Charon stared at the double doors in front of him and took a gulp of mildewy air. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since he fled Dupont Circle, and after returning to Underworld, it raced even faster. He glanced at the sign by the door, a crooked museum placard that advertised the bar inside. The Ninth Circle. His stomach wormed its way into his throat. He'd never come back here with this much to explain, and that fact kept him frozen where he stood.

He forced himself to take a step towards the entry, then another, cringing as his boots stuck to the tile. He was covered in blood. Added to the splattered gore from the slavers were the skull fragments of a few unlucky raiders, a mixture that plastered him head to toe. He pushed open the door, ignoring the red handprints he left behind. An uncomfortably warm breeze greeted him. It reeked of booze.

The bar was crowded. Typical for this hour. Lit by flickering torchlight, ghouls slumped in every corner, most not bothering to hide their inhalers or the needles that stuck from their arms. Charon stepped between a row of tables, met with uneasy stares. He shrugged it off. It wasn't unusual for him to come back here a bloody mess. He made his way to the back corner of the bar, looked a few ghouls in the face, and the staring stopped.

Charon unclipped his shotgun, set it against the wall, and glanced across the bar. His employer was easy to spot - Ahzrukhal was the only ghoul in a suit, though covered in the same layer of filth as everyone else. As usual, he stood in the far corner, behind the greasy bar top.

Charon tensed as Ahzrukhal straightened and looked over his shoulder. Ahzrukhal narrowed his eyes and ambled across the bar, pausing a few feet away to lean against a nearby table.

"You're back early," he wheezed.

Charon held his breath, his hands flexing, already restless and itching without the shotgun in their grip. That wasn't a good sign. He took a step back, flinching as he smacked against the wall.

Ahzrukhal lit a cigarette and pulled a comb from his breast pocket, slicking back what was left of his hair strand by oily strand. A constant stream of smoke seeped out through the holes in his cheeks, and Charon cringed. The longer the silence dragged on, the longer he had to sit with it. The feeling from earlier, that urge to kill, came surging back now that he was face to face with his employer.

Something had gone horribly wrong. No matter the torment he suffered, no matter how many sick games his employer played - this feeling never made it back to the Ninth Circle. Charon knew it was bad - very bad - but he couldn't help but bask in it. Shooting him would be so damn easy. The ghoul was half his size, decades his senior. He was fragile, could hardly breathe for all the cigarettes he smoked. Knicknack was right about one thing, at least. He couldn't lay a finger on Charon if he tried. As if to drive the point home, Ahzrukhal burned right through his first cigarette, paused for a few phlegmy coughs, and lit another one.

"I trust everything's been taken care of?" he said at last.

He held the cigarette in his teeth and picked at something stuck in his comb, not bothering to look up.

Charon couldn't speak. Hearing Ahzrukhal's voice made his predicament far worse. Ahzrukhal furrowed his brow and stood, closing in. Charon's fingers grazed the stock of his shotgun. The closer Ahzrukhal got, the more he wanted to reach for it.

"Oh? I'm sure you heard me." Ahzrukhal's words dripped from his mouth. "Let's not go through this again."

Charon bit his tongue. Some of the ghouls nearby resumed staring, eager for entertainment.

"Hm. I see you've been shot," Ahzrukhal noted. His eyes wandered from Charon's burned arm to his bloodied equipment. "Any other... improvisations that you'd care to tell me about?"

"The slavers..." Charon began. "Both dead."

Ahzrukhal's eyes widened.

"And how did that happen?"

"Sniper."

Charon swallowed dryly. A wave of dizziness washed over him as Ahzrukhal took a slow drag on his cigarette. The feeling was familiar - the usual punishment for lying. He could tolerate it now, but he couldn't keep this up for long.

"Mmm. That's a shame," Ahzrukhal said. "But I already paid them. It's money lost either way. I'm interested in money gained. The wastelanders. You secured them."

"Not... Exactly."

Ahzrukhal's eyes narrowed to slits. Charon's head spun, and he started to feel sick. He never did like drinking, because it all too often reminded him of this.

"There were too many... raiders... It was... It..."

His throat seized up. He'd run out of time.

"I asked you a simple question," Ahzrukhal snapped. "My god. It's like pulling teeth. You had the nerve to come back here once already without finishing the job. The least you could do is give me a straight answer."

