Chapter 7: S.I.T.C.O.M., Pt. 4
"Honey, talk to me, please! Are you okay?! Please, please, please wake up…"
Moxxie clutched his wife's body, hunching over her and keeping her pulled tightly to himself. She was badly bruised; the dead mortal in the street had really done a number on her, and the fact that she hadn't woken up for nearly five minutes now was starting to give Moxxie a slow, rolling panic attack.
"C'mon, Millie!" He shouted, shaking her body as if it would do anything to speed up the process. "You're—you're strong! You're… the strongest person I know… please…"
He buried his face in her chest and let out a choked sob, followed by another, and another, until the tears flowed freely down his face and soaked her bloodstained clothes.
"Wake… up… I-I-I know you can… I love you so, so much, Millie…"
Millie blinked a few times, slowly returning to consciousness.
"Huh…? Mox, is that…?"
"Oh, Millie!" Moxxie cried out, pulling her in tighter and rocking her back and forth. The fullest, happiest smile he'd ever had graced his face. As she felt more and more of her body revive itself, she winced at how tightly Moxxie was holding her, suddenly becoming painfully aware of all the bruises and cuts on her body. "Millie, I-I was so scared, I saw that guy bashing you and throwing you around a-and when he just tossed you aside I-I thought—I thought—"
"Mox, baby, it's okay." She reached up, cupped his cheeks, and stroked them with her thumbs, wiping away the tears still welling in those big, innocent eyes of his. "Just knocked outta commission for a bit. I've survived way worse."
"S-Sorry, hun. I just get so worried—"
"And sometimes ya let that worryin' get to yer head. It's okay, Mox. I'm here. I ain't goin' anywhere, I promise."
Hearing those words, Moxxie broke down in tears again. Not from anguish, not from the fear of losing the love of his life, but from the joy of knowing that she was here—that she'd always be here, by his side. He pulled her into the most passionate kiss they'd shared since they'd said their vows to each other on their wedding day. They eventually had to pull away from each other for fresh air, opting instead to nuzzle their foreheads together and lose themselves in each other's eyes before moving in again for another sloppy, almost-feral kiss.
Even as they were reveling in each other's presence and swapping copious amounts of salvia, though, a small yet distinctly unsettling feeling stirred in Moxxie's gut.
Sometimes, he wished that she'd take his worrying a bit more seriously. It's not like he wasn't justified with it at least some of the time.
While he and Millie were making out, his eyes drifted upward and across the street. His gaze was drawn to the white and gray hellhound leaning up against the side of the building behind her, staring off into the distance at no point in particular. Loona, noticing he was staring, met his eyes with hers, and for a moment he noticed a particular softness in them that he'd never seen before.
She'd saved his life.
Her, of all people. His tormentor, his bully, the one person in his life apart from his father that he knew hated every fiber of his being.
Sure, she'd totaled his new car in the process—something that, frankly, he was never going to forgive her for—but he was alive, and more importantly, Millie was still alive. He'd get up and go thank her for it, but he had no illusions about her showing any kindness in return. If anything, she'd probably just punch him in the gut and leave him reeling on the sidewalk. Still, he hoped that she at least appreciated the gratitude he was attempting to convey in the face that he was giving her.
She did have a point, though. He definitely owed her for this, several times over, and what she did for him more than made up for what had happened between the two of them the night before. What she'd said to him, though, that she "owned" him until she felt like letting him go? That made him anxious more than anything. He didn't know what that would mean or look like; would it just be having to do some chores for her, or something more sinister that could possibly get him seriously hurt? He guessed that he wouldn't find out until the time actually came. He could just tell her no, but again, he'd rather live than have to face down her fury.
Breaking his train of thought, Millie leaned up and kissed him on the cheek before turning his face towards her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw any indication of softness in Loona's bright red eyes disappear as they narrowed at him with disgust, her snout curling up in a snarl. He quickly flitted eyes back to his wife.
"Mox?" Millie asked, interrupting his train of thought. He'd zoned out so hard that hadn't even realized that she'd pulled away from his lips. "Y'okay? Ya look like you've got somethin' weighin' on ya."
"No, it's… it's nothing. Just a bit shell shocked from today, I suppose."
"I hear that," Millie replied, giggling. "Y'know, this is twice in a day you've saved my ass now. Either I'm gettin' rusty, or you've been holdin' out on me, mister." Moxxie bashfully averted his gaze and scratched the back of his neck, blushing at the praise.
"T-Thanks, hun. Though, uh, it was actually Loona the second time around."
"Oh?" Millie cocked an eyebrow and leaned over, her smile disappearing as she stared at the hellhound across the street. "Well, either way, I guess I really am gettin' rusty."
"I promise you aren't," Moxxie reassured her, cupping her face and stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. "These guys just happened to be a cut above the guys we're normally up against."
"Mox, it's just that… These were just a couple a' mortals. I should've wiped the fuckin' floor with 'em. For Satan's sake, I've killed a mutant sea monster before with my bare hands! I'm just worried that I'm gettin'… I don't know, lazy? Complacent?" She sighed and let her head slump back in her husband's arms. "My daddy'd prolly tear me a new one if he saw me get laid out that easily…"
"Honey. It's okay. Everyone has their off-days." Moxxie began rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs, massaging out some of the tension and resurrecting her smile. "Don't be so hard on yourself! We'll get home and we can have the entire night all to ourselves to recuperate. You won't even have to worry about a thing; I'll handle dinner, dishes, everything."
Millie giggled again. It was the most wonderful sound in the entire world, and Moxxie's heart raced just hearing it. Sadly, it was interrupted by a few fits of coughing, but nonetheless, it only made Moxxie's smile grow even wider. That, along with the light from the fire consuming their wrecked car behind her making her eyes twinkle so brightly, he fell in love with her all over again. He bent down and kissed her again, their tongues and tails entwining with passion.
Across the street, Loona scoffed and shook her head in disgust at the lovebirds making a scene on the side of the road, feeling a bit of bile work its way up her throat at the sickening display of unbridled passion unfolding before her.
"Fucking sickos," she muttered to herself, shaking her head and averting her eyes to keep any more of her brain cells from dying. She walked forward and plopped herself down on the curb, unslinging her backpack and unzipping one of the outside pockets to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. Flipping open the top of the pack, she wrapped her lips around one of the cigarettes inside before stuffing the box back into the backpack and slinging it back over her shoulder.
One roll of the flint and her face was illuminated by the small, orange flame. She stuck the tip of the cigarette into the fire, puffing a few times to make sure it was lit before extinguishing the lighter and returning it to her backpack.
Fucking Moxxie, she thought to herself.
She saves the little bastard's ass, and does he even bother to thank her or anything like that? Nope. He immediately runs to his wife and starts coddling her like a fucking child. Like, come the fuck on dude, she wanted to scream in his face; she's tougher than that, she's not gonna fucking die because some mortal hit her a little hard and knocked her out! Fuck, he was such a sensitive-ass crybaby.
Whatever. At least he acknowledged that he owed her now. She was relieved that she'd managed to flip the tables on him so quickly; she fucking hated that he'd had some degree of leverage over her, no matter how small that leverage might have been and even if he'd never had the chance to use it.
But a small, nagging part in the back of her mind was still fixated on when their eyes met just a minute ago. She… didn't know how to feel about it. She didn't really have a name for what she was feeling. Staring into those soft, twinkling yellow eyes of his, for the briefest moment, she… felt sorry for him? That definitely wasn't it, but that was the closest description she could come up with for it. He just seemed so goddamn pathetic and helpless that for a fraction of a second she almost, almost felt for the guy who'd been looking down on her and judging her since the moment they'd met.
Then he and Millie were all over each other again, making out and basically fucking in the middle of the street. The moment passed and Loona, once again driven to disgust by the little shit's existence, almost regretted not letting that mortal have just a few extra seconds to give Moxxie some fresh bruises.
"Hey, Loonie." Blitzo interrupted her thoughts, coming up from behind her and taking a seat next to her, leaning back on his elbows and stretching out his legs in front of him. He sounded unbelievably exhausted, like he was just a few seconds away from passing out right on the spot. "I can't thank you enough, seriously. You came in clutch just when we needed it."
"I mean, you asked me to be here and to help out, so I did. Nothing too special."
"True, but that doesn't stop me from being so unbelievably proud of you, sweetie."
Loona kept her stoic demeanor, refusing to betray the fact that that deeply-buried, still-innocent part of her rejoiced at hearing those words. However, the feeling was quickly buried when Blitzo opened his arms and attempted to pull her into a tight embrace; instead of allowing it, she stiff-armed him and shoved him back, nearly knocking him over onto his side. He sat back up again, chuckling and dusting off his tattered suit.
"Well, if hugs are off the menu, then mind if I have some of that?" He continued, gesturing to the cigarette between her fingers.
"Go wild," she answered him, passing it off to him. He took a long drag before exhaling a large cloud of smoke into the air. They sat in silence for a few seconds, passing the cigarette back and forth and watching the burning wreck of Moxxie and Millie's car together. After everything that had just gone down, the silence was greatly appreciated; a moment of calm in what had otherwise been one of the most chaotic and eventful days since Blitzo had started the company.
"So, shouldn't we do somethin' about these bodies?" Loona inquired, pointing her thumb back to the mangled corpse of the taller mortal still laying in a large pool of blood in the alley. "Can't just leave 'em around or people are gonna talk, and you know how that ends."
"Yeah, I'd rather not have fuckin' Mammon breathing down our necks for fighting mortals in his backyard. I was actually just about to call Stolas and have him clean this shit up. Besides, I have no fuckin' clue how to close that portal up there. Unless, did you bring the grimoire with you?
"Nope."
"Well, shit. He can close it for us, then."
"You sure about bringing him into this? I can start hauling them over to one of the acid vats if you want, and I can literally just use an emergency portal card to get back to the office and grab the book."
"Don't worry about it." Blitzo took one last drag of the cigarette before handing it back to her. "He and I'll handle everything."
"Alright, suit yourself." She flicked the stump of the cigarette onto the asphalt and stomped on it with her paw, grinding it into a smoldering pile of burnt paper and ash.
"Shouldn't take too long. Besides, you've done more than enough hard work today, what with savin' our asses and all. You deserve a break, sweetie."
"Damn right I do."
—
Stolas ran his soapy hands through his feathers, scrubbing deeply and sloshing the water around him with each movement. Outside his bathroom door, he could hear the muffled sounds of his servants moving boxes, paintings, anything and everything that Stella owned or claimed to own through the hall, accidentally knocking into the walls several times and loudly bickering with each other about which of them knew best about moving large objects through tight spaces.
"You idiot, it's supposed to go vertically, not horizontally!" Stolas heard one of the servants outside chastise another, followed by the unmistakable sound of a slap. He recognized his voice; the name was slipping his mind, but he'd noticed him around, bossing the other servants around with impunity. He was one of Stella's, hired on as one of the managers of her own contingent of servants.
"I-I'm sorry, sir! It's just—I don't want to knock over those vases as I move along!" The other one's voice was much higher in pitch, filled with youthful inexperience. No doubt a new hire, since he couldn't recognize him at all.
"Gimme that!" A few seconds passed, occasional silence interrupted by the sound of grunting and the clicking of shoes against marble flooring. "Okay, see what I mean? Up. Not across. Capiche?"
"Yes, sir, but what about the chandelier? If you break it and Prince Stolas finds out…."
"Eh, don't worry about it, it'll—wait, shit, yeah. Let's just—"
"Excuse me?" Stolas called out, turning his head towards the door and leaning on the side of the bathtub. "I'm trying to bathe in peace and your voices are a little loud. Not to be too imposing, but would you please be a little bit quieter?" He took their sudden silence as a satisfactory answer. "Oh, and have either of you considered moving, erm, whatever it is you're moving diagonally?"
