AN: Hey, guys! Hope everyone's holidays were good. As always, thank you EVERYONE who has been reviewing. Means a lot. I know it's been a while, so I hope I haven't lost too many of you D: But I've got two new chapters for you guys, and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 5
Kyle Goes to Hell... Again

Kyle continued to clutch at his throat and choke for some time before realizing he was okay. He stopped spluttering abruptly and sprang up, looking around. He was no longer in the school yard, but he recognized his surroundings all the same.

"Ahh—god dammit," he muttered, dismayed.

Just then, the demon greeter threw a lei over his head with an obligatory "welcome to Hell," and then continued down the line without a second glance.

Kyle lifted the red velvet rope that contained the line and walked under it, hurrying after the greeter. "Wait!"

She turned to face him, "Please, sir, get back in line or I'll have to call security." She gestured at a group of shadow-demon-dogs who were clustered around a coffee machine, their spears propped up against a nearby rock.

Kyle glanced at them before saying, "Just hear me out. I think there has been some sort of mistake. I've already done all this already."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've already had this dream."

"What?"

"I've already died and gone to Hell, stood in line, filed an appeal with the receptionist, and got my schedule for eternal torment... etcetera."

"That is odd," she agreed. "I'm sure they'll be able to help you at the front desk. Please get back in line."

"Oh come on! I can't stand in that line again. Can I just speak with your supervisor?" That was a little trick he learned from his mother; when things aren't going your way, ask to speak with a supervisor.

"Fine," she said with a sigh and walked off. She returned moments later with a bald and skinny Indian man wearing spectacles. "Mr. Gandhi, sir, this boy wants to speak with you."

Kyle stared at him. "Gandhi?"

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

"You're the acting supervisor?"

"Yes. What's the problem?"

"Uh—okay... Well, I've already done the whole admissions process or whatever... I really don't want to stand in line again, you know?"

Gandhi produced an iPad from his dhothi. "Name?"

Kyle stared. "Is that... an iPad?"

"Yes. Hell's in business with Apple."

"Of course," said Kyle with a wry smile. "My name's Kyle Broflovski."

Mahatma Gandhi prodded the screen of the iPad very slowly and diligently, the way old people tend to do. Kyle rolled his eyes. After what felt like forever and a day, he said, "Yes. It does look as though you were admitted yesterday, and I see two different causes of death on two different dates."

"How's that possible?"

"I don't know. These notes are generated automatically by the system. No explanation was given."

"Well... what are you going to do?"

Gandhi looked nonplussed. He opened his mouth to answer, closed it, opened it again, closed it, but was spared answering by the arrival of a demon wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cut-off jeans. "Hey, uhh, the boss-man says that if we don't meet our admissions quota today, he's going to hose us down with industrial strength lye."

"Oh wow," said Gandhi, blinking.

"Yup," said the demon, and sauntered off.

"Listen, kid," said Gandhi, "I don't really have time to sort this out now. We're a little backed up today."

"Yeah. No shit," said Kyle, looking around with a flagrantly unimpressed expression on his face. "This place is a cluster fuck. People just fall into line? What sense does that make? You need some organization. Maybe make the lines alphabetical—have all the A's in one, all the B's in another... that way you can access people files quicker."

Gandhi looked surprised. "You are quite the bureaucrat, aren't you? You must be Jewish."

Kyle frowned. "What?"

"Hey!" said Gandhi suddenly, his eyes lighting up, "How would you like to be acting supervisor here? We're always on the lookout for good administrators."

"Uh—no," said Kyle, nettled.

"Are you sure? It's all the administrative power anyone could ever hope for." He unpinned his name tag, which read "Supervisor: Gandhi" and held it out to Kyle like someone luring a child into their car with a piece of candy.

Kyle felt a familiar itch in the tips of his fingers, and before he could stop himself, he snatched the name tag from Gandhi's outstretched palm and pinned it to his jacket.

"Great!" said Gandhi. "I'm gonna go take 15." He walked off.

The demon greeter looked at Kyle.

"Uh... get back to work?"

"Yes, Mr. Gandhi, Sir!" she said and returned to her task.

Kyle rubbed his hands together, and smiling a small smile, sought out Ann.

"Hello, Mr. Gandhi, Sir," she said upon seeing him.

"No. It's me, Kyle Broflovski. Don't you remember?"

"No..." she said, staring at him with a blank expression on her face.

Kyle blinked. "Really? A plane engine fell from the sky and crushed me. You honestly don't remember that conversation?"

"Sorry, Sir, but you all kind of look the same to me."

Kyle shrugged. This was probably a sickness induced psychosis anyways. No use getting hung up on the small stuff. "Okay then. Gandhi is having me take over as acting supervisor, and there are going to be some changes around here. They might seem radical at first, but by the time I'm done, this place will be a model of efficiency. Now, first things first, the lines should be somewhat alphabetical. If you have one line dedicated to A's and another to B's and so on, you'll be able to get to people's files quicker. If we do that, I guarantee we can increase efficiency by at least 10 percent!"

Ann just sat, looking at him with a disinterested expression.

"What are you waiting for?"