"I am... attempting to do that."

"Are you, now? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were lying to me."

"I cannot lie to you."

"Of course not. You know better than that." His voice quieted as he forced it through clenched teeth. "You'd best unfuck yourself, Charon. Or you'll be very, very sorry."

"Physical violence-"

"Yes, I'm well aware. But you don't seem to understand the situation you're in. Push your luck, and I'll go ahead and cancel our contract."

Ahzrukhal flicked a chunk of glowing ash at Charon's face. It stung, but Charon didn't so much as blink. He wouldn't give Ahzrukhal the satisfaction. Death threats were cheap, and Ahzrukhal would never follow through.

"You're awfully quiet," Ahzrukhal said. "You understand what I meant by that, don't you?"

Charon understood perfectly, but he wouldn't say it. As expected, the longer he kept his jaw clenched, the faster his head spun. Charon took a steadying breath and forced himself to respond.

"Yes," he said. "I understand."

The spinning waned, but his stomach still flipped as Ahzrukhal leaned in close. The ghoul reeked. His filthy oversize suit, the cheap cologne that didn't quite cover the smell of decay - it was all too much. Charon wanted to kill him, he wanted it more than he'd wanted anything in his entire life.

"I'm beginning to doubt it." Ahzrukhal drew in a deep, wheezing inhale. "Let's be clear, shall we? I asked a few simple things of you. Go to Dupont. Kill the raiders. You could have stuck your thumb in your ass and let the slavers do the rest. Which part of that was too hard for you? Where are the wastelanders? Give me a straight answer."

He had to say something. Drawing this out wasn't a good idea.

"The raiders..." he began. He grimaced, then forced himself to spit out the rest. "The raiders still have them."

"That's certainly a first..." Ahzrukhal said. "You're full of surprises today, aren't you? What makes you think you can come back here without finishing a job?"

Ahzrukhal stepped back. A predatory look came into his eyes, the same look he got when he picked and prodded at his customers. Charon cringed. Any other day, he could suffer through this. But not now. Not like this. It wasn't going to end well.

"I..." he began.

Ahzrukhal cleared his throat.

"That was a hypothetical. I didn't tell you to speak, so don't start grunting an excuse - just shut your mouth and listen. You think your wellbeing matters more to me than my reputation? I make deals with people. And I make it abundantly clear what happens when deals fall apart, because I believe - no, I know - that no matter how much of a mute idiot you are, you'll follow through. There's no cost-benefit-fucking-analysis here, Charon. There's my orders. That's it."

Ahzrukhal puffed himself up, and Charon fought the urge to shrink back. He wasn't too proud to admit it. He was afraid, but he was more afraid of himself than anything. He'd run up against an inviolable tenet of his employment, one he'd never dared to challenge. And the slavers' blood coated his hands, still tacky to the touch, a reminder of how quickly things went wrong.

"Do you know how many caps they owed me?" Ahzrukhal pulled a small pocketbook from the breast of his suit, licked his thumb and flipped through the yellowed pages. "You must have forgotten. But we're accustomed to that, aren't we?"

Ahzrukhal ran his finger along the page, then looked up, pausing to blow a stream of smoke directly into Charon's eyes. Charon screwed them shut. He needed to keep it together. He had to. He knew killing Ahzrukhal was unforgivable, and the reason behind it didn't matter. Charon's world wasn't built on reason. It was built on rules.

"It was little over seven thousand," Ahzrukhal said at last. He snapped the book shut. "Including interest."

He narrowed his eyes and looked Charon up and down.

"You know... There's something different about you today. You've slipped up before, but this is unprecedented. Maybe you need a little explanation as to why this errand matters to both of us... And why I don't give a shit about raiders playing target practice with your backup."

He snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray and promptly lit another, pulling up a chair. Charon grit his teeth. Ahzrukhal was settling in for a speech. He loved to hear his own voice, especially when there were customers around to listen. Sure enough, a few ghouls nearby leaned in on their elbows, ready for a show.

"Seven thousand caps, Charon. I take that debt very seriously. But it's not the caps I'm concerned about. It's broken promises."

Charon bit his tongue. The insult didn't escape him. A lie or two made his head spin, but Ahzrukhal could whip up a farce with no consequence at all.

