The limo rolled up to the Hotel, pulling into the disembarkment area. Vaggie sat in the back seat of the limo, the interior filled to bursting with groceries, flicking through her phone, punching up a spreadsheet. Ever since… all thathappened, the Hotel had been receiving regular, generous donations from 'anonymous' patrons, so money wasn't so much of an issue anymore. Vaggie rolled her eye. Who did they think they were fooling? Still, it was nice to know that even callous, oblivious royals like Stella and Stolas Goetia were capable of gratitude.

She sighed, rolling out her neck.

Octavia was still missing. Where she was, no one knew, but considering her head had yet to be delivered to her grieving parents it was safe to assume that none of her parents' enemies had a hold of her.

God, what a mess.

It had been hard on Charlie, but she could take it, she was strong like that. It had been worse on Husk and Angel. They had gotten close to the kid, gotten to like him, watched him grow into a man and fight his demons. Then… he came back. It was rough when they lost Kira, when he sacrificed himself to save them. But that? Knowing that there was someone, something, running around out there, wearing your friend's face, committing God knows what atrocities with your friend's hands. That was worse. That was so much worse.

She groaned and rolled her head on her shoulders. Whenever she thought about that day she'd the worst crick in her neck for some reason.

"Baaah!" Razzle bleated from the driver's seat.

Vaggie almost didn't believe it, putting her phone away. "What do you mean 'customers'?!"

To say the place was going through a quiet patch was understating it. They hadn't so much as gotten pranksters ever since that day. While this definitely cut down on the bags of flaming shit and ding-dong-ditches, it also meant, well, no customers. Not one. Word had gotten out, she surmised. Rumors. Details regarding exactly who went where and what happened. Ever since that day, the laughter stopped, the jeers dried up, the mockery keeled over and died. What replaced it was worse: fear. Now, one could hardly accuse Sinners of cowardice. Moral cowardice, sure, but once one fully accepts the concept of conditional immortality, conventional dissuasion methods more or less fall flat. No, the only thing that could ward off Sinners was the threat of second death. The Last One. The Endless Dark. Dying once was more than enough for most, thank you very much! The Happy Hotel, finally, had a rep, and a real killer one to boot: demons, even the most powerful demons, had a habit of going to the Happy Hotel and winding up dead.

No wonder people avoided the place like the plague.

It meant that anyone who showed up here, now, was either dangerous, deluded, or desperate enough to risk it: it meant trouble.

She wrestled her way past the groceries, grabbing her huge, Seraphim Steel harpoon, leaping out of the limo. "Hey!"

The two demons were standing in the middle of the disembarkment area. A tall, muscular ram-demon in ripped purple pants and a green tank top so tight it looked painted on. Next to him was a somewhat shorter avian demon in a blue leather jacket, an exacerbated scowl on his beaked face, arms crossed. They were bickering about something, what exactly she couldn't make out, but it was obviously heated despite their hushed tones. What was going on here?

One way to find out.

"Hey!" She called out, slamming the pommel of the harpoon on the pavement with a bell-like 'clang'. "Stay right where you are! Don't move!"

The two demons stood stiff, their hands up.

"Turn around!" She growled. "Slowly."

"Which is it, babe?" The ram-demon said, glancing over his shoulder, a playful glint in his green eyes. "Turn around or don't move?"

"JoJo!" The bird-demon hissed.

"Turn around and then don't move," she commanded. "Baboso."

They did, their hands still raised. She marched up to them, harpoon raised. "What's your business here? Who are you?"

"We're agents of–Ow!" The bird-demon began to say, only for 'JoJo' to elbow him hard. "Hey!"

"We were just, uh, uh…" His eyes darted down to the harpoon, then up to hers. Something passed between them, a strange, electric sensation. His eyes, formerly playful and irreverent, softened, became distant, downcast. "We were just leaving. Sorry. We don't want to cause you guys any trouble."

