It was a typical day in the Greed ring of hell, where a bleary sky loomed over the smoggy atmosphere, and where every other store fell victim to robberies, usually hourly. Amidst this ordinary chaos, an unordinary scene unfolded on a cliff—an imp stood at the precipice, his hands bound while several others with weapons surrounded him.
Actually, scratch that, that's fairly normal too.
Cloaked in darkness, a black fedora concealed his face, casting an ominous shadow. His attire matched the theme—a black trench coat, black gloves, dark brown slacks, and boots.
Addressing the imp nearest to him with bitterness, he lamented, "Nine years of faithful service, and this is what I get?"
A cloud of smoke billowed as the imp on the cliff lit a cigar, blowing it disdainfully into the face of his bound counterpart. "Here's the thing, bud. You wanted to usurp me, and I don't take kindly to being usurped."
Angrily, the bound imp refuted the accusation, his voice growing louder yet still relatively hushed. "I never intended to betray you, sir. That was nothing more than a baseless rumor, which you, for some unfathomable reason, have chosen to believe."
Mockingly, the smoking imp retorted, "And those are the desperate words of a man about to die. Goodbye." With a gesture, two figures behind him advanced and shoved the imp off the cliff.
Silent and devoid of any screams, he plummeted toward the jagged rocks and shallow waters, leaving his killers feeling profoundly disappointed.
From the depths of the water, a black fedora bobbed to the surface, its owner long gone.
...
Benedict approached the imposing office building with two horns adorning its sides, greatly regretting whatever life choices he'd made to end up here.
He was a diminutive imp with blood-red skin, yellow sclera, a nasty scar marring his right cheek, a pointed red tail, and greasy white hair slicked back. His one-and-a-half horns clung close to his head, with the left one broken halfway through.
He was adorned in a white collared shirt and a slightly darker shade of red tie, he sported a tweed vest, brown slacks, a buttoned-up black trench coat, and matching boots.
Entering the reception area, Benedict noticed the years of neglect apparent in its unkempt appearance. He proceeded toward the elevator but quickly discovered it was out of order.
Ascending several flights of stairs, each step seemingly on the verge of crumbling, he finally reached the seventh floor.
Approaching the door on his left, he read the crudely painted phrase "IMP headquarters" at the top half of the door. A piece of paper taped underneath displayed the poorly written message, "meetings in progress :)"
Doubt clouded his thoughts as he glanced at his watch, confirming that it was indeed the scheduled time and date.
With no alternative, he knocked on the door. Receiving no response, he continued knocking until a voice boomed from inside, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
The door swung open abruptly, slamming Benedict against the wall, and an imp stood before him, yelling profanities into the empty hallway. Towering over Benedict, he boasted two U-shaped horns, white splotches on his blood-red skin, black spines running down his back, and a scythe-like tail. His attire consisted of a grey collared coat with red buttons, knee-high black boots, and rounded yellow decorations on his black fingerless gloves. A red skull charm hung around his neck.
Benedict managed to extricate himself from between the door and the wall, while the imp continued his profanity-laden rant aimed at the empty hallway. "Sorry, sir. Got stuck for a moment," Benedict nervously chuckled, trying to diffuse the situation. "I scheduled an interview for a position as an assassin...?"
The taller imp scowled at him before shouting to someone else in the office, "Loona, some shmuck here says he's got an interview. Did you schedule one?"
"Maybe," responded a disinterested voice belonging to someone named Loona.
"What did I tell you, sir?" another voice retorted with evident annoyance.
"Fuck off, Mox!" the tall imp retorted, redirecting his attention to Benedict, who quickly interjected, "Well, sir, I do, in fact, remember scheduling one," he stated matter-of-factly.
Flashback:
Benedict anxiously dialed the number, clutching the phone to his ear, hoping for a response on the other end.
Finally, a voice, tinged with dejection, answered, "Hello, I.M.P."
"Hello, my name is Benedict, and I'm calling to schedule an interview. I saw your flyer requesting help, so I thought I'd—" His words trailed off as he heard the woman on the line erupting in a frenzy, ranting about a meth-addicted horse, accompanied by clattering noises of objects colliding.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" he inquired, beginning to pace around his spartan apartment, which he had recently moved into.
"Yeah," she responded, her voice still filled with boredom.
"Anyway, when is your next available opening?" Benedict inquired.
"Sure," she replied, clearly paying no attention at all.
