The temperature has dropped in Pride. Rain crystallizes into pure white, sprinkling on the streets, dirt and dust tainting the snow on the ground. It is now December. Like trying to find a single snowflake in the slow, drifting sheets of frozen liquid, the infected imps of Pride continue to roam. The only way to catch them is to scoop the snow up and hope that the snowflake is contained within.

The freeze seemingly came out of nowhere; rain one morning, snow the next. The streets froze over, covered in invisible patches of tractionless ground. The semi truck that the Vulpes sat in sputtered to life, its cabin massive, and he tapped the steering wheel impatiently. Incessant tunes piped in through the radio, the only piece of multimedia not controlled by Vox. This was tragic, considering the only things that beam through are songs that are almost a century old, radio serials still communicated through a mid-Atlantic accent, and the screaming of sinners captured by Alastor during live torture sessions.

The passenger door opened, the harsh, brisk wind gushing through, and the Vulpes' sister climbed in. The seatbelt was quickly fastened.

"Helsaaa. How was the drive here?"

Helsa squinted at her brother. "…shut the fuck up, Sev."

Seviathan sputtered laughing. "I know, I know, bad timing. The Emperor's work can't wait, though. Novel disease, we have to quarantine, and using the imps isn't going to work."

"Yeah, yeah." She scoffed. "The highways in Envy are completely iced over. Nearly got into a fuckin' pile-up just getting here."

The spymaster rolled his eyes. "Well, you're here now… more than can be said about some in the family." His foot pushed the accelerator, and the truck sputtered to life. "Settle in. We're going all the way down to Wrath with this shit."

Helsa crossed her arms, leaning back. "…I am literally praying for an accident right now."

Sev was driving at a snail's pace. A scream flew out of the radio. "…whatever."

The fireplace of the hotel slowly crackled as the lanky spider showed the lost imps around. "…an' ye, in that direction there's tha kitchen… I dunno what ya fuckin' imps eat. Bugs?" Moxxie, about to interject, was interrupted by the Italian. "Nah, it ain't bugs, is it? Birds?"

A woman, blonde hair, white face, rosy red cheeks turned the corner. A friendly smile was chiseled into her face. "Oh, hi! Welcome to the Happy Hotel, I'm Charlie! Can I get you anything? Drinks, some food?"

The spider pat both of the imps on the shoulder. "Ey, I gotta get back out on tha street. Ya jus'… let her know yer whole spiel an' she'll take care a' ya, alright?" The prostitute lets out a small chuckle before he turns to walk out.

The weapons expert went to offer his hand, and the southern belle, watching her husband, did the same. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Moxxie." The offer was accepted, and the princess shook his hand. "We really can't settle in. There's a rather urgent situation that we're trying to…"

"Som' Goetia's gonna get capped!" A few seconds of silence. "…I'm Mildred, but ya can call me Millie!"

Charlie glanced around, nervously laughing… before she slowly shook the woman's hand. Her expression grew worried. "…wait. Capped as in…"

"Murdered, shot, real brutal-like… we ain't tha ones doin' it this time! Or- well, any time, we go 'round killin' humans an' what-not, an' demons down here pay us for it-"

Moxxie cleared his throat rather loudly. They glanced at each other silently before turning their eyes back to the princess. "…right. We have good reason to believe that someone has a blessing-tipped rifle, and they're going to use it on a member of the Goetia."

Charlie looked over to the bar. Husk, the bartender, was passed out drunk and slurping up his spit on the counter, and Angel had just left through the front door. A hushed whisper came out of the younger Morningstar. "…you really shouldn't say things like that in public… might cause a panic…" Her posture was tense, and a bead of sweat was dripping down her forehead. "Why don't we take this somewhere… private?"

Moxxie rose an eyebrow. "…ma'am, with all due respect, this is something that people should know about. How are we supposed to react to it if-"

"Please." She swallowed a frog in her throat, gesturing down the hallway. "I'll give you a tour!" Charlie feigned enthusiasm.

Angel threw the entrance open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut. His chest heaved up and down, back pressed against the front door. "Tha fuckin' grainmen are outside."

The heiress threw her gaze to the hooker's direction. "…what?"

His voice dipped down to an anxious whisper. "…Sev's out there."

Charlie blinked a few times. "…oh. Great. Uh… what are they-"

Knock knock knock. Loud, authoritative banging at the door. No flourishes. Angel practically jumped out of his skin, nearly losing his balance as he quickly turned to face the entrance. "Jesus fuckin' Christ-" His eyes, light and dark, darted towards Charlie. "…hide tha imps."

"…what?"

"Jus' fuckin' do it." His voice strained, in between pursed lips, trying to keep quiet while making his point.

The princess squinted… before taking the imps by the shoulders and guiding them away to the kitchen. Another series of knocks. The imps looked back before Charlie took them around the corner.

The spider steeled himself. "…ay, hol' on, I'm comin', ya fucks!" He swallowed, heart beating hard in his chest, stomach dropping, before he opened the door… and looked down.

Several Eldritch demons. One female. The one in front of him Angel recognised from Charlie's recollection of her ex-boyfriend. Cold, ascetic, unloving. The snow flickered behind as the spymaster cleared his throat. "Hello. You're… Angel Dust, I assume." A false smile. "Is, um… Charlotte Morningstar in the building?"

"…Charlie?" He rose an eyebrow. "She's busy." Angel crossed his lower arms, while his other pair was used to prop himself up in the doorframe.

Seviathan looked over to his sister. "Right. Well, I'm afraid this can't wait. There's an impish disease spreading around that we believe to be very dangerous. We're trying to contact trace patient zero and quarantining those who had contact."

Angel looks behind the spymaster. Several imps in a group, Frumentarii surrounding them, guns in their hand, jackboots crunching against the snow. They were being loaded into the back of the semi. His eyes widened, and fury built up in his chest. "…that right?"

A small nod from the Vulpes. "That's right, so we were just wondering if there were any imps in your employ or any that may be patrons of the hotel."

A tense silence filled the cold air. "…I'm gonna tell ya right now, there ain't any imps. You're wastin' yer time." The Italian spat those words out with unintended malice. He was blocking the door, extraordinarily effective with his tall frame.

The von Eldritch was taken aback. "…I apologise, but how do you know that? I mean, aren't you a patron yourself? Not an employee?" There was a clear frustration in his voice.

"An' as a patron, ya help out 'round tha hotel. They don't fuckin' pay ya, but it's part of yer whole room an' board thing, capiche?" He looked back to the scene. An imp was now being manhandled into the back of the semi. "…an' from my experience…" The rifle of one of the Frumentarii hits the back of an imp's head. "…Charlie's got some real fuckin' prejudices."

Both Sev and Helsa's eyes bulged out of their head. Helsa started cackling, while Sev stared into space. The spymaster then let out an incredulous laugh. "…come again?"

"Ya, she don't let any fuckin' imps anywhere near tha hotel. I'm always havin' ta kick 'em out, an' I've heard her say some real snide things 'bout 'em. Ain't consider 'em worthy of her time."

Helsa wiped a tear of joy from her eye, and Sev looked to her. He spoke first, a low whisper. "…are you buying this?"

She let out a snorting laugh. "What, a Morningstar? Being racist? Why, I never-"

The spymaster sidestepped towards his sister. "…right, but this is Charlie. Same person that wouldn't let me hurt a fly."

A hand was now on the addict's hip. "Oh, nah, nah, she don't do it herself. She gets me ta do it. One a' them… well, ya know… likes ta be behind a desk orderin' people ta do it. I'm sure ya know aaaall 'bout that."

A scuffle across the street. An imp goes for a legionary's gun. In the wintery streets echoes out the pop of gunfire, rancid blood soiling the pure snow. The dying hellborn is dragged into the semi, thrown in with the rest. The Eldritches in front of the Italian don't even flinch.

A pit forms in the spider's stomach. His throat goes dry, and all he could do is watch. His teeth were grit, but before he could give a piece of his mind, Charlie rounded the corner into the foyer. "Hey, uh- I'll be right there!"

Seviathan waved to the Morningstar. The cracking of bullets. Pandemonium had struck the impish mob. In their restlessness, they began brawling with the Frumentarii. It started with a brick slamming into a soldier's head. Now the imps screamed, cried out, gasped in exasperation as they tried to beat their captors into submission.

The power differential immediately shifted in the other direction. These soldiers were cursed with the mark of Envy, the spirit of the Eldritch within. Whatever injury they suffered was superficial, and as the imps crowded around, the squad repulsed them through their arcane energies. As the men, women, and children stumbled back to their feet, outside of arm's reach, the soldiers took aim.

The Vulpes looked over his shoulder. Charlie, Angel Dust, and the spymaster would all share the burden of witnessing the Frumentarii open fire on the crowd.