"What?" She blinked, surprised; since when do demons apologize out of nowhere? "Well. Okay then. Thanks? Get out of here."

"C'mon, Kashmir," he said, turning and walking towards the street. "Let's go."

'Kashmir' sighed and shook his head, bowing shallowly to her. "Be well, signori."

With that, he left, following after his brawny companion, the pair resuming their bickering, albeit in hushed tones.

"Well, that was weird," muttered Vaggie, turning to the limo where Razzle and Dazzle were dutifully unloading the groceries. "False alarm, bois! Razzle, the blue bags are frozen foods, get them to the freezer pronto. Dazzle, the white bags are produce and dairy, get 'em in the fridge. I'll handle the pantry stuff."

"Bah!" Razzle bleated, nudging his head at the ram-demon as he walked away. "Bah?"

"Bah…" Dazzle crooned, leering, hooves pantomiming a pair of buttocks in the air. "Bah-bah!"

Razzle gave a dreamy sigh, tracing a mighty pair of ram horns around his head, batting his eyes. "Ba~h…"

"Bois!" Vaggie barked, grabbing them both by the horns and shaking them. "Melt all you like, just keep the ice-cream frozen!"

The Goat Bois jumped to it, hurriedly gathering up the groceries and beating a hot hoof to the door. Vaggie sighed and picked up the grocery bags, following after. She stopped at the door, looking back out at the street, the pair of mystery demons turning the corner and walking down the sidewalk, out into the deserted exclusionary zone that this neighborhood had become. A strange, unnamable dread blossomed in her gut. Who were those guys? What did they want? Were they walking into yet another disaster? By her keen reckoning, there were two options:

1: they had just arrived and she'd just saved them all a heap of trouble.

2: they'd already made their case to Charlie and she, even with her bottomlessly loving, generous heart, had seen fit to turn them away.

If what they were bringing was so bad that even Charlie would kick them to the curb, it could spell disaster for all of Hell.

Vaggie sighed deeply, stepping into the Hotel. 'God, I hope it's option 1…'

High above, in the tower sprouting from the side of the roof. The arcane radio antenna thrummed, the bulb atop it blinking red as the Radio Demon broadcast his daily atrocities and sports reports. The light stopped blinking, glowing a steady, solid red as vantablack flames flared . From within its roiling red innards a black pointed oval surfaced, a fiery orange slit pupil flaring within it. The eye blinked, swiveling about, searching. It found what it was looking for, a pair of freshly minted 'demons' as they shuffled down the sidewalk, their postures slouched and downtrodden. The eye narrowed, hateful glee shining in it as it smiled an invisible smile.

"Took you winged buffoons long enough," a voice crooned from nowhere. "S̴̢̡̗̹̬̽͋̔̊̐͑͡ḫ̛̜̳̬̙̪̣̩̊̉͒͆͂͜͞o̷̯͔̝̗͔̥̻̩̜̱̍͑̉͂́̆̒͞w̴̡͉̘̗͕͍͈̫̍̇̄͆̑͆̕͟͞t̡̛͍̲̻̞͈̜̻̲̀̒̏̔̈́͞i̝̘͚̗̥̓̍͊̿́̎͐m̡̨̭̳̝̣̪̜̀̇͌̀̐͘e͔̯̳͔̹͚̝͇̹͛͋̑̆̄.̶̢̘̫̭̫͕̳͊̒̐͒́̔̔̐̽"


"Well," said Kashmir, kicking a can down the street. "That could have gone better."

"Not really," muttered JoJo, his hands in his pockets. "We can't pull them into this, not after what they've been through."

"Which is what, exactly?" Kashmir grumbled. "I don't have your bullshit Stand powers, JoJo! You need to tell me whenever this nonsense is going to happen!"

JoJo rolled his eyes. "Yes, Kashmir, I know exactly when I'm going to fall into a trance and babble about other people's painful memories. In fact, I do it to annoy you! [Hermit Purple]'s growing, evolving. I don't really know how or into what. You'll have to humor this old man as he explores himself."

"Anything else I can expect from your mid-afterlife crisis?" Kashmir chuckled. "A sports car? A septum ring? Mary's little lamb on your arm?"

JoJo chuckled sourly, shaking his head. "Shut up, Falco."

"What happened to them, though?" Kashmir asked. "It was like someone died in there."

"Someone did," he said, sighing. "And then, to the next guy, something worse happened."

"Worse than death?"

"There are worse things Down Here," said a voice, high-toned and jaunty underscored with the rasp of static. "Much worse."

They spun around to see a slender, tall – about as tall as Kashmir – demon holding a microphone staff. A deer demon, if the little antlers poking from his crimson hair was anything to go by, set between two similarly colored black-tipped ears. His face was ashen beige, the color of sepia, and split into a wide lunette grin of jaundiced yellow teeth, set below a pair of glinting red-within-red eyes, an ovoid monocle perched jovially on his rictus-bunched cheek. Capping off the eye-assaulting redness of this leering demon was the scarlet pinstriped broad-shouldered dress coat he wore and a little black bowtie.

JoJo and Kashmir glanced at one another, with Kashmir speaking up first. "Who–"

"Alastor, the Radio Demon," the demon said, suddenly, leaning forward and thrusting out his hand, making them both flinch. "Pleased ta meetcha, JoJo and Kashmir! Put 'er there!"

JoJo and Kashmir stood ramrod stiff. This demon seemed friendly enough, and by all outward appearances didn't seem terribly dangerous. As a matter of fact, his humanoid looks and unimposing physique was downright disarming compared to the creature-feature that was Hell's sidewalks. Despite all this, there was a sense, a presence, a weight to this demon. While a far cry from the 'ants before a tornado' sensation Charlie invoked, this demon, this Alastor, set off every alarm bell the pair had to hand.

"Well?" The Radio Demon chuckled, waggling the fingers of his extended hand. "A true gentleman doesn't leave a friend hanging~"

"Friend, huh?" JoJo said, hoping he sounded cavalier. "Well? Don't be rude, Kashmir!"

Kashmir shot JoJo a dirty look. "I'm afraid you have the market cornered on rudeness, Wooly! Don't stand there like an oaf! Take the man's hand!"

"Me? Rude?" He said, crossing his arms and turning up his nose. "Perish the thought! Besides, I'm not the one refusing to pass paws, here, Kass!"

Kashmir blinked, cocking his head. "Kass? I don't get that reference."

"Oh, he's a bird-character from this video game called–"

"Ahem," Alastor said, hand still extended.

JoJo and Kashmir glanced at one another, JoJo his fist. Kashmir nodded, doing the same.

Rock, paper, scissors…

"Damn!" JoJo hissed, holding out scissors to Kashmir's rock.

JoJo turned as Alastor looked at him, his grin widening as the reluctant ram-demon reached out, green energy arcing between the Radio Demon's red-taloned fingers.

"No!" A voice cried out. "Stop, Joseph! Stop! Do not, under any circumstances, shake hands with that thing!"

JoJo pulled his hand back, stepping away. Alastor simply smiled, his red eyes shifting into glowing radio dials. A single black tentacle rose up from the ram-demon's shadow, phasing through his pants and scooping the device out of his pocket.

"H-hey!" JoJo exclaimed. "Dee-Dee!"

"Oh no," said Kashmir, flatly. "Not the engram. Please."

The tentacle handed the Saini to the Radio Demon, who chuckled and took it. "A Saini? How quaint. Looks like those sanctimonious skybound swine didn't leave you poor chumps completely in the lurch."

"Ahh! What?" Dee-Dee squawked, her hologram appearing over the screen. "H-how?!"

"Please!" Alastor scoffed, grinning at the astounded engram. "You didn't seriously think something so simple as glamours would work on li'l ol' me, did you? Ho ho ho!"