Ann let out a long sigh and pulled an intercom out from her desk drawer. Pressing the button, she relayed Kyle's somewhat complicated instructions. "Anyone whose last name starts with A, please get in lines 1-3, anyone whose name starts with B, get in lines 4-6..." she went on like this for some time, and when she was done, she repeated it. When she was done with that she said, "Anyone who fails to comply with these directions will be escorted to Gate 22 for disembowelment."

There was a cumulative grumble amongst the damned, but people complied, shepherded by Hell security (Kyle could see their spearheads bobbing over the heads of the crowd.) Given the number of people, watching them shuffle to their designated lines was quite a sight, and Kyle felt sort of like the choreographer of an enormous dance number, and given his complete lack of rhythm, it was actually a pretty fair depiction of what one of his dance numbers might look like.

He bobbed about happily as he watched, feeling the high only administrative power could give him. Just then, a formidable looking demon wearing a suit and tie and flanked by security approached him. "Mahatma Gandhi?" he inquired.

"Uh—no—I—"

"Detain him!"

Without further warning, Kyle was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.

"Mahatma Gandhi, you are under arrest for high treason and espionage against Hell. You—"

"But I'm not—"

"—have the right to shut the fuck up. Anything you say can and will be added to the list of charges against you..."

Kyle bit his tongue, using all the self-restraint he could muster to hold his silence. He was then shunted to a court room, where Satan presided as Judge.

"Mahatma Gandhi," said Satan, when Kyle was stood in front of him, "You stand accused of high treason and espionage. How do you plea?"

"I'm not Gandhi!"

There was the scrape of someone standing abruptly. "The prosecution would like that stricken from the record." Kyle turned to face the prosecution. He recognized Johnnie Cochran. "His name is clearly written... on his name tag!" he concluded dramatically.

"The accused's statement shall be stricken."

"What?" said Kyle, furious. "Gandhi just gave him this name tag so I could act as supervisor. I mean—look at me! I'm not Gandhi! I'm little Jewish boy for God's sake!"

"How does the defendant plea?" asked Satan again, sounding exasperated.

"Not guilty! But—"

"Okay. What's the prosecution's opening argument?"

Johnnie Cochran stood up, set up his stand, and rolled out his picture of Chewbacca. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, this is Chewbacca. Chewbacca is a Wookie from the planet Kashyyk, but Chewbacca lives on the planet Endor. Now think about that. That does not make sense."

"God dammit," murmured Kyle.

"Why would a Wookie—an eight foot tall Wookie—want to live on Endor with a bunch of two-foot-tall Ewoks? That does not make sense! But more importantly, you have to ask yourself, what does this have to do with this case? Nothing. Ladies and gentle, it has nothing to do with this case. It does not make sense. Why am I even here? I'm a really rich high profile defense attorney! Why am I acting as prosecutor? Does that make sense? No! Ladies and gentlemen of this supposed Jury, none of this makes sense. If Chewbacca lives on Endor you must convict! The defense rests."

"Your rebuttal?"

"I'm not Gandhi!"

"Is that all?" asked Satan.

"That's the crux of it."

"Then the Jury is dismissed for deliberation."

"What?" said Kyle. "We just finished the opening statements."

"Do you have anything else to say, Mr. Cochran?"

Cochran stood. "No, your honor, I think I've made my point," and just to reiterate, "I think I've made my point."

"Then the Jury's dismissed for deliberation. Take the defendant to a holding cell."

"What—hey! That's not fair!"

Kyle was hoisted off the ground by the scruff of his jacket. Kyle looked around to see the enormous demon that had originally taken him in. "Let me go!" He squirmed and kicked but the demons reach was such that Kyle couldn't get to him.

He was thrown into the holding cell. He sprang to his feet and ran for the door, but it was slammed in in face and locked. "Someone will come and get you when the Jury returns with their verdict."

"Wait!"

But the demon turned his back on him and walked out, leaving Kyle alone. "God dammit! What kind of charade is this!" he screamed, rattling the bars of his cell. "THIS ISN'T JUSTICE!" He went on shouting for some time, and then suddenly, the demon returned. Kyle stopped yelling at once.

"They're ready for you in court."

He was lead back to the court room and sat in his chair. The foreman rose. "We find the defendant guilty on all counts."

There was an outbreak of whisperd conversation.

"ORDER IN THE COURT!" shouted Satan, pounding his gavel. Silence fell. "I hereby sentence the defendant to death."

"No!" yelled Kyle, and was just about to make a dramatic plea for his life when he remembered, "Wait—aren't I already dead?"

"Don't be a smartass, Gandhi. You're already in deep shit," said Satan, with another pound of his gavel. "Take him back to his cell while we prepare for his execution."

The guards closed in on Kyle, but then there was an audible "POP!" and Kyle vanished. Or rather, Kyle vanished and then there was an audible "POP!" as the air rushed in to fill the void left by him.

There was silence in the court room, all eyes on the now empty spot.

"Where'd he go?" asked Satan. No one answered, only whispered amongst themselves.

Satan's eyes glowed a furious red. "WHERE DID HE GO!" He shouted, upturning the judge's bench with such force that it flew across the court room. Then the prince of darkness was ablaze and thrashing about the room, punching domes and setting everything he touched on fire. Human and demon spectators alike fled before his wrath.

Satan was throwing a tantrum, and it was EPIC.