"I keep my word..." Ahzrukhal said. "And I expect others to do the same. I shouldn't have to explain this. You already know. It's somewhere in that empty head of yours. You and I, our whole arrangement is based off of integrity."

The knot in Charon's stomach returned with a vengeance. Ahzrukhal was doing it again - toying with him, picking at threads but never saying enough to bring back a real memory.

"Integrity holds up the business world," Ahzrukhal said. "The wastelanders I sent you after are in sore need of a reminder. You're going to finish the job, Charon. You're going to snap collars on both of those sons of bitches and hold them accountable. It's the honorable thing to do."

Charon crossed his arms and dug his nails into his skin.

"That was not what you asked of me before."

"Oh? Well we didn't have dead slavers on our hands before, now did we? You have two jobs to do now."

"I was ordered to retrieve debt. I was not ordered to-"

"Oh, that's adorable. You're talking back. This job striking a nerve with you, is it? I thought it might. I'm interested, Charon. What about this errand makes you think you have a choice?"

Charon growled. It wasn't just the slavers. This whole job was bait, the kind Charon couldn't resist taking, and only Ahzrukhal knew the real reason why. That was just part of the game.

"This is... unnecessary. I will acquire the caps. I have always-"

"Please, remind me. When did your opinion matter? You're not here to tell me how you feel about it. You're here to follow through. If you can't do that, then what good are you?"

Ahzrukhal looked up, a mirthless expression pinching on his face. He leaned back in his chair and took a long drag on his cigarette. Charon knew he'd lost. He always lost. Ahzrukhal had every advantage, but Charon had to fight him anyway. Anything less would be pathetic. He steadied himself as Ahzrukhal rose to his feet.

"If you don't do this, you're robbing them of their chance to make things right," Ahzrukhal said. "It's important to pay off debts. It's a mark of an honest man. Take, you, for example." Ahzrukhal's mouth twisted up at the sides. "You're paying your debt to me. Or you would be, if you would do what I asked of you. Every day, every errand, every cent you earn me. It's all in your favor, Charon."

"You are incorrect," Charon blurted. "Payment is not part of the contract."

For once, Charon welcomed the verbal knee-jerk. The rules in his head were the only thing he knew for certain, and faced with them, Ahzrukhal's lies couldn't hold up.

"You'll never stop with that, will you?" Ahzrukhal said.

He wasn't unnerved in the slightest, in fact, his bleary eyes pinched with amusement. Charon's skin crawled. Maybe his contract wasn't infallible. Or maybe, as with everything else, Ahzrukhal had twisted it to his own ends.

"I suppose you are right," Ahzrukhal conceded. "Payment isn't a part of this. But payment and working off debt are two different things, aren't they? Money, time, misery. However you cash it in, redemption isn't free."

Charon drew in a breath. Ahzrukhal liked to cycle through the same tired material, but this was a new bit. Despite his bad memory, Charon was sure he hadn't heard it before. Feelings were one thing that really stuck with him, and he'd never felt this awful. All the blood rushed to his face, and it felt like he'd been socked in the stomach, hard.

"Oh my," Ahzrukhal said. "Don't look like that. I see there's obviously some wheels turning in in that big dumb head of yours. Go on. If you have something to say to me, then say it."

"I do not believe you," Charon said. The tremor in his voice was less than convincing. "You have never mentioned this before."

"Well it's your memory over mine, isn't it? I wouldn't lie to you, anyways. Integrity, remember?"

Charon clenched his fists. He never questioned how he ended up doing Ahzrukhal's dirty work. He'd been unhappy for as long he could remember, but that was nothing special. That could be said of any ghoul in Underworld. And just like any ghoul, Charon knew that accepting misery was easier than fighting it. Yet, the way Charon felt now, Ahzrukhal may as well have taken a torch to his contract. Ahzrukhal liked to read it aloud to taunt him, at least, the parts that could be read at all. That tattered piece of paper said nothing about an expiration date. Charon rarely felt this desperate, this hopeful. He knew he'd walked headfirst into a trap. This had to be a lie, but he couldn't help himself. If Ahzrukhal was telling the truth, it meant this wasn't forever. He couldn't let that go.

"Nothing else to say?" Ahzrukhal asked.. "Good. None of this is up for debate. So go back tomorrow and finish the job. That's an order."