"N-No, your highness," the one with the higher-pitched voice answered. "T-Thank you for your wisdom, your h-highness."
"Of course. Carry on."
The two servants moved off down the hall with their mystery object, their footsteps growing fainter and fainter until there was nothing. Stolas groaned and sank further into the water until only the top half of his head stuck up above the surface. He held one of his rubber duckies in the palm of his hand, staring it in its beady black eyes and giving it a few gentle squeezes, producing the most adorable little squeak in an attempt to amuse himself even just a tiny bit.
When, all those months ago, he'd shouted from the balcony barely-dressed and filled with both the euphoria of self-discovery and Blitzy's "euphoria" that he was getting his "fucking divorce," this was not exactly what he'd been imagining as the words left his lips.
No, at that moment, his mind had been filled with images of himself and his darling Blitzy entangled with each other, drenched in sweat, saliva, cum, and potentially a little blood and fucking in every position imaginable, christening as many rooms in the palace as they could before they passed out; these thoughts no doubt arose from the fact that he'd just gotten his world so utterly rocked by his imp that any saner thought had been ejected from his mind.
But those saner thoughts had later returned when he'd had more time to let the full import of the "fucking divorce" sink in. Getting to have Blitzy over whenever he wanted; going on dates with him and not having the guilt of cheating on his wife hanging over his head, no matter if said wife hated everything about him; getting to cuddle him and be domestic and spend genuine, meaningful time with him like real boyfriends and not just two lonely souls sharing their desperate passion for each other in the heat of the night. He wished every night that Blitzy felt the same way, felt the same spark that he did, burning deep within—though, in light of recent events, especially after the little incident at Ozzie's and the sour words that Blitzy had said to him that night, those hopes had been tempered. Nonetheless, they never vanished.
Of course, none of that had transpired. Instead it had been long, grueling months of getting every piece of furniture, every little overpriced piece of jewelry, everything that Stella owned out of his palace and into Andrealphus's. Stolas knew she was stalling solely to torture him even more than she already did just with her presence. He would've been more than happy to have just used portals to get everything moved in a timely and convenient manner! But NO! She insisted on having everything loaded into these tiny, subpar loading trucks that barely worked and barely held anything and that she probably found on Hellslist! Not to mention the fact that she still hadn't signed the fucking papers! She kept giving him some bullshit excuse about how "Andrealphus wanted to mediate their disgraceful separation" when they both had the best lawyers in all of Hell at their beck and call! Why, in Lucifer's name, did he need to be in any of this?! Who the FUCK did he think he was to interfere with his personal affairs, that duplicitous BASTARD?!
POP.
The rubber ducky deflated in Stolas's clenched fist. He'd squeezed it too tightly, his claws digging into it and piercing through its yellow rubber skin. He sighed and leaned over out of the tub, letting the inanimate rubber corpse slip off his hand and onto the stool holding his various shampoos, conditioners, and soaps.
Oh, how desperately he wished for a break from the stress of everything. It was slowly driving him insane with each passing day, each new slight against him by his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Any distraction would do, anything that would take his mind off of the slow-motion collapse of his personal life and the stress of having to deal with his wife's antics.
Stolas's wish was granted moments later.
His phone on the other stool closer to the foot of the bathtub began ringing loudly, a cloud of smoke billowing out of the receiver and spelling "BLITZY IS CALLING" in the air.
Upon reading those beautiful reads, his expression of utter despondency morphed into one of joy and relief. Thank goodness, he thought to himself, twirling himself around in the bathtub to face the other end and grabbing the phone's handset, holding it to his ear.
"My darling Blitzy! How are you on this fine day? Still recovering from our little rendezvous last night, hmm?"
"H-Hey, Stolas! I, um… fuck…"
His lover remained silent on the other end of the line for a few incredibly awkward seconds, save for his heavy breathing. Stolas's smile slowly drooped downward into a frown.
"Blitz…? Are you okay?"
"Sorry, I just—I really need some help with, um… something. Dammit… could you, um, come down to Greed…? Please?"
"Yes, of course, darling, but you haven't answered my question."
Another period of silence, even longer than before. Stolas's heart sank into his stomach. He was starting to become seriously concerned, and Blitzo's lack of candor certainly wasn't helping.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"Okay. Thank you for indulging me. Now, where exactly are you?"
"Um… we're just outside some garbage dump…" He heard the crackling of Blitzo lowering his phone away from his mouth and covering the microphone with his hand. "Loonie, how far are we from the highway again?" A few seconds passed. After getting what he presumed to be a satisfactory response from his adoptive daughter, he heard Blitzo uncover the microphone again. "Okay, it's like, five minutes off the highway from exit 22? I think the sign says… fuck, what does it say? P-L-U-T… the rest of it is fuckin' rusted to shit. Whatever, I'll just send you a pic."
"No need, darling. I'll find you."
"Thanks."
"Of course, Blitzy, it's no problem. Though, I must ask—"
Click.
"…Okay."
Stolas sighed and set the handset back in the receiver, leaning back into the bath and shutting his eyes as he lolled his head back against the metal rim. He'd been planning on giving himself a bit of a spa day today, but he was unfortunately going to have to wrap up this bath rather early and at least get himself dressed in something at least presentable. It was fine, though. Anything for his Blitzy.
—
Blitzo and Millie dragged one of the mortals out of the alley, the taller one whom Loona had saved Blitzo from, each of them carrying one of his legs and heaving forward bit by bit. Blood leaked out of his bashed-in head, leaving behind a red trail with little bits of brain matter and skull fragments falling off along the way. They'd been getting all the remains out into a single pile in the street for convenience's sake; Moxxie was off in the junkyard, collecting the bones that they'd come across after coming through the portal. He'd said something about wanting to get them back to the client, how "it would be the respectful thing to do." Whatever the fuck that meant down here. She didn't ask for it, and he didn't really give a shit, so if Moxxie wanted to have his little "wow I did something good for someone" moment, then he could fuckin' go for it.