"I don't think that's—" Benedict paused and pinched the bridge of his nose (or where it would be if he had one). "You know what, how does 12:25 on the 15th work for you?"
His words fell on deaf ears as the voice merely responded with a disinterested "Uh-huh."
"Great, thank you for your time." Benedict hung up, plopping back down in his chair, contemplating what he had gotten himself into.
End Flashback
"Sounds about right. Come on in, whoever the fuck you are!" The imp suddenly radiated a much more joyful demeanor as he vigorously shook Benedict's hand. "I'm Blitz, the O is silent, and welcome to I.M.P!"
"It's, uh, Benedict, sir. Benedict Schmidt." he nervously informed him, taken aback by the sudden change in the imp's disposition.
Blitzo seized Benedict by the lapels and whisked him through what appeared to be a reception area, though Benedict only got a brief glance, into a meeting room.
"Change of plan, we're interviewing Bently here!" Blitzo boisterously announced to the room, which held three other individuals besides Benedict and Blitzo, the former of the two struggling to free himself from Blitzo's grip.
The room itself lacked much visual interest, aside from scattered random objects (although there was odd assortment of horse memorabilia), a long table at the center with three seats on each side, a whiteboard scrawled with various messages, and numerous posters and papers adorning the walls.
A male imp seated at the table sighed. "Sir, please tell me you didn't bring a prostitute to a company meeting again."
The imp, slightly taller than Benedict, possessed white hair, two elegantly curved horns, a typical red tail, and donned a navy blue conductor's jacket paired with a vibrant red bow tie.
"I'm not a pro—wait, he did what?" Benedict adjusted his tie as he spoke, straightening it from the disarray caused by Blitzo's unexpected manhandling, but halted mid-sentence, realizing the implications of the imp's words.
"He gave really good head, alright!" Blitzo retorted. "And besides, it's rather rude to call Benny here a whore, Moxxie."
Moxxie, incensed, glared at Blitzo. "Rud—Sir, do you possess any knowledge of proper manners?" he sputtered indignantly.
"More than you, clearly," Blitzo retorted, sticking his tongue out at Moxxie before redirecting his attention to Benedict. "Now, take a seat, Bender, as I'm polite, unlike SOMEONE." He gestured toward Moxxie, further provoking the imp's ire.
"It's Benedict, sir," he stated, taking a seat at the end of the table opposite Blitzo. As he settled in, he observed the two unfamiliar individuals present.
"That's what I said, Bendy. Now, interview time! What's one plus one?" Blitzo theatrically pointed at Benedict from the head of the table, his voice filled with exaggeration.
"Uhh... two?" Benedict responded, perplexed by the simplicity and irrelevance of the question.
"WRONG! IT'S ELEVEN!" Blitzo shouted at him, surprising Benedict with a sudden megaphone that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
"That's not how addition works, sir," Moxxie interjected, pointing out the flaw in Blitzo's statement.
"Nobody asked, Mox. QUESTION 2!" Blitzo pulled out the megaphone once again. "What are you not shit at?"
Finally, a reasonable question, Benedict thought, adjusting himself in his seat. "Well, I possess skill in the use of a diverse range of weaponry, including firearms, knives, hatchets, bar stools, welding equipment, halberds, and even ceiling fans. I am proficient in building and repairing firearms, and I am well-versed in espionage and manipulation-"
"Boooring!" Blitzo interrupted, munching on popcorn as he listened to Benedict's response.
"Sir, this is an interview, not a game show!" Moxxie protested, but his objection was quickly overshadowed by the impulsive female sitting next to him.
"Question 3!" she declared, rising from her seat. Her appearance was that of a typical imp: red skin, a pointed tail, yellow eyes with long eyelashes, and two mostly black horns with a thin white stripe. Her messy black hair matched her height, which was similar to Moxxie's. She wore a simple black choker, an open-shoulder black tank top, and torn black pants.
"Et tu, Millie?!" Moxxie exclaimed, while Blitzo laughed at his expense.
"It's fun, hun," Millie cheerfully responded, before refocusing her attention on Benedict. "Now, how many people have you offed?" Her fist pounded the table, revealing her unexpected bloodthirst.
"A lot?" Benedict nervously replied, casting glances around the room.
"Your turn, Looney darling!" Blitzo pulled a microphone out of somewhere and shoving it under the hellhounds mouth as she stared at her phone.
Loona, the tallest figure present, with grey and white fur, disheveled hair, and earrings adorning her mismatched ears. She wore a grey crop top supported by an inverted pentagram of strings and grey shorts.
"Ugh. Fine. How big's your cock?" Loona asked indifferently, clearly uninterested.
"Uh- Wh- How- How am I supposed to know that?" Benedict stammered, even more bewildered than before.
"Yep. Definitely a virg," Loona muttered to herself.
"What, you don't? I'm a proud six-incher myself!" Blitzo boasted, while Moxxie looked like he was going to have a seizure and Millie calmed him.
"What's that in metric?" Benedict raised an eyebrow, seeking clarification.
"Wouldn't you like to know, pervert," Blitzo mocked, his hypocrisy not lost on Moxxie, who pointed it out in anger, while also pointing at Blitzo in anger.
"That is incredibly hypocritical coming from you, sir!" He protested, but was waved of by Blitzo.
"So what if I watch you two fuck every now and then? It's irrelevant," Blitzo dismissed Moxxie's protest. "Anyway, congratulations, Berry, you're hired! Welcome to I.M.P!"
"It's Benedict, sir," Benedict reiterated, slightly annoyed by his boss's repeated use of an incorrect name.
"Bill."
"As I have previously stated multiple times, my name is Benedict, sir."
"Greg."
"That's not even close!" Benedict's voice resounded with frustration, his face contorted in disbelief.
"You guys are fucking assholes." A voice from the back of the room pierced the tense atmosphere.
"Shut up, kid. You're lucky to witness this," Blitzo retorted sharply, his gaze fixed on the human child lying on the bed, connected to a web of medical devices by numerous tubes.
The child struggled to rise, tearing the tubes from his frail body. "You have no idea what I went through, pretending to be paralyzed just to avoid being killed by you sick bastards. But now, I crave it. I yearn for death," the child pleaded, desperation etched across his face.
Without a hint of hesitation, Benedict produced a pistol and aimed it at the child's head. A thunderous gunshot reverberated through the room, propelling the lifeless body into the wall before it slumped to the ground with a sickening thud.
Benedict casually holstered the pistol, his demeanor unchanged, as the others stared at him in shock, their faces drained of color.
"...Did you just kill a child?" Millie's voice trembled, her eyes wide with horror.
"Yes," Benedict replied, his expression devoid of emotion. "What? He asked for it, both literally and figuratively." he declared, observing his colleagues' stunned faces.
"And that's why I fucking hired you!" Blitzo approached Benedict, slapping him forcefully on the back.
"Thanks?" Benedict, still bewildered by the situation, decided to play along, his mind grappling with the unfolding madness.
Meanwhile, Millie, Moxxie, and Blitzo callously desecrated the child's body. Benedict observed their macabre display, his confusion intensifying, all the while pondering why there were an excessive number of horse themed objects in the room.
(A week later...)
Benedict trudged into the office, exhaustion evident in his gait, clutching a cup of coffee. He found Moxxie reproaching Loona for her laziness.
"I'm just curious, what exactly do you contribute around here?" Moxxie questioned Loona, who lounged at her desk, feet resting on its surface, engrossed in a magazine.
"My job, fatso," Loona retorted snidely, her response irritating Moxxie, who promptly interjected.
"I'm not fat!" Moxxie's voice reverberated with anger as he pointed at Loona.
Quickly stepping in, Benedict tried to pacify Moxxie. "He's right, Loona," he stated, his slight Italian accent lending a touch of authority to his words. "Considering the perilous nature of our work, you should invest more effort into it."
"What do you know, new guy? Why don't both of you just leave me alone?!" Loona erupted in anger, her fur bristling and teeth bared.
Benedict retreated, leaving the two to continue their argument, and slumped onto the dilapidated, mud-colored couch next to Millie, sighing deeply.
"Do they always behave like this?" he wearily inquired, gesturing toward the ongoing verbal clash between Loona and Moxxie.
"Pretty much," Millie responded. "So, what do you think of this place?"
"Honestly? It's... uhmm... intriguing, to say the least." Benedict replied, just as Loona seized Moxxie and pinned him against the wall, her grip tightening.
"Hell no! Only I get to choke out my Moxxie!" Millie bellowed, defending her spouse and lunging at Loona.
Benedict withdrew a book from his belongings and sipped his coffee, ignoring the ensuing brawl. Loona and Millie fought each other while Moxxie found himself caught in the middle.
"Alright, folks, we've got a new assignment!" Blitzo announced as he entered, although only Benedict heard him amidst the chaos, with the two women yanking on Moxxie's arms as if they were children quarreling over a toy, causing Moxxie to yell in evident pain.
"What is it, sir?" Benedict inquired, snapping his book shut and directing his gaze at the clown-like imp.
"I'm glad you asked, Ben!" Blitzo disregarded Benedict's grumbling about his name. "It's just some old dude in the middle of nowhere. How bout' this? You go off him, and I'll handle the orgy that's unfolding here, capiche?"
Benedict took in breath to respond but was swiftly interrupted by Blitzo. "Great! Glad to hear it! Now go do your job, you lazy cock-sucker!" With that, Blitzo summoned a portal using the grimoire, pushed Benedict into it, and turned his attention to the rest of his employees who were still engaged in the fight. "So, who started a brawl without inviting me?!" he exclaimed, cracking his knuckles and diving into the fray.
Three hours later...
The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun, with everyone returning to their tasks or, in Loona's case, lack thereof, as if nothing had occurred.
"Where's Benedict? He's been gone for a while." Moxxie remarked, seated on the couch with Millie, both miraculously unscathed.
"Oh, I sent him on a job a little while ago. I'm sure he's fine." Blitzo replied, startling Moxxie, who hadn't noticed him lying on the back of the couch.
Right on cue, a portal materialized, and Benedict staggered through, panting heavily and looking disheveled. His hair was disarrayed, his suit and coat were scuffed, and his forearms and hands were drenched in blood, the crimson stains adorning various parts of his attire and person.
"What happened? Did your date go wrong?" Blitzo sarcastically quipped upon witnessing his newest employee.
"Why the fuck didn't you inform me that the old man was a Chinese general on a military base?!" Benedict exhaled, sounding manic, his eye twitching.
"Hey, the client spoke foreign, okay! I don't speak foreign!" Blitzo defended himself.
"I ran out of ammunition halfway through. I had to kill half the base with my bare hands," Benedict said, tremblingly raising his blood-soaked hands. "I beat the target to death with his own severed arm."
Moxxie, sensing the distress in Benedict's voice, nervously inquired, accompanied by concerned gazes from both himself and Millie, "Are you alright, Benedict?" Meanwhile, Blitzo muttered something about Benedict being a "lucky bastard," and Loona, as always, paid little attention to the unfolding scene.
"I'm... fine," Benedict managed to utter, his voice strained. "I just need... to lie down..." With those words, he collapsed backward, his body sprawled out on the floor, slipping into unconsciousness.
"This is not a drill! We have an unconscious employee on the floor! Where did I put the whipped cream and sharpies?" Panic washed over Blitzo as he frantically searched the room, tossing objects aside in his quest for his prank supplies.
A few hours later...
Benedict closed the door behind him, entering his modest and unremarkable apartment. The walls, once a rich mahogany hue, were now marred by peeling wallpaper in several places. The two-room, one-bathroom dwelling consisted of a combined kitchen and living area, as well as a separate bedroom.
However, Benedict was too weary from his ordeal of mass murder and from fending off Blitzo's whipped cream assault to make his way to the bed. Instead, he collapsed into the worn, brown recliner he had positioned in front of the television. He put his feet up on the footrest, which doubled as a coffee table, and he gradually succumbed to the embrace of sleep.
. . .
Benedict stirred from his slumber, absentmindedly petting the creature perched on his lap, its contented purring filling the air. His gaze shifted downward, and he was abruptly taken aback by the realization that the creature was none other than Blitzo.
"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Benedict exclaimed, leaping up from his seat and unceremoniously dumping Blitzo onto the floor.
"Just taking a nap. Gotta admit, your lap is quite exquisite" Blitzo quipped, rising and stretching his lanky frame, accentuating Benedict's own diminutive stature.
"Well, see you at work! And don't you fucking dare be late!" Blitzo declared, before swiftly leaping out of the open window, which explained how he got in.
Benedict stood there, momentarily stunned, before rubbing his eyes and making his way to the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee, because Lucifer knows he needed it.
A/N: So! My first fan fiction. Am I doing this right? I actually revised this chapter, to make it better written, on 6/21/23. Any reviews or feedback is appreciated!