to make sure that he has two balls under his dick. You should look into that."
Their spat falls on your untuned ears. For you, there is just your vest, the caplock, and thirty feet of atmosphere. You start to worry. It is not the gun you worry about; since your vest is rated IIIA, the round shouldn't be any different to the one inside yours. No, it was the gun's wielder. Blitzo, as unnerving and stilted as he was, did seem willing to give you a shot, but from your discernment of the past nineteen hours, he might not be aiming for your chest. The imp only needs to pitch his gun by a few degrees to blow your head off. Your body winds up, set to evade the instant the top of that barrel escapes your view. Millie looks worried. Moxxie is aghast. Someone just caught wind.
"What're you-"

The bullet catapults out of the gun, thrusts forward with a terrible crack, pierces the thick, sulphur-laden atmosphere, and misses. Blitzo did raise the gun, though diagonally and on the reaction beside him. That explains why you haven't moved out of your footprints, and are currently looking at the brand-new hole just two feet left of your eye level.
"The fuck!?" Indeed.
"Hey, now calm down, sweetie. That was just a little test for our potential hire over here."
"What, you hired those other two dipshits the same way?"
"…Kinda wish I did, actually."
"What, by just shooting them?"
"Hey now, at least he has a bulletproof vest for that."

As you head toward the bickering, you wonder if you had actually secured the job. From recollection, the same exercise at PRB did necessitate the shooter actually hitting the vest, though that was a peer-to-peer test and not part of the application cycle. You look to see who Blitzo is arguing with –
"Ryan!"
– only to be pulled off course by Millie. "Are you okay?"
You don't want to tell your story again. "Okay how?"
"I mean, we were almost gonna have you for dinner."
"Well," you show yourself as unscathed, "you're not."
"You knew," Moxxie intrudes, "that the boss was going to shoot you. Were you not at least concerned that you would be injured?"
"I've been through the same back in PRB," you reply, "but to be honest, I thought he was gonna blindside me."
"That was a pretty big risk you took there," says Millie. "He has the gun, but he ain't no Vice Python."
"Yeah, sometimes you gotta get wet first before you…" With the arguing now subsided, your thoughts divert to the boss imp. Your standing still must have improved your chances with him, even if the gunshot whiffed.
"Well," Millie says, "you still got seven holes. Come on, Mox. Let's get in."
Behind you, the two potential colleagues head around the back. You still have to finish up with Blitzo, so you head to the front door. The boss is busy ramming a new round down the barrel. …before you swim.
"Does this mean I get the job?"
As though he had just heard the most inane statement in history, he cocks his head and pulls a confounded scowl as he replaces the cap. You have done all you could, and now it rests on his judgement.
"Fuck no!"
At least you tried.
"But I'll have to see you in action first. Get in."
You have done it. It took a beating, a bloodbath, a brawl, and a bullet, but you are one step closer to making a living. You hold up a professional veneer. "I'm looking forward to this job. You won't regret me, Blitz."
"Yeah, real cute. We're not on a names basis yet. Now hop in. I gotta plant that stinkbomb in Donns' fridge before he gets to it first."
A time will come when something in Hell will halt you in your tracks, but it won't be today. You walk around the front, doing a small victory pump. As you round the dented hood, you spot a large rat scurrying into the drain hole, a portly demon with a combover in the nearby building, his mouth wide open as he looks at you in stunned silence, and in the passenger seat, a very disinterested – you look back at the billboard – hellhound, the one Blitzo argued with, absorbed in her phone and completely unaware of your presence. The side door now looms, proudly donning the whack job's emblem.

I.M.P.
I trade one three-letter for another.


Notes:

(Originally posted 2021/07/21)

HB is a series that definitely left me wanting more. And what better thing to contribute, than yet another freaking HiH/new employee fic!? This is a prelude to my main story, which will take place in the massive timegap between episodes 4 and 5. I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to point out any mistakes, and do comment because people like reading comments. Now let's kneel for Dricus du Plessis.
KNEEL