"Unhand me, demon!" Dee-Dee demanded. "I am an engram of the Celestial Bureau of Guidance, and I will not be pawed at by some filthy–"

Alastor set a talon on her holographic lips, causing her to flicker with artifacts and glitches. "Shh shh shh… silence, gadget, the real people are talking."

"Give her back!" JoJo growled, pointing at Alastor. "Who are you? What do you know about what's going on?"

"More than you'd think," he said, airly, before taking on a more irritated tone. "And less than I'd like. When my sources claimed that Heaven was sending agents, I had… something else in mind. Tell me, what is your mission, really?"

"We've been charged with finding and retrieving the Corpse of Jesus Christ of Nazareth," said Kashmir, very obviously enjoying the engram's distress. "What were you expecting, may we ask?"

Alastor glanced between the two, his grin fading into a strained smirk, turning to Dee-Dee. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" Dee-Dee said, glaring up at him defiantly. "They were specifically selected by the Celestial Bureau of Extraplanar Affairs for this mission!"

Alastor looked up at JoJo and Kashmir, his perplexed smirk cracking, shifting into an incredulous gurning smile. The Radio Demon threw his head back and loosed a string of barking, mirthless laughs, clapping his hand to his forehead. "Ah ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, that's a corker! Oh ho ho ho ho! Heaven, in all its wisdom, sent a pair of newborn demons, a couple of ripe dogooder chumps with no experience, no back up, no plan, to find the Corpse?! The hubris! The delusion! The desperation! Oh, dear me, this is so rich it must be fattening!"

"Oh, I've had about enough of you!" JoJo snapped, extending his hand, glowing purple vines extruding from his fingers. "[Hermit Purple]!"

The thorny vines shot out, snatching Dee-Dee from his grasp and wrapping the cackling demon in crisscrossing chords.

This only seemed to amuse the Radio Demon even more, as he set the back of his hand against his forehead in a maudlin display of dismay. "Gasp! Shock! Botany, my one weakness! How did you know?"

JoJo hissed out a breath, the golden glow of Hamon surging through the vines in keening crackles, dancing across the demon's frame to alarmingly little effect. "Unless you want to spend the next few days as an oil slick, you'll tell us everything we want to know!"

"Tsk tsk tsk. Spoilsport." Alastor shook his head, vantablack tendrils springing up around him, lashing about and tearing the vines like paper. An instant later both JoJo and Kashmir were locked in the unbreakable coils of the shadowy tentacles and lifted off their feet. "A good showman rolls with the laughs, even if they weren't intended. Do not presume to threaten me, boy. If I wanted, I could make jambalaya out of you both in the time it takes to exhale. Demon veal as fresh as yours wouldn't even much tenderizing to fall right off the bone. But, as I have just enjoyed an aces luncheon, I'll observe my figure and abstain. Believe it or not, I'm here to help."

"Don't trust him, Joseph!" Dee-Dee exclaimed. "This filthy Sinner deals in lies and mayhem! Escape however you can!"

"Easier said than done, engram!" Kashmir spat, struggling in vain against the crushing black mass.

JoJo turned to Alastor, locking eyes with the merciless cruel glare of the Radio Demon "Who is this guy, Dee-Dee?"

"His name is Alastor, Down Here he's known as the Wendigo of Hell, the Shadow Buck of Vodun!" Dee-Dee said, anxiously. "The Radio Demon."

"Stagenames, I assure you," said Alastor, looking mighty pleased with himself as he polished his talons on his lapel. "My friends call me Al."

"He's an Overlord, a rank of demon only exceptionally brutal Sinners can achieve, and powerful one at that," she continued, glaring at the demon. "In life he was a cannibalistic serial killer, sacrificing his victims in gruesome rituals to dark spirits to empower himself in the afterlife. A deal-maker, he thrives on bloodshed, destruction, and chaos. He lives to see others suffer, jeering at them as they wallow in the pits of despair! All who encounter this vile creature live to regret it, if they live at all! He's a monster, Joseph, as above so below! Evil through and through!"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart!" Alastor cackled. "Really, I should get you to narrate the intros to my radio show. Think you could whip up a shorter spiel though, darling? Something that'd fit on a business card?"

JoJo looked down to Dee-Dee and then up to Alastor, his eyes narrowing before he heaved a sigh, a smile creeping across his face. "Shoot. I'm sold. Hey! Al, was it? Let's parley."

"No, Joseph!" Dee-Dee exclaimed, dismayed.

"Finally, after decades of searching, I've found someone with a brain!" Alastor said, snapping his fingers. "Let's bump gums, shall we?"

As quickly as they had appeared, the tentacles vanished, JoJo and Kashmir landing on the sidewalk on their feet.

"I hope you know what you're doing, JoJo…" Kashmir muttered. "I don't even need a magic kudzu to tell this guy's no joke!"

"Yeah, I hope so, too…" JoJo whispered, strolling over to Alastor. "Alright Al. You're here to help. Let's say I believe that. How, exactly, are you going to help us?"

"Well…" Alastor drawled, extending his hand once more. "If you were to, say, cut a deal with me, why, I'd be inclined to help in many ways~"

"No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" Dee-Dee screeched.

JoJo pressed the sleep button on the side of the Saini and pocketed it.

"Much obliged," said Alastor, his ear flicking. "I like her, but her voice grates like a horseradish at Wurstfest!"

"Thank you!" Exclaimed Kashmir. "Someone finally said it!"

"Yeah, no, that's not happening," said JoJo, pushing his hand away with a finger. "No deals. No pacts. Nothing like that. I believe you want to help, but you're sketchier than a notebook, Bambi."

"Sketchier than a notebook," Alastor sniggered, rubbing his chin. "I'm using that. Very well, be that way. Well, if that's the case, Billy Goat Buff, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to directly assist. You see, you two are already being closely watched, or you will be soon, and by no one I want sniffin' in my kitchen. You better hope you know what you're doing, otherwise this quest of yours is going to be a short one. Newbies like you, you're easy pickings. Easily enthralled, shanghaied, and enrolled into all manner of unsavory practices. By way of 'for instance': curfew's a'comin' and I was wondering if you barnyard basics had a stable to crash in?"

"Uh…" JoJo said, clearing his throat. "Not really?"

"Look around us!" Kashmir said, gesturing to the abandoned buildings. "We're surrounded by empty buildings!"

"Thanks for proving my point, Foghorn Leghorn," said Alastor. "Empty. Abandoned. Derelict. If a building isn't making anyone a $oul, it ain't shelter. You get found out here after curfew, you're free game. You two'll need digs doubletime if'n you don't want to end up a mutton shank with a side of turkey!"

"So, we'll pay for a motel!" Kashmir said, reaching into his pocket. "We may not have much cash left, but we have credit cards… damnit, where is it? JoJo! My wallet's gone!"

JoJo rifled through his pockets, searching for his wallet, finding nothing. "Hey! What the–?!"

"Sticky fingers, those cab drivers," Alastor said, grinning. "In a bit of a pickle, are we? Sure you don't want to cut a deal?"

JoJo glared at the grinning demon. "We ain't shaking shit! You said you wanted to help!"

Alastor shook his head, not addressing the demons before him. "Hopeless. I've been following this little scheme since long before the Corpse made Hellfall. I've been heroically keeping important ingredients out of reach to delay the Big Barbecue, but if you two are Heaven's idea of a solution, well, maybe Ol' Snorkel has a point about the current state of management Upstairs."

"Ol' Snorkel? Upstairs?" Kashmir's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? What do you know about this plot?"

Alastor looked at his wrist, where a watch might be if he wore one, his aura glowing black and red. "Goodness, would you look at the time! You two'd better make tracks if you want to catch my associate! Abyssinia!"

"What?" JoJo felt the air turn sour and electrified. "No no no, do–"

The two vanished in a squelch of static, leaving the Radio Demon standing alone on the sidewalk. He chuckled and examined his talons, squeezing his hand into a fist. "Good luck, chumps. What you're charging into, you're going to need every scrap."

His ear twitched and he glanced over his shoulder. Something… something strange just happened. A ripple in the fabric of Hell. He vanished in a surge of static, returning to his abode. The time would come, he knew, when he would be forced to reveal his hand. He could only hope he'd stacked his deck appropriately, removing the aces his opponents sought. But, as experience had taught him, the scrabbling fingers of Fate had a habit of introducing troublesome elements at the worst possible time. For now, he would have to be content to watch and wait, and hope that no more such cases walked through their door.

Far away, from a secluded perch, a figure spied.

"As it was prophesied," said Heavy Fuel, rising to his feet. "So it shall be."


A short, skinny demon trotted down the street, a medium bag slung over her narrow shoulder. She was short for a demon, unassuming and unthreatening, bearing an outward appearance to a ewe, with a tall coiffed floof of white wool atop her head and deep purple skin. She wore a long-sleeve sweater and black track pants, despite the sweltering temperature. Weather and temperature was a shifting thing in Hell, there was no dressing for it. Chills, heat waves, stifling humidity or chafing aridity, it would always pass. She took no notice, shuffling down the sidewalk, eyes on the ground. The demons gave her a wide berth, for she was marked. Not protected or bound by a Deal, but word in her neighborhood traveled fast. In some ways she was thankful, her proximity to him lent her a degree of protection she'd not known before, but in other ways it was stifling. Specifically, it was stifling her career.

'You got in here on merit, Bhavana,' Jeffery had said. 'Not because of your… associate. Take pride in 're a good cook, your performance at Jeffrey's proved that, and you know how to handle the kitchen environment, but you're not Millioke material. Here, every meal is an experience, a memory we want our customers to cherish. Something that stays with them long after. Here, we sell sentiment, and I just don't feel that in your cooking. That's the reason The Radio Demon and his flunkies are not welcome here. Do you understand?'

In truth, she didn't. Mr. Dahmer's motives were a mystery to all but Mr. Dahmer. A sentimental cannibal, who would have thought? Still, he allowed her to stay on at Millioke as waiting staff, so his aversion to those marked by Alastor apparently only went so far. But it was a bitter thing. She never asked for this grim association with the enigmatic and dangerous Wendigo. She'd simply walked into the wrong butcher shop at the wrong time. And while his baffling intervention on her behalf was at the time a welcome alternative to the unpleasantness of butchering and regeneration, it had ultimately come with a price. One she was now forced to pay.

'Maybe I should just go back to being a line-cook at Jeffrey's,' she thought bitterly. 'At least there I get to work with the meat, not ferry it about… the tips are juicy, though.'

A buzzing squelch of static shook her from her thoughts. She looked up in time to see a veritable wall of muscle appear before her before walking facelong into it. For all the give and solidness, she may well have slammed into a brick wall! The slender ewe grunted and tumbled backwards, landing on her rump, instinctively clutching her bag to her.

"-on't you dare!" The demon cried, pointing at nothing. "Oh, for the love of… dammit!"

Bhavana groaned and rubbed her smarting snout, looking up at the interloper, her black eyes snapping wide. Standing before her was an adonis, with broad rippling shoulders and a bullish neck. The green tanktop he wore looked to be painted on for all the good it did in obscuring his anatomical perfection. Traps, deltoids, latissimus dorsi, all stood proud, defined as though carved in marble. His hip-to-shoulder ratio was outrageous! Like an upended delta perched atop the taut, rounded perfection that was his buttocks. She'd never seen such a juicy side of mutton this close in her life, and considering her work that was saying something.

'I wanna…' she thought to herself, a thin sliver of drool forming at the side of her mouth, her decidedly non-herbivorous fangs glinting. 'I wanna bite!'

"Hm?" The muscular demon grunted, turning around to look at her. "Oh. I thought I felt something."

'Shaabaash!' She marveled. 'The front is just as nice as the back!'

Before her stood a ram-demon, tall, not eight feet but for his large, curled horns, with a perfectly proportioned face and bright green eyes. She dared not linger on his torso lest she truly risk losing control. This demon was, after all, much larger and stronger than her, and probably wouldn't take kindly to her trying to take a bite.

She almost jumped out of her skin when another demon, a fabulously handsome raptor, was at her side in an instant. "Signora! Are you alright?"

That hungry, snarling part of Bhavana thanked whatever Gods that damned her for blessing her with such sublime sides of mutton and poultry! No! Stop! These demons could tear her limb from limb!

"E-excuse me…" she muttered. "I, uh, should have looked where I was going. Please, don't hurt me!"

"We're not gonna–" The ram began to say, only to be shushed by the falcon.

The predatory bird got to his feet, his green eyes glinting as he crossed his arms. "We will allow this trespass this time, weakling, but only if you take us to your home."

The Ram-demon looked shocked. "Kashmir, what–?!"

"Shh!" 'Kashmir' turned to his companion. "JoJo, don't you see? She's weaker than us, and has displayed as much. By Hell's laws, we are obliged to impose upon her."

"You're taking to this whole 'demon' thing too well for my liking, pal!"

"Adaptability is my forte, JoJo!" Kashmir rolled his eyes, turning back to her. "Besides… this would be that associate Alastor was speaking of. Aren't you, signora?"

Bhavana blinked. Alastor? He sent these two to her? But why?

Kashmir growled, snapping his sharp, cruelly curved beak with a 'clack'. "Well! Are you?!"

"Yes, yesyesyes!" She babbled, getting onto her knees and bowing. "I am! If Alastor sent you, I'll help you in any way I can! Please, don't hurt me!"

Kashmir smirked at JoJo, who was looking decidedly displeased by the scene. After some cajoling by his companion, JoJo sighed heavily and reached down, plucking the comparatively tiny demon off the ground. "We won't hurt you unless you piss us off, understand?"

She nodded frantically, her eyes wide.

"If you try to pull any funny business…" He booped her snoot, a golden glow crackling from his fingertip, the jolt made her face go numb for a moment before burning and prickling like a sleeping limb. "Snap! You spend the next few days as a puddle! Got that?"

"Ahh! Yes! I understand!" Bhavana bleated, nodding. "Please, come back to my place! There's plenty… er, there's enough room for both of you?"

Kashmir and JoJo looked at one another and nodded. JoJo dropped her, gesturing for her to go. "Lead the way, then."


JoJo and Kashmir followed the little sheep back to her paddock, a dingy, rundown apartment complex. Kashmir looked about, sneering – somehow, his beak at times seemed both solid and flexible – at the dilapidation. An attempt at wallpaper had been made sometime in the past, now all that remained was stained, bubbling strips and patches clinging to moldering concrete. The stink of mildew and cigarette smoke mixed with the stench of old urine and what he could only assume was the lingering ghost of an experimental attempt at cooking. The carpet, if it even was carpet and not some rufous mold or moss growing on the floor, had an unpleasantly damp, spongy quality to it. They approached her door, the little whelp fumbling her keycard out of her bag, too bulky and robust to be called a purse.

"AY!" A coarse voice crowed. "Bhavana!"

'Bhavana' spun around, her eyes wide. JoJo and Kashmir followed the sound to its source; a dumpy-looking hag with stringy black hair and mottled green skin. A neighbor. Her landlord, perhaps?

"Rent's due next week," the crone gurgled, taking a drag on a crooked, discolored cigarette. "Have it in full if'n ya don't wanna become a pair of fluffy slippers!"

"Yes, Ms. Mori," said Bhavana, softly. "Full amount this time."

"It better," Ms. Mori gurgled, quirking a mossy eyebrow at the two strapping demons flanking her tenant, her orange eyes lighting up behind the moldy curtains of her stringy black hair. "Who's this, then?"

"Uh, they're…" Bhavana said, fidgeting. "Prostitutes?"

"Hey!" JoJo exclaimed.

Kashmir simply shrugged and nodded.

"Oooh~" Ms. Mori crooned, a crooked smile creasing her jaundiced face. "Expensive ones, looks like! I just hope you didn't blow your rent on these dashing hunks."

"I didn't."

"Good," said Mori, snuffing her cigarette on her lumpy black tongue. "Musta gotten a fat tip at work, eh? Ah, well, enjoy yer meat. Just keep it down, y'hear? I wanna hear the silence of the lambs, I don't care if'n ya gotta bust out the ball-gag!"

"Not a bleat!" Bhavana said, forcing a giggle and slapping their rumps. "C'mon b-boys! L-let's, uh, gag this lamb! H-heh!"

JoJo and Kashmir glanced at one another before shrugging and following her into her apartment.

"Ay! Pretty boys!" Mori called out.

JoJo and Kashmir stopped, turning about.

"What're yer rates?" Her yellowed, blackened smile widening. "I gots a bachelorette party comin' up inna few weeks. Yer gonna be in one piece by then, yeh? Ya boys pole dance?"

Kashmir turned to JoJo, who looked fit to vomit, before turning back. "Negotiable."

Mori nodded, winking. "I'm sure we can work somethin' out."

"Until then, signora," said Kashmir, stepping through the door. "Come, JoJo, we've a job to do."

JoJo sighed and shook his head, following him in. "Talk about getting into character…"

Mori gurgled a laugh, pulling back into her apartment. "Geh heh heh… she'll fill her freezers wit' those two for weeks…"


Outside, a figure sat in a car. He watched as the three demons approached the apartment building, oblivious to his presence. He pulled out a Hellphone and called.

"Heidelberg speaking."

"This is Catwalk," said the demon. "They're here."

A pause.

"You are certain, Herr Catwalk?"

"It's them." His eyes wandered over the pair, noting the telltale shapes and curvature in their forms, in the horns, the beak, the claws, the subtle patterns on feathers and fur: the Golden Ratio suffused their bodies, a unique feature in the unnatural, perverted realm of Hell. "I could spot them a mile away."

"Ach…" Heidelberg grunted on the other end. "So it begins. Are they being tailed?"

"Not that I can see," said Catwalk. "But that's of little comfort. Prepare for the worst."

"A true German is always prepared!"

Arrogant prick.

A pause.

"Yes?"

"What of our bargain?" Heidelberg said, after a moment. "For our assistance in this fool's errand, the Black Stars will be compensated?"

"I've already called Club Fantastic," replied Catwalk. "He's agreed to a meeting. What comes of it is up to you."

"Echt? Truly, Herr Catwalk, you are a demon who can make miracles happen!"

"Uphold your end of the agreement and you'll see true miracles," said Catwalk. "Laudeter Deus."

Catwalk winced as the blessing burned him, hearing a similar hiss of discomfort from the other end of the line.

"Your faith inspires me," grumbled Heidelberg. "I can only hope it is well founded."

"Faith is faith, Herr General," said Catwalk. "It either is or it isn't. I'll keep you apprised of the situation as it unfolds."

"Much obliged, Herr Catwalk," said Heidelberg. "Until we meet again."

With that, he hung up. Catwalk sighed and set down the phone, watching the apartment building. His faith in The Plan was unshakable, but as a wayward son of God he prayed his judgment was sound. All of Creation was balanced on a needle. From here on out, all it would take was a push and All would be undone. God willing, his Soul would find redemption, and in doing so, all of Hell in turn.

"Laudeter Deus."