It was a tragedy of epic proportions when a group was wiped out by a barrage of bullets inside of a factory. The source of the tragedy wasn't the loss of countless lives, as they were all imps in Hell and probably had it coming anyway. No, the tragedy came from the fact that they all had tried to avoid being pumped full of bullets by hiding in a factory that made swiss cheese, and none had realized how hilarious that was before dying. Only two were left now, with neither showing signs of comprehending the overarching humor of their situation.
"I know our entire gang just got wiped out by one guy, but I can hear him coming through the front door. If I shoot suppressing fire at him, you can go for the killshot," The imp on the left explained.
"Okay," The imp on the right replied.
"Let's go!"
Once the imp on the left popped up from cover, he was rewarded with a bullet to the head. His brains splattered all over the imp on the right, who made no attempt to move. Instead he pointed a finger while laughing.
"Dumbass!"
A hand wrapped around the imp's throat, stifling his laughter.
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing,"
Striker holstered his pistol so he could swap to his hunting knife. He stabbed the final imp repeatedly, enjoying the frantic writhing of a helpless scumbag at his mercy. His smile left when his phone rang. He executed the imp by cutting at the throat, which drew a steady stream of blood onto the floor. Striker accepted the call without a word.
"Am I speaking with Striker?"
"You are,"
"I'm Strelitzia Cain, CEO of Infernum. I'm confident you've heard of us. We here at Infernum have taken an interest in you lately,"
"I'm an interesting guy,"
"I sent a payment offer for an upcoming job that requires a candidate with your skillset. I'd like to check with you and see if that amount is sufficient before I take any more of you time,"
Striker pressed on his phone a few times before putting it back to his ear.
"I'm listening,"
"The first half of this job would involve you overseeing some sensitive financial documents,"
"And the second?"
"Cleanup," Strelitzia said. "A small accounting firm, as well as anyone who might be a liability,"
"Got any names?"
Andrew Anderson stepped over several of the homeless imps strewn about the concrete stairway he was climbing. His resentment grew alongside his altitude.
"And I thought I worked in a shithole. Is this building even in use?"
After he reached the proper door, he checked that his hair was still slicked back after that treacherous journey. He adjusted his glasses as well. Andy entered, approaching the hellhound tending the front desk.
"My name's Andrew, I'm one of the Auditors from Shiltz & Company. We've been working on I.M.P's financials and I'm just here to ask some questions. Is Blitzo here?"
"Fuck off,"
Andy blinked twice. "We just need to get some more information before we proceed with the audit,"
"Fuck off,"
Unsure of what to do next, Andy stood frozen in place until he found a door that might help him.
"Blitzo?"
Blitzo watched Andy enter his office in the same manner as a nurse might watch a patient take a shit in a hospital bed. He noticed Andy's white collared shirt that was accompanied by shoes, pants, and a tie that were all black.
"You look like an accountant,"
"I'm an accountant,"
"Goddammit!" Blitzo slammed the outdated newspaper he was pretending to read. "Did Loona tell you to fuck off?"
"Yes,"
"Well, she did her best," He sighed. "What do you want?"
"Invoices,"
"What?"
"Receipts," Andy stressed. "Any documents that can help back up your company's financials,"
"Right, of course. Invoices…how many do you need? Three? Four?"
"It'll be a lot more than that,"
"Five?"
Andy barely suppressed a sigh. "You need detailed documentation that supports all of your year-end financial positions,"
"Says who?"
"Says the overarching institutions of Imp City that will come after you and your company if you don't,"
Blitzo processed Andy's words for a moment, then stood up wearing a smile.
"You know, maybe I do have to 'back up my financials,' or whatever the fuck you're rambling on about. But you know what I don't have to do?"
Blitzo produced a flintlock pistol with a fanciful spin.
"What I don't have to do is blow a hole straight through your torso," He aimed at Andy. "Unless you plan on hanging around my office much longer. Then I will have to. Got it?"
"Got it,"
"Great," Blitzo grabbed a manilla folder from his desk and dumped it on Andy's lap. "Now take these invoices and shove them up your ass,"
By the time Andy slumped into the front seat of his car, he felt as if he really had been shot. In reality, it was just his own anxiety burning a hole through his stomach. He stared at the bag of two frosted donuts with sprinkles sitting on the passenger seat.
"Maybe I'll be hungry later,"
He tried to take solace in the fact that he'd actually gotten his hands on some client documents. He opened the folder Blitzo had given him. It was full of coupons, of which most, if not all, were expired.
"Fucks sake!"
—-
"Where have you been?" Asked the old imp-lady who managed the front desk of Shiltz & Company.
"Talking with a wonderful client," Andy replied.
"You were late when you came in this morning,"
"By five minutes,"
"Late is late," The secretary croaked.
"I work twelve hours most days,"
"Should be twelve hours every day,"
Andy was already walking away before her sentence was out. Much as the secretary was vicious, she likely wouldn't have the energy to chase him down.
Andy's office looked like an office.
It looked like every office you've ever seen, except it was slightly cleaner and more depressing. Also, it had whiskey in the desk's bottom drawer. Andy drank from a flask, but quickly hid it away when the Bossman's son entered.
"Heard ya were late again,"
The Bossman's son spoke in a slurred, delirious manner that, alongside the fact it was late in the day, brought Andy to the conclusion that he was under the influence of at least two different narcotics. If it had been Friday, Andy would have correctly assumed three.
"You show up late every day," Andy countered.
"Nuh-uh! I work from home a lotta the time," The Bossman's son bumped into the vacant chair opposite Andy's desk. He stumbled for a few steps to regain his balance. "Plus, there'z plenty of behind-the-scenes stuff that I'm in charge of that you don't see,"
"Anderson!" The Boss's voice interrupted the conversation.
"Yeah?" Andy replied.
The Bossman appeared, bringing his beer gut and rampant baldness with him. "Oh, you're both here. Quit jerking eachother off, we've got a staff meeting starting now!"
The Bossman's son pointed frantically. "Andy's the gay guy, not me!"
"You're as much a disappointment as any butt pirate out there, so I don't want to hear it. Conference room!"
The bossman started ranting once his son and Andy were seated in the conference room.
"Even though Lucifer was born in heaven, everyone pretends he was born in hell. Since he hasn't produced proof that he's actually a citizen of hell, he shouldn't be allowed to rule, but the corrupt media covers his ass 24/7!"
The Bossman took a second to catch his breath, sweat stains visible under his arms.
"Anyway, I have a big announcement. Just sealed the deal with a big client today. Bigger than any I've had in my thirty years as an accountant, so I don't want any fuckups on this audit,"
"Whazz the company," The bossman's son asked with a hazy smile.
"Infernum,"
Andy didn't recognize that company's name. The Bossman's son pretended like he did, taking on an unconvincing attempt at an impressed expression.
"They're sending us highly sensitive documents that'll be guarded by one of their agents. Get here early tomorrow, and no dicking around on this one,"
Andy already felt dead inside, so being forced to work more hours didn't faze him much anymore. He took some pleasure in the Bossman's son looking especially worried at the idea of waking up before noon.
The meeting adjourned, allowing Andy to finish out the last hours of his workday in peace. He was rewarded with an ever familiar exhaustion that followed him along his commute home. He parked his car, pulled up a pair of binoculars, and trained them on an apartment window.
"Looks like they're already finishing up the foreplay,"
Two imp men could be seen making out while in a state of undress. The smaller imp with the expensive haircut was named Quentin. Andy didn't recognize the other. Quentin pulled away from sucking the other imp's cock so the two could change positions.
"It's Tuesday, so probably hellhound style," Andy muttered.
Quentin got on all fours, being clapped from behind by the sluggish stranger.
"You really think you'll make cum like that?"
Quentin started spraying jizz everywhere as if to spite him.
"Yeah, fuck you too," Andy dropped the binoculars. "So fucking lame. At least it didn't take long,"
Andy walked through the parking lot with a body that felt so much heavier than usual.
"This is fine," He thought.
The accountant stopped walking.
"Wait a minute, I'm not fine. I'm down bad. A real fucking loser. I've probably never met someone pathetic enough to just watch other people fucking through the window. I don't even enjoy it," Andy thought.
The accountant started walking.
"That got kind of intense," He sighed. "Oh well, better to just ignore it,"
The imp who had just fucked Quentin passed by without giving a second glance. The elevator brought Andy up to his floor.
"Honey, I'm home," Andy muttered.
Quentin was sitting at the kitchen table fixated on his phone. He pushed a catalog in Andy's general direction.
"I found some decorations for our wedding that I like better. Can you update that spreadsheet thing you're keeping?
"K."
"I want to get a different suit too but I haven't decided. The last one I picked just seems so cheap and tacky now,"
"I guess the second most expensive brand in Imp City wasn't enough," Andy thought.
After milling about for a minute, Andy felt the need to break the awkward silence.
"A client threatened me with a gun today,"
"No way!"
Quentin held up his phone.
"Verossica just posted this pic to her Voxtagram. She's having drinks at this restaurant I like. It's got kinda this health-kick thing going on but also with fusions to other foods people actually like eating. It's so her style. And it's crazy that she's there, I mean, I was just there last week with Ryan,"
"Who's Ryan?"
"Uh, just a friend," Quentin said. "Anyway, maybe I should go to that restaurant now. It'd be so crazy to bump into her there,"
Andy sifted through a small desk, pulling one paper from the top drawer.
"You're still under restraining order until the end of the month,"
Quentin frowned. "Ugh, you're right. Oh well, that'll give me enough time to finish my updated tier list video for all her albums now that the new one is out. Then I can ask for her opinion of my opinions of her music when I bump into her again," He patted Andy on the shoulder. "That accountant brain of yours just spared me another night in jail. I knew I kept you around for a reason,"
Andy considered mentioning the fact that the apartment was rented solely by him, or that Quentin had been unemployed ever since they started dating, but couldn't find the energy. Besides, he'd been home for almost five minutes, which meant it was time for bed.
Navigating through the darkness, Andy felt a flicker of excitement upon seeing his fiance's silhouette on his bed. He wrapped his arms around Quentin who immediately wriggled away and constructed a wall of pillows between them.
"I had a busy day,"
Andy wasn't surprised by that response. Laying back, he stroked his own cock to feed into his excitement.
"Don't jerk off so loud,"
Andy sighed, grabbed his phone, and went to the living room couch instead. He found a video of Angel Dust burying his face in the ass of some juiced up meathead. Angel moved his head around gently, massaging effectively with his tongue. Something about the buff guy's moaning made it easy for Andy to blow his load. Angel Dust was still lapping away by the time he set his phone aside. He didn't bother going back to the bedroom, opting instead to pass out on the couch until thoughts of tomorrow got in the way.
"Fuck, we have that big client we're auditing. They're sending someone to the office tomorrow,"
Andy set his phone's alarm to go off bright and early.
"I feel sorry for the poor sap who has to get shipped out to our shitty firm,"