"Without backup I cannot..." Charon bit his tongue, but couldn't keep it under control. His temples throbbed. He rarely talked back, rarely defied an order. He hated the feeling that came afterwards, but it was too late. He'd already crossed that line, and backpedaling wouldn't save him now. "I will not..." He inhaled sharply. The world started to spin again, faster than before.

"That's a lot of negatives for someone in your position. I'm sure I've misheard." Ahzrukhal's words dripped from his mouth. "Speak carefully, and do enunciate, Charon."

"I will... not..." His vision started to blur. His knees were seconds away from giving out beneath him.

"Speak up."

Charon squeezed his eyes shut. Just like before, the longer he kept silent, the worse it got. The spinning picked up, and he pressed himself into the wall, digging his fingers into the cracks. He gasped, only to choke on a cloud of cigarette smoke. Ahzrukhal was too close, just inches from his face.

"Fascinating," Ahzrukhal remarked. "You're fighting this with everything you have, aren't you? You've never taken it this far."

Charon's grasping fingers knocked against his shotgun, then twitched around it. That was a mistake. The spinning doubled, tripled in speed.

"You're making a very bad decision," Ahzrukhal said quietly.

The floor tilted beneath Charon's feet. His head pounded, each throb followed by pulsating rings of bright blue speckles. This was uncharted territory, miles past the limits of his contract. He couldn't see, and where his hand met his shotgun, a spike of pain ran through his arm. He just needed to pick it up. Just a few quick motions, but it was too much. Pain couldn't kill. Could it? Did it even matter? If he could get one shot in, just one...

"Disappointing," Ahzrukhal muttered. Ahzrukhal reached out with his shoe and kicked the shotgun aside. It lay just inches from Charon's feet, but he may as well have thrown it across the room. Ahzrukhal still stared at him, taking a deliberate drag from his cigarette.

"Well? I'm still waiting, Charon."

He wasn't touching the gun. Why wasn't it stopping? The pain only got worse. All he could see was blue, neverending rings of blue. He hated that color, almost as much as he hated Ahzrukhal, and he couldn't fathom why.

"Something is... wrong," Charon choked.

"Damn right. You tried to pull that shotgun on me, and you won't answer my question."

He took another drag, letting it seep from the rotted holes in his face.

"Don't misinterpret. This isn't optional. You're going to snap slave collars on them, or die trying. But I want to hear you say it. Right now. Are you going to take care of it?"

Charon's knees buckled. The spinning was too much. The blue light burned, getting brighter by the second. He had to do something, and do it fast.

"Y... Yes," Charon gasped. "I will take care of it."

"And when will you get it done?"

The spinning began to slow.

"Tomorrow." Charon choked. He chose his words as carefully as he could. "Tomorrow. As you command."

The world went still, the ground sturdy beneath his feet. Charon pried his fingers from the cracks in the wall. The shotgun still lingered at the edge of his vision. He pushed the thought down, forced himself to ignore it. The bright blue rings pulsed once, twice, then disappeared, skittering away into the corners of his eyes.

"Good, Charon. Good." Ahzrukhal smirked. "I know you wouldn't lie to me. You aren't that stupid."

His chest heaved beneath his combat armor. Ahzrukhal rubbed his cigarette into Charon's breastplate. The butt fell to the ground and he lit another.

"It's heartbreaking, really," he said wistfully. "You used to be so well-behaved. Not that you'd remember... Maybe back then you still had an inkling of what this all means for you. But I won't dig up old bones."

Something new flashed in Ahzrukhal's eyes. Charon couldn't place it. Discomfort, maybe. Or was it fear? Ahzrukhal's shoulders scrunched higher than usual, and he sucked at his cigarette with frantic zeal.

"You'll make things right, whether or not you believe me." Ahzrukhal's voice took on a nervous bite. "Nothing's changed between us. I'm your employer, and you listen to me. End of story."

With a roll of his shoulders, Ahzrukhal flicked some ash in Charon's direction.

"I've gotten used to our... arrangement. But it's not in my business model to employ fuck-ups." He backed away, leaving a cloud of smoke in his wake. "You know, I'm glad we had this little talk. Watch the bar today, then go. I better not see you here tomorrow morning. I expect you to be well on your way."