The body hit the ground with a thud, splashing up a little bit of the copious amounts of blood that had pooled out from under his compatriot.
"I'm gonna go check on Mox," Millie told Blitzo, brushing past him and heading through the arch leading into the junkyard. He nodded and groaned, leaning back against a nearby car. Now that Millie and Moxxie were gone, and—he looked across the street and was relieved that Loona was, indeed, still typing away disinterestedly on her phone—that no one was watching him, he reached into his jacket to produce the toy horse that he'd grabbed before coming down here. He stroked its mane for a bit, turning it around in his hands and appreciating every inch of its form. Whoever this thing belonged to, they certainly had some good taste; he'd been collecting toys for years, and this was a breed that he'd never seen before.
Out of the corner of his eye, a bright white light flashed, drawing his eyes to the portal opening on the street next to the bodies. He quickly shoved the horse back into his jacket and watched as that tall, lanky, beautiful owl dressed haphazardly in a loose-fitting t-shirt and baggy shorts, who was finally going to set all this shit right stepped out from his comfortable palace onto the dirty streets of Greed.
"Blitzy, darling? What's going on? Is everything… alright…" Stolas finally took in his surroundings as he avoided stepping into the puddle of blood filled with shell casings in front of him. He saw the waste portal shimmering in the sky to his right, with a few shadowy figures moving about on the other side. The car behind him, wrapped around a light pole, was completely burnt out from a blazing inferno that had only recently died down to mere embers. But most disturbing of all were the two excessively mutilated mortal corpses at his feet, just lying there in the open for anyone passing by to see.
"Hello, your highness!" Moxxie called out from the entrance to the junkyard, his arms full with what he could see were mortal-sized bones. His wife was right behind him, her clothes coated in thick, red blood; she merely flashed him a toothy smile and waved gleefully.
"Blitzy…" Stolas muttered, frowning and shaking his head in despair. "Would you care to explain to me just what, the fuck, happened here?"
"Um… business as usual?" He responded, briefly forgetting the tags in his hands, instead holding them behind his back and grinning as if there weren't at least four big things wrong with this whole picture that Stolas could count off the top of his head. "We just need some help with the, uh, cleanup! Yeah. That's it."
Stolas grumbled and stepped past him, kneeling at the side of the bodies.
"Mortals. In Hell." He scoffed, grabbing the face of the shorter one and moving it from side to side, staring into his dead, sunken eyes. His jaw had been dislocated, and when Stolas moved his head just the right way it swung open at a grotesque and unnatural angle, a trickle of blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. "Well I never."
"Would you, uh, mind closing the portal…?"
Not breaking his attention from the mortal's face, he reached up and clenched his hand into a fist, closing the garbage portal in the sky and finally shutting the mortal realm's access to Hell after it had opened who-knows-how-long ago. With the deed done, he let go of the one mortal's face and took the other's, grimacing at how much of it was missing—and how similar what was left was to himself. Indeed, his eyes drifted further south to his uniform, and when he was done rolling his eyes at the crosses on his lapels and on his epaulets he took note of the name on the patch on his chest: Stoltzfus. It was too similar to his own for comfort. The gears began turning in his head.
He turned his attention back over to the other body and held his head up by the neck, leaning down to get both his and Blitzo's face in his sights. Ah yes, he could see it more clearly now that he was actively searching for it; as he flitted his eyes back and forth between the mortal and Blitzo, the similarities became far more apparent than before. The gears were picking up speed.
Finally, they clicked, and everything suddenly made much more sense than it did before.
"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?"
"Fascinating," he uttered, ignoring Blitzo's question.
"C'mon, Stolas, what's going on? There somethin' weird about these guys that I'm not seein'?"
"Blitzy, darling, have you noticed how uncannily similar this one is to you? Or this one to me?"
"No? All mortals kinda blend together for me."
"Here," Stolas bent down further and leaned over next to Stoltzfus's face to help Blitzo come to the conclusion, though he was careful not to get too close lest he risk getting viscera in his feathers.
"Huh. Yeah, he's kinda got your cheekbones. And your eyes." Stolas cocked an eyebrow at him at the comments.
"...With or without the disfigurement?"
"Without. That is weird, though. Really not sure what you're getting at, though."
"Strange, yes, but not impossible. Any physical similarities to us are coincidental; roll the genetic dice enough and you'll inevitably come up with an infinite number of combinations. That's not what's perplexing to me." He stood tall again, wiping some of the blood off his hands onto his t-shirt, grimacing at having to have these clothes washed again. "What's truly perplexing to me is that they're here. Right in front of us, interacting with us."
Blitzo furrowed his eyebrows and glanced back and forth between the bodies and Stolas.
"I… I still don't see how that's a problem. They're just a bunch of dumbass mortals stickin' their noses where they don't fuckin' belong."
"Which, they are, but… I don't know. Logically, something just isn't sitting right with me. It's one thing for a person sharing your looks to exist somewhere out there, but it's a whole separate thing for events to occur in just the perfect time and order for you to interact with that person. I mean, tell me, Blitzy," he continued, staring at Moxxie and Millie further down the street. They were discussing amongst themselves about something or other, and neither noticed that they were the center of his attention. "How many others were there?"
"Well, there was our target, some bitch with an ax, and some girl who totally didn't belong with them. Great vibes. Lola, I think her name was."
Stolas nodded in the direction of Moxxie and Millie; they were talking among themselves, occasionally glancing back over at the two of them.
"Did any of them remind you in any way at all of those two, or Loona?"
"Well… can't speak for the target, but said bitch-with-an-ax kinda fought like Millie? Still went down like a total bitch. As for Lola, I can kinda see the name thing, but… nah, nothing else really."
"Okay. Oh well, thank you for indulging in my theorizing, my dear. I suppose I'll have to perform some proper research into the matter when I bring these carcasses back to the palace with me."
"Wait, you're just gonna keep them? You're not gonna like, burn 'em or throw 'em in acid or cast some kinda disappearing spell or whatever?"
"No. Most methods of corpse disposal tend to leave some sort of waste material behind, and I would rather not even risk leaving that. Word about things from the mortal realm tends to spread like wildfire, and even ashes or slurry or anything else produced from attempting to dispose of these bodies is likely worth something to someone, somewhere. No, better to keep them safe and accounted for than leave any element to chance. Don't worry about it, darling."
He turned his head over towards Moxxie beckoned the other imp with a crooked claw. "You, little one, come here." Moxxie did as he was asked, stumbling over while trying not to drop any of the bones in his arms on the ground. Millie followed shortly behind him, picking up any of the ones that he failed to keep in his grasp. "Drop those, I'll be bringing those back to the palace with me."
"But your highness, I have reason to believe these might be our client's. It would be wrong to—"
"Wait, your client's bones?" Stolas scoffed and placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "All the more reason to not let her have them, then. "
"Why? Doesn't she deserve the dignity of deciding what should be done with her own remains?"
"Her mortal remains existing within the same dimension as her current form is risky enough by virtue of them being mortal remains. Showing her her own dead body? Forgive me, little one, but I think we must eschew the proper moral quandaries with regards to 'respect for the dead' and consider the fact that doing so would likely not be conducive to her health or the health of those around her, putting it mildly."
"Forgive me for questioning your judgment, your highness, but I'm not following your logic. It would be weird, yes, but harmful to their health? I just can't understand how that would even be a thing."
"Well, as an imp you've likely never had to think about this kind of thing before—"
"H-Hey! I'm not stupid! Stop making bigoted assumptions about what I do and don't know based solely on the fact that I'm an imp!"
"Mox," Millie interjected, resting a hand on his shoulder and massaging it. "Keep in mind yer talkin' to our boss's… y'know. Time and a place, pumpkin."
"But Millie, he's—"
"It's okay. I take no offense. He does make a fair point, and I do apologize for my rudeness. However, also consider the fact that this is my area of expertise. Have you been studying the basic mechanics of the universe for most of your life?"
"I… I… n-no, you're right about that. I'm sorry, sir." Moxxie grumbled and crossed his arms, casting a brief, dissatisfied frown at Millie before returning his attention to Stolas, nonetheless interested in what he had to say.
"Let me put it this way. A mortal or mortal-adjacent being—in this case, your client—can only exist in one form in a dimension at any given point. They have died, and clearly they've ended up down here in Hell with us if they've solicited your services. Their mortal remains still exist—they still exist—on Earth, even if it's just as a corpse or a pile of bones. They also exist down here. Having two different dimensional forms of the same being interacting with or observing each other—even if it's just a sinner gazing upon their mortal remains—can only have negative ramifications. We don't know what those ramifications are, since it's so rarely ever occurred, if at all. It may merely induce insanity in the sinner, or it could cause some sort of reality-breaking paradox in which—"
"Yeah, we get it, it's bad." Blitzo interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Just take the fuckin' bones, too, I don't care."
"Oh." Stolas shrunk back a little bit, his spirits ever so slightly dampened by his Blitzy's interruption. "My apologies for rambling on. It's so rare that I get the opportunity to explain my knowledge to others and I get so very carried away." He cleared his throat and stood up straight again. "Yes, I'll be bringing all of this back with me. No need for any of you to worry about the matter any further."
"Ya want us to get it for ya?" Millie offered. "I don't mind gettin' a lil' more of a workout in."
"It's fine. I'll have my servants take care of it. Allow me a second to summon some of them." Stolas waved his hand and a portal back to his palace opened behind him. He turned around and leaned through peeking his head around to see if there were any servants nearby to help him. "Excuse me?" He called out. "You four, stop what you're doing and—wait, wait, wait, be careful with that! J-Just put it down carefully, please—yes, yes, that's good. Now, I need some rather sensitive things with me to be moved down to my personal laboratory as soon as possible. Attend to it immediately, please."
A few seconds later, four imps dressed in tuxedos filed through the portal, grumbling and arguing amongst themselves about how one of them had nearly dropped one of Stolas's family portraits and broken the frame. When they all laid their eyes on the bodies, they stopped in their tracks, apprehensive about what their master was asking them to do; all it took was a single glowing-eyed scowl from Stolas to move into action. They broke off into pairs for each body, hoisting them up by their arms and legs together. While they were still handling the corpses and waddling off towards the portal, Stolas leaned back through the portal and beckoned to another one of his servants passing through the hallway, directing him to grab the pile of bones that Moxxie had dropped on the ground.
As the last servants passed through the portal with the mortals, there was no trace left of them, save for the pools of their blood running down the street into sewer grates and the various shell casings left behind from their firefight. There was no need to have those cleaned up; the blood would soon dry, and who would care about some more empty brass casings on the ground when such gunfights were a daily occurrence in Greed?
"Thanks, Stolas," Blitzo stated. "We owe ya big time."
"Well, I believe you all can repay that debt by conducting your… dubiously legal business with much more discretion in the future, mhm? I'd rather not have to repeat this little exercise again."
"Uh huh. Sure. Got it."
Stolas leaned down and, with a grin on his face, ran his claws seductively along his lover's jaw and down to his chin.
"Of course, you can also make this up to me by coming by again tonight, hm? I've got a few new toys that I think you'd certainly… appreciate."
Blitzo laughed nervously, putting up a forced smile and scratching the back of his neck.
"Yeah… yeah, that'd be, uh… totally great. Yeah."
"Then I will, indeed, see you later, my darling." Stolas stepped backwards into the portal and blew Blitzo a kiss just before it closed. Blitzo's face immediately dropped when the owl was finally fully out of sight. He rubbed his face with his hands, muffling his groaning.
"Thank fuck that's over with," he uttered, turning back around towards Moxxie and Millie. Across the street, Loona shoved her phone in her shorts and wandered back over to the others, flipping her hair back when she came to a halt. "Alright, let's get our asses back home and get fuckin' paid."
"Agreed, but how exactly are we going to do that when we don't have the grimoire and when Loona totaled the only car we had on hand?" Moxxie queried. All four of them turned their heads toward the blackened remains of what had once been Moxxie and Millie's sedan.
"Some dipshit was literally going to blow your head off," Loona retorted, crossing her arms and glaring at Moxxie. "Whatever happened to being fucking grateful, hmm?"
"I-I certainly appreciate it, yes, but maybe if you were better at driving we wouldn't be having this conversation!"
"Maybe if you were better at doing your job and actually killing shit, I wouldn't have had to save your fat, sorry ass, bitch."
"Hey, could ya lay off my husband for one goddamn minute?" Millie interjected, leaning on the handle of her ax and glowering at the hellhound. "It's been a long fuckin' day. I've been knocked around a lil' bit and my head's killin' me. Yer bitchin' really ain't helpin' right now." Loona rolled her eyes and leaned on her hip.
"Wow, as if I give a shit. Up yours, too."
"Shit," Blitzo cursed, interrupting their argument before it could escalate any further. Moxxie, Millie, and Loona all turned their attention to him. He was rifling his hands through his pockets, dipping them in and out of his jacket and pants, growing increasingly confused by the lack of cash in any of them.
"You good?" Loona asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, it's just—any of you guys got a twenty for a fuckin' cab?"
—
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Catja flicked open the lighter over and over again, staring at the increasing number above the elevator door as it ascended. She reached into her purse and grabbed the pack of cigarettes to smoke another one, but she was disappointed to see, when she flipped it open, that it was empty.
"Fuck," she grumbled, tossing it and her lighter back in her bag.
She hadn't smoked this much since she was in high school, hanging out late at night in the woods with her friends and talking about anything and everything: grades, crushes, hopes, fears, dreams, nightmares, all of them confessed over a few joints and cigarettes lifted from older siblings with only the moonlight shining down on them through the leaves.
Her eyes dropped down to her chest, her hand drifting across the spot on her heart that glowed a bright red through her blouse.
She missed that life.
She missed who she used to be.
Breathe, Catja told herself, slowing down her breathing in an attempt to get her anxiety under control. It was all going to be okay. She paced back and forth, cursing the elevator for not going any faster. Then again, if it went any faster, she wouldn't be surprised if it—and half the building—collapsed.
She'd gotten the call from those assassins about an hour ago.
Max was dead.
They'd gotten back to their office, and they were now just waiting on her to deliver their cash. She reached a hand into her purse again and felt for the cash. Thankfully it was still there, and surprisingly no one on the street had even attempted to mug her. It was a significant portion of the money that she'd saved up since she'd gotten down here.
Ding.
The elevator doors rolled open, and Catja stepped out into the hallway. This place was, frankly, fucking disgusting. Stains on the wallpaper, the skittering of things living inside the walls, the strained ka-chunk, ka-chunk of the probably decades-old ventilation system that was probably about to explode any day now. Thank fuck she didn't have to live anywhere near here. Even the Pentagram was at least somewhat more bearable than the squalor that these imps lived in.
Finally, she reached a door halfway down the hall, with the painted red text on the door reading "I.M.P. Headquarters." Yep, this was the place, alright. She exhaled, straightened out her posture to appear just a little more dignified, and shoved the door open, striding into the lobby.
"'Sup," the white-gray hellhound at the front desk muttered, not even bothering to look up as she typed away on her phone.
"Hello?" Catja responded, stepping forward and clearing her throat as the doors shut behind her on their own. "Your boss called me back earlier? Said you guys finished the, um, the deed?" She still couldn't quite bring herself to say that she'd gone out of her way to pay for her brother's murder; even if it was somewhat justified, she still felt like a shameless hypocrite saying it out loud.
"Yep."
Catja stared at the receptionist for a few long, awkward seconds, waiting for her to actually do something now that she was here to literally give them money. She coughed to get her attention, but she still just sat there, staring at her phone, barely acknowledging her presence.
"So, is your boss here…? I've got the money for the job."
She watched as the receptionist finally lowered her phone and leaned back in her chair, turning her head to her right.
"BLITZ!" She screamed. "CLIENT'S HERE!"
A few seconds later, the door to Blitzo's office slammed open, and out stepped the imp himself, adjusting his red skull necklace and dusting off his torn-up jacket. He had a bandage wrapped around his upper left arm, with a few specks of black blood having seeped through to the outside. Despite how disheveled he appeared, he strode towards her, a wide, toothy grin adorning his face from ear to ear, an open hand outstretched toward her
"Catherine! Sweetheart! So good to finally put a cute ass face to the name!"
She accepted the offer of a handshake and grabbed his hand, only for him to shake hard enough for her to think that her arm was about to pop out of its socket.
"It's still just Catja."
"Catja! Haha, yeah, I totally fuckin' knew that and didn't completely fuckin' forget that at all, I was just testin' ya!" He let go of her hand and placed his hands on his hips. "How about we wrap up this whole thing back in my office, hm?"
"Sure, lead the way."
She followed him through the door, and once she was inside, he shut it behind her. The room was mostly dark, illuminated only by the red glow from the sun shining through the gaps in the curtains. Rain pattered lightly against the windows, occasionally accentuated by the rumble of distant thunder. Staying in place, Catja watched Blitzo round his desk and flop down into his chair, kicking his feet up on top of the desk and accidentally knocking over a few horse figurines. His eyes shot open and he quickly sat up to readjust them and set them upright again before returning to his original position, shifting his feet a little to the right to avoid them.
"You okay there?" She asked, gesturing to the wound on Blitzo's arm. "Looks nasty."
"Oh, that? Nothin' too bad, just part of the job. Looks totally badass though, eh?"
"Not exactly what I'd call it, but sure. Let's run with that."
"So, sister, you got that sweet, fuckin', cash?" Catja unslung her purse and reached in, producing a large wad of cash and tossing it onto the desk in front of Blitzo. He immediately leaned forward and snatched it up, thumbing through it and counting each bill. She probably should've just turned around and left at this point. That was it. Deed, done. Job, paid for. Max, dead. Her fantasies for the past month had been fulfilled, mission accomplished. She could go back to her shitty apartment, eat some shitty food for dinner, then get some shitty sleep just so she could wake up in the morning and go to her shitty gas station job and have to deal with her shitty boss all day and rinse and fucking repeat.
But she needed to know more. It wasn't enough to just know that Max was dead, she needed details. She didn't know why, but the words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to rethink.
"How'd he die?"
Blitzo stopped counting and his yellow eyes darted up to meet her gaze.
"Our very own Millie fuckin' ripped his face apart with her knives. It was gnarly as fuck, you really shoulda been there to see it! She threw a knife right into the side of his fuckin' head and then jumped straight up onto him and… "
Catja visualized it in her head, drowning out the graphic description that Blitzo was providing her. A knife, jammed in her own brother's face, blood gushing forth from the wound, his face becoming more and more disfigured as the knife twisted and deepened. The same face that betrayed her and everything they once had together.
The same face that cried and cried and cried as he'd stabbed her in the gut with the sacrificial knife and carried out the orders of those sadistic fucks that demanded her death for the sake of some twisted ritual, forsaking every promise he'd ever made to her like a fucking coward.
The same face she wanted to drag down to Hell with her, the same face she wanted more than anything to suffer for all fucking eternity for showing his true fucking colors on the night he murdered her.
But then, her thoughts shifted, and in her overwhelming grief and rage a drop of sorrow turned into a flood. It was the same face that had once had once come home one night after a performance in one of the school's musicals bloodied and bruised, having gotten into a scuffle with some guys that had been relentlessly bullying him, calling him "faggot" and "sissy" for just being himself and embracing his feminine side in a school that demanded he masculinize himself to fit in; he'd lost the fight—he was never really good at being physical—but he'd refused to give in.
The same face that had looked on her with love and understanding when she'd come out as lesbian as a depressed teenager, scared to death that their uber-conservative ex-con father was going to disown her and throw her out on the streets and finding solace in the embrace of her older brother, who in return confided in her about his bisexuality and promised to always love her and protect her no matter what.
The same face that she had waved goodbye to with tears in her eyes as he took the early morning bus to muster for his unit, not knowing if she'd ever see him alive again. He'd enlisted thinking that it'd finally get the respect of their dirtbag father, but he'd always only speak his name in hushed tones followed by several expletives and slurs.
The same face she would yearn to see again for years, going through her entire college experience and getting into a lab without him there to celebrate with her, imagining that he was still there, giving advice and guidance in his own stuck up, nitpicky way.
"...you good, Catja?"
Catja refocused on the present. She hadn't realized that she'd been shaking, the red spot at the center of her chest only glowing brighter and brighter.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
Blitzo kept thumbing through the wad of cash. Her gaze was drawn to a poster on the wall advertising the "Amazing Imp Twins." So he'd once been a clown; that tracked, given how he presented himself and how he spoke to her with the cadence of an entertainer. It wasn't him that she was curious about, though; she was instead drawn to the other one, sitting opposite him, an innocent smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.
"You have a sister." She said it less as a question and more as a statement of fact.
"Oh, Barbie?" Blitzo turned around in his chair and followed Catja's eyes to the poster on the wall. His practiced smile dropped. "She's, uh… we're not… really on the best terms, right now. Family shit's complicated, y'know?"
"Yeah. I do." If looks could kill, Catja's glare would've vaporized Blitzo and about half the building with him.
"…Riiiight," He drawled, nervously scratching the back of his head behind his horns. "You get it. Anyway, dumping my family history onto random people I barely know really isn't my thing, so can we drop it?"
"What would you do if she died?"
Blitzo froze up, startled by the question. He set the cash down on the desk and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"I… I don't know. I'd feel like shit, I guess. We've got bad blood, yeah, but I love her to death. She really deserves a chance to…" He trailed off, realizing that he was probably telling her too much. He resumed his previous position, grabbed the money, and sighed. "Cash looks good. Nothin' missing, so yeah. We're done here, unless you want us to get a celebration cake for you or whatever."
"A… a celebration cake? Excuse me?"
"Yeah! I know it probably ain't your jam, but sometimes the clients can't wait to celebrate the gruesome murders of their rivals, treacherous loved ones, et cetera, and so they front us a little extra so we can get a cake for 'em."
"I'll pass. Thanks for the offer. I'll get out of your hair—horns, whatever. Thanks, for everything."
"No problem, it's just what we fuckin' do. See ya around, and if you ever need another shitbag in the mortal world done in, y'know who to call."
Catja turned around and opened the door to the office, leaving as quickly as she could. She hoped that she'd never have to see Blitzo or anyone here again. Stepping through the entrance, went out into the hall and strode back towards the open elevator, and when she was inside and the doors shut behind her and she was alone again, she leaned back against the wall and let the emotional dam burst. She sank down to the floor, curling up and burying her head in her arms as she let loose all of her grief and pain she'd held in for over a month in the form of choked sobs and tears streaming down her pale face onto the floor below.
—
Max's entire body was screaming at him, a primal call to action that most beings felt after being knocked unconscious.
Pain. But… not the kind of pain a normal person would feel.
Something was wrong.
Strange, prickling sensations from his limbs—his hindbrain didn't recognize some of them, and the ones that were at least analogous felt different. Changed. Blood pumping to the wrong places, air being taken in and exhaled from unfamiliar lungs. Scents that a human nose wouldn't be capable of picking up on, ones that he had no name for.
Slowly, excruciatingly, Max opened his new eyes.
An… alleyway? A blood red sky?
He'd just been at Camp Borgia, deep underground. Where the fuck was he?
His brain was scrambling to fill in the gaps, desperately trying to make sense of his new situation. He tried to stand up and get a better view of his surroundings, but his feet were entirely different, and the unfamiliar pain of trying to move around on them made him fall back down onto his ass—though he noticed that something thin and wiry beneath him, and he could feel every single one of its movements as if it were one of his limbs. He lifted his head and his feet, straining his eyes to get a better look at them.
Hooves. He had fucking hooves.
He turned around slightly and finally got his eyes on the tail attached to his lower back, sticking through the rags that clung to his body and waving erratically from side to side due to his body still being confused at having a new appendage.
Max's heart began beating more rapidly. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. He groaned and raised his arms, holding his hands in front of his face against the backdrop of the sky above. They were covered in brown fur, with sharp claws in place of his fingernails. His hands came to his face; it was asymmetrical, with a pronounced snout protruding from it, divided down the center by what felt like a large scar.
What, the fuck.
"Hey bud," he heard someone whisper at him from the entrance of the alley. His voice was strangely distorted, almost as if there were subvocals underneath it, but there was still an unmistakable New Yorker accent. "Y'alright?" He grunted, unable to sit up or move his head too much to see who it was. He heard several pairs of legs approaching him, assuming that it had to be several people. "Here, lemme help ya up," he heard as he felt multiple pairs of hands grab hold of him.
When he finally sat up, he was met with an ant-like creature of some kind staring back at him, its eight beady eyes staring directly into his. Every instinct in his body told him to run, and goddamn if he wasn't going to listen to them. The shock was the jolt his body needed to finally kick into gear.
"Get the fuck off me, you fucking thing!" Max screamed, kicking the demon off of him and scrambling backwards until his back met a brick wall behind him. "Don't fucking touch me!"
"Hey, hey, take it easy!" The thing reassured him, holding up its four unnaturally long arms and showing him that its three-clawed hands were empty. "I'm just makin' sure you're alright—"
"Where the fuck am I?! Huh?!" Max continued, rising to his feet—hooves—and tilting his head to the right to crack his neck. "And just what, the fuck, are you?!"
"Settle down, okay? I'm… oh." The thing sniffed the air a few times before backing off, its antennae twitching several times. "Oh you're fresh, geez. Ya reek a' Earth. Okay, bud, what's the last thing ya remember?" He asked, checking around the corner of the alley to see that no one was coming by.
"I was… I was in a firefight and I got hit in the side of the head with something, then… then…" Max scratched behind his head, just now feeling the large ears that adorned him. "Crap, I don't quite remember how I got here."
"Yeah, that's pretty typical for all a' us when we get down here."
"'All of us'—wait, you were… you were human?" Max eyed the creature up and down, cocking an eyebrow and feeling his ears involuntarily flick themselves back.
"We all were, once upon a time. I used to run a nice lil' bakery with my pops in Brooklyn. Now, I'm this." He gestured with his four arms to the rest of his insectoid body, his mandibles clicking a few times as he did. "Yeah, this is what Hell does to us. Turns us into a buncha fuckin' freaks."
Max thought about everything that S.I.T.C.O.M. had been studying since they'd first gotten access to Hell over a month ago. With all of their research, they'd never seen anything like this; they'd gotten some samples from the local Hellborn population, but never from ex-human sinners. The thought of studying them, of picking them apart and figuring out what exactly they were, briefly crossed his mind, but the thought was soon overpowered by a cramp in his lower back. He'd forgotten about his new tail; to stop the cramping, he pushed himself off the wall, releasing his wiry tail to swing freely between his legs and briefly wobbling as he stood on his new hooved feet.
"So, you got a name, bud?"
"Major Max Richards. What about you?"
"Shit, you're one a' them folks, too, eh? I'm Anthrax. Well, that ain't my real name, but it's just what folks around here call me." Max squinted at him and nodded very slowly, confused by the name.
"Uh huh," he drawled. "I've never spoken to a dead person before, so just out of curiosity, how did you die?"
"Pigs raided the bakery, found out my pops was dealin' crack baked into some a' the bread, then shot me dead for tryin' to keep 'em from cuffin' him. So, Major, ya got your unit down here, or…?"
Max looked away and thought for a moment about everyone that he'd left behind from S.I.T.C.O.M. He wouldn't mind it if either Blitz or Stoltzfus ended up down here—frankly, both of them deserved far worse than whatever this was for forcing him to murder his only fucking sibling. Same with Lola, but only because she'd been such a relentless bully and he wouldn't mind getting a little schadenfreude from seeing her put in her place for once.
The thought of Mabel down here, though, made his stomach churn. God, he hoped that those things didn't kill her, too. She was tougher than that. Had to be tougher than that. She didn't deserve to be down here with the discarded dregs of humanity like he did for betraying Catja's trust. She deserved to move on from him and live a full, beautiful life. She deserved the world, even if he wasn't there by her side to share it with her.
"It ain't in my place to pry," Anthrax continued, noticing that Max was zoning out. "But I know a lotta ex-military like you. They have a tendency to reconnect with whoever from their units came down here with them. Guess they just want somethin' familiar." He scratched behind his antennae with one of his three-clawed hands. "If ya don't know about your unit, y'know, bitin' it like you, I know some guys who run a little shelter not far from here. Squad a' Marines, all from the same unit. Managed to get together after they got fucked up during an assault on Okinawa. They've been holdin' their own and helpin' new camos like you get back on their feet ever since."
"Camos…?" Max queried, his voice quiet.
"Yeah. Ex-military. It's just slang. Hey, uh, you want me to talk ya there, bud? I ain't gonna lie, ya look like easy pickin's for some of the less savory folk around here." He stepped forward, reaching into his jacket with another hand and producing a few paper bills. "Oh, and here. This should be enough to cover ya for a couple days."
Max stepped forward, more confident now that he'd at least gotten some idea of his situation and where he could go. He still had a lot of questions, and was still grappling with the idea that he was, in fact, dead, but this was better than nothing. He reached out and took the cash in his furred, clawed hands.
"T-Thanks, Anthrax. I owe you."