Hello Everyone!
I recently got into Helluva Boss, and must say that the show was and is outstanding! From relationship dynamics, mystery, the concept and how well used it is, and the humor. That said, I wanted to explore more of how Hell might work, which is why this story is coming into existence. This story contains an OC, though pairing is currently undecided.
I will leave it without further ado. I hope you enjoy the story.
Chapter 1: Financial Pitfalls
I.M.P. Headquarters
"Aaaaaand that is our next job. Any questions?" Punctuating his statement, Blitzø stabbed the dry erase marker into the whiteboard, splattering ink onto what appeared to be a comically drawn stick figure. Surrounding the form of this drawn person were caricatures of three other, red figures. All of which were holding blades and little guns, smiling as they killed the stick figure.
The taller, red and white imp took a step back from his work, capping the marker with satisfaction as he looked over to his employees for his due praise.
"Sir, as… nice as that plan is, it doesn't take into account the guards the target has." A smaller imp, three white dots adorning each cheek of his face, brought to everyone's attention, his bored expression disguising his major concern for the coming job. He straightened up in his chair at the meeting table. "Our client said this person hired protection for herself, as she is somewhat famous now." To his side, his wife Millie just seemed to smile through the whole ordeal, knowing another argument was about to break out.
"Moxxie, why don't you let me worry about that. And the reason I didn't write it down is because your little shit brain wouldn't be able to comprehend it." Blitzø tossed the marker at the head of the smaller imp.
The marker smacked into Moxxie's face. Quickly recollecting himself, waving away the offending object, he glared at his boss. "Sir! With all due respect, we can't just charge in wildly to kill this lady! The last thing we need is to waste equipment and-"
"Moxxie, shut the fuck up, your shit munching little bitch!" Blitzø barked at his now cowed employee. "You're not paid for your dumbass suggestions!" Blitzø smirked. "So keep your mouth shut while daddy is talking."
Those words seemed to have sparked a fire in the imp, who stood up from his chair in frustration. "That would imply I get paid! That Millie gets paid! You haven't paid us at all this month!"
"Moxxie!" Millie stood up from her chair, placing her hands on her husband's shoulder. "This isn't the time for this."
"Yeah, Mox. Why don't you listen to your top?" Blitzø turned away from the imp duo, moving to grab the grimoire from a nearby table so they can get started on the next job.
Moxxie continues to glare at Blitzø as the taller imp turns away. "This has been a growing problem for a while now. What with your need for decorative horses, buying a new hellphone every three days because you lose or break them, or the mismanagement of funds, the last two checks you sent us have bounced!" Moxxie shifted away from the table, moving to the walkway that his boss occupied. "Even after the payout from that whole LooLoo Land fiasco, we haven't been compensa-"
"Moxxie, listen here, you tiny grain of sand stuck between my asscheeks." Blitzø shifted forward, his face right up against his smaller employee. "I will do what I want with this company's assets. You'll get paid when I say you get paid, you hear me. If you don't like it, you can find yourself someone else's cock to gobble on, you submissive little jackass." Blitzø took a step back from Moxxie, who began to whimper like a kicked puppy. Millie was to his side immediately, consoling him with a warm embrace.
"It's okay, Moxxie. How 'bout we go and kill a few humans to lighten the mood. I'm sure putting some holes in some heads will make you feel better." Moxxie gave a wobbly smile to his wife, pressing his forehead to her own. "And this client is offering a lot. We should be all good after this mission, okay?"
"Thanks, Millie….and yeah, that might help." The female imp smiled, shifting over to where she left her battle ax and hefting it over her shoulder.
Blitzø tossed the book over to the last hellspawn at the meeting table. A furry hand caught the grimoire with ease, her other hand still texting away with a deadpan expression on her muzzle. "Loony, drop us off near the target's home. It should be nighttime there right now."
The female hellhound huffed, but complied a few moments later.
Even as the trio of assassins entered the human world, Blitzø's mind wandered. He looked to the two smaller imps, both of which prepped their weapons of choice as they walked their way towards their client's target of choice.
Despite his words, Blitzø understood why Moxxie was upset. While he wouldn't condone the little bastard yelling at him in the middle of a meeting, he wasn't ignoring his words (Okay, he more or less was, but he heard the word 'paid' and got the gist of it.)
After all, Blitzø sneaks into their house all the time, whether to watch them sleep or get a chance to record some of their more sexual escapades. He would be an idiot to not notice the bills they have racking up on their kitchen table, or the smaller loadout of groceries they get at the store each week. To not hear their conversations revolving around payments, or taking out loans from horrible individuals just to stay afloat. Whether they would stay at I.M.P. or not.
Blitzø knew I.M.P. was struggling. The cost of weapons was not anything scoff at, even in a place like Imp City. Especially high quality firearms that wouldn't blow up their faces after a week. Imp City didn't have much access to reputable sellers, most of the deals coming from regions like Greed or Envy. Then it came down to making deals to have them shipped to a lucrative place where cargo gets stolen more often than not. Imp City was full of con-imps and thieves, who would salivate over some of the equipment he had shipped to I.M.P..
Then there was the aspect of spending, and the amount of clients. While Blitzø may have spent a bit too much on the commercial airing, the quality was top notch, so he saw no reason to not run it as much as he could, even if it drove them into the red for a little bit.
He appreciated good art, and that's what the commercial was to him.
In spite of such a delicious prospect of getting revenge post mortem, and the amazing commercials explaining their business practices, clients who were willing to pay their prices were somewhat scarce. Like with getting equipment, clients didn't like traveling to Imp City to do business, what with their car being stolen if they weren't parked in a designated protected area, or getting mugged every three meters. Or possibly getting their guts rearranged (in more ways than one). Location sucked shit, and fucked their bottom line.
Blitzø started this business from the ground up. No funding or sponsors. He did what he had to in order to get his foot in the door. Whether it was favors, harsh loans with even harsher interest, or making bad deals, Blitzø got it done. Even if it meant holding back on some of his more preferred purchases. Even if it meant cutting away at revenue to pay some of the fuckers back more than they deserved. As an imp, starting this business was everything to him, and he refused to give it up.
Throughout their mission, even as they ripped through nearly a dozen guards to get to their target, and nearly blew up the whole house due to a gas leak (dammit Moxxie!), Blitzø's mind was heavy with the stack of debts growing from within his desk, and little means to fix it himself.
What they fuck was he supposed to do? Hire a shitty accountant?
Pentagram City, Random Dilapidated Apartment
"You're fired."
"Fucking what?" The sinner screeched into his hellphone, jumping up from the desk within his apartment.
"You heard me. We don't need you anymore."
"B-But the payment plans?! What about the next installments needed by vendors? I have all the numbers and the next month's processing of how to allocate resources! You DO fucking need me!" The sinner gripped at his white hair, aggression slipping into his static-driven voice.
"Have you not seen the news, asshat? LooLoo Land was burned down! Nearly everything from the rides to concessions went up in flames. Even Fizzbot was destroyed!" The sinner took in the words, his chest filling with dread.
"No way! Who?!" His voice crackled.
"No idea. Some are saying it might have been some imps who were trying to kill a demon prince who was there, but that's about it. Regardless, it means the place is out. No business, and no need for paper jockeys like yourself."
"B-But even so! You still need people in charge of new investment plans and how to get the park back up and running. How to organize the assets of the park, and the new tax codes implemented by the upper rings of Hell! I can still-"
"It's being taken care of by demons way above your pay grade, bitch. It's over, Leon. I was just told to tell you how it is. Nothing more. Until the park is up and running again, we don't have a job for you. Tough shit."
"Don't you 'Tough Shit' me! I've been with that shitty park for almost two years! You can't just, hello? HELLO?!" His neck sparked with irritation, pain flaring up from the feedback, but not getting a response from the other end. All he received was a monotone hum of the line going dead.
The sinner looked down at his hellphone, the other side having hung up after dropping a bombshell on his head. Despair grew heavier, mixing with the frustration stirring up inside. With a quick pull at his throat, the audio jack inserted there was ripped free, disconnecting him from his speaker and silencing him. The next few minutes after that were spent letting loose a broken, nearly inaudible tirade, the sinner nearly tearing out his hair as he jolted around his room in fury, kicking over whatever was in his way.
He let loose a broken, silent roar, not but a few crackles of noise breaking from his throat before he relented, slumping over himself.
Leon looked around at his tiny apartment, with the boarded up window, faded and worn furniture, and blood splattered carpets (not his, thankfully, though he had tried to clean it). The slightly cracked walls and refurbished interior. A place that, while cheap and shitty, kept him safe.
Leon glared over to his desk, his monitor displaying the next list of documentation and excel datasheets he was to submit for tomorrow. 'Not anymore, I guess.' He thought to himself, shutting over the screen before slumping back into his desk chair with the weight of the past five minutes finally settling on his shoulders.
He lazily grabbed at the portable speaker near his keyboard, feeling around for the cord before dragging his fingers to the base of the input. With practiced motion, he slipped the cord into one of the holes in his throat, the sound of the audio now active within the speaker on his desk. He let out an audible sigh, leaning back in his chair.
"Fuck."
End Chapter
I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
For those who are confused, Leon has two input jack holes in his neck, otherwise he has no means of talking. If that wasn't clear enough, it will be covered with more detail in later chapters as well. It ties to his reasoning for being dead, but that will be explored later.
I noticed that Wrath provides most of the food for the rings of Hell, and noted that there must be a system in place for taxes and payments to the upper levels of society. It would explain how the Goetia are so wealthy, and why crime is so high in Hell, as a demon/imp would rather not be in debt. The IRS is bad enough on Earth in the US, imagine the IRS in Hell. A very concerning concept, to be sure. Couple this with predatory loans, high interest rates, and aggressive banks, it would explain the cutthroat business in Imp City.
Anyhow, I plan on getting more chapters out soon. Until then, my best wishes to all!