Chapter 6: One of the Good Ones

Red strode through the halls of the 'Donna, the tide of children parting around him and his cohorts like the red sea. He caught awed mutters and whispers as they did, the guttersnipe's name rising among them. This lad had been something of a figurehead among them back in the day, it would seem. Perhaps he could be useful after all? He'd gauge that later.

While Syx's faltering had been a bitter thing, he could hardly bring himself to call this day a total loss. Correspondence with the Vees and the incipient optimization of the Shop would mollify Belladonna to a helpful extent, giving him more leeway with which to conduct his search. Still, he had been expecting to awaken a new capo today, and its failure to manifest was frustrating.

They came to a stop outside 'Her Ladyship's' office, he pointed to one of the seats bracketing the ostentatious door. "You. Sit here and wait."

The incubus nodded, shuffling forward and sitting like a beaten dog. Red knew the boy would not try to run. He rapped on the door and waited a moment.

"Come in," came the reply.

Red, Kabby, and Macks entered, the homeless imp gawping at the tasteless grandeur of the old cow's abode. Belladonna sat behind her desk, watching them approach with a rueful glare, her nostril curling at the odor that wafted in with their new acquisition.

"I see you've made a few new friends," she said, acidly.

Red nodded. "A few, yes."

"I heard about Lauper," Belladonna said, weaving her hoove-fingers together. "Care to explain?"

"She was impudent and could barely drive stick," said Red, gesturing at Macks. "I procured a replacement in situ."

"I should have worded that damned deal better," she grumbled, getting to her feet. "Just because I gave your pet a position here, don't think I'm in the business of hiring Hellborn! Seeing their own among the staff here at the 'Donna could give these poor wretches some… unrealistic aspirations." She sighed in disgust and gestured for them to continue. "Well? Sell me on this… thing."

"He knows the neighborhood inside and out," Red began. "He knows all the gangs, knows where the best hunting spots are, and he can drive stick. In fact, he tells me he can drive anything with a wheel."

"Mh-hm," she grunted, curtly. "What else?"

Kabby nudged Macks with his elbow and the imp shuffled forward, clearing his throat. "Uh, Miss Lady Belladonna, ma'am? I'm good with cars and I know all that stuff Mr. Nightmare here said just now. Uh, if'n this job comes with room and board, I'll work for half pay."

Belladonna blinked at this, her eyes lighting up as an ingratiating smile spread across her stern features. "Oh! Well why didn't you say so~? I'm always on the look-out for good local talent, after all! Welcome on board, Mr…?"

"Macks, ma'am."

Belladonna chuckled warmly, smiling. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Macks. Kabby, be a dear and show Mr. Macks his new room… and the shower."

"Actually," said Red, stepping forward. "Kabby here has a proposition I'm sure you'll be interested in, an opportunity to increase the earning power of the Shop."

Belladonna arched her eyebrow, lowing quizzically. "Yes? You were mentioning that earlier. Mr. Macks, if you'd wait outside?"

Macks nodded and bowed shallowly. "Yes'm. Thanks, yer ladyship."

Belladonna smiled at the address and sat back down as the smelly imp showed himself out. "Hose that one off for a few hours… anyway, Kabby? You have a proposition?"

Kabby cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Yeah, Your Ladyship. See, the Shop runs a pretty tidy scrapping biz, which we can keep rolling along to be sure, but I'm confident that we could triple or quadruple profits with minimal costs."

"I'm listening…"

Kabby stepped forward and set a keychain on her desk. "These are the keys to a Dodge Viper SR 1. It has a 488 cubic-inch plant, a V-10, and clocks in at 400 horsepower. 66.75k on the odometer–" She cut him off, holding up her hand, before gesturing to him to 'get on with it'. "Right. Anyway, we tune this beaut up, do a bit of detailing, we can get 50-60k, easy. If'n you want a little more security for future projects, we sell 'em to dealerships at about half that."

"And this is your proposition?" She said, her tone flat. "To turn the Shop into a chop shop? What makes you think we haven't considered this?"

Kabby smirked and snapped his fingers. "The Hextech, right? Well, let's say I know a guy. See, we cabbies gotta use whatever the company could dig up in these rougher parts of town, so they get a guy to come in and install all that stuff on the vehicles so, y'know, we don't steal 'em. Luckily for us, the guy runs a side-hustle of, well, doing the same but in reverse. He'll ask a percentage, of course."

"Of course." Belladonna studied the imp for a moment. "What kind of a percentage?"

"Ten'll make him happy, fifteen'll keep him quiet."

"So." She did some quick math. "If we go through a dealership, 22-27 thousand for this Viper?"

"Try 50-60 thousand, ma'am," said Kabby, jabbing a thumb at Red. "No need for a dealership or Hextech with this one. Mr. Nightmare here, er, 'acquired' the Viper from the owner. Though, we probably won't be pummeling everyone with a nice car, going forward."

"Indeed. I didn't kill this one, by the way." Red stepped forward and placed a pair of Seraphim Steel butterfly swords on the desk. "When she pulls herself back together, we can expect either no competition or a monthly stipend from her gang."

"Percentage?"

"25%"

"Keep me appraised." She turned back to Kabby, smiling hungrily. "60 thousand?"

Kabby smiled and nodded. "At least! I tell ya, those kids down there are damn piranha! It'll just take 'em a little push to tune up a rig in no time flat! If we tweak the odie and sparkle her up, hundred grand, maybe more!"

"This is all terribly interesting, Mr. Kabby. Though, I seem to recall Mr. Diamanti being the foreman of the Shop. You work for him, do you not?"

Kabby blinked, glancing at Red. "Well, yes, but–"

"And did you mention this plan of yours to him?"

"I did, ma'am, but he–"

"Yet he did not mention it to me at all. Mr. Diamanti has always been one of my best earners, Kabby, and I hardly think he'd appreciate you going over his head regarding how his operation is to be run." She rose to her feet, stepping out from behind her desk and walking over to Kabby, her rubenesque seven-and-a-half foot looming tall over the scrawny little imp, her cruel, hard features shifting into a smile. "But, then again, Mr. Diamanti has never gifted me a hundred thousand $ouls!"

She bellowed a laugh and scooped the little imp off his feet, pressing his face into her mountainous bust as she embraced him. "Oh, Mr. Kabby! I knew I did right in hiring you, you're one of the good ones! You have that hungry, needful edge that's so lacking in this organization! What do you need?"

"Nothin' Boss Lady," replied the smothered imp from somewhere in her bosom. "Shop's ready!"

"Then get to it!" She chuckled, setting him down and clapping him on the rump. "Show Mr. Macks to his abode- and the shower -and get your taut little rump down to the shop and polish that Viper to a shine! And if that overstuffed wind-up toy gives you flack, you tell him to talk to me!"

"Yes ma'am!" Kabby said, his voice husky as a blush burned hot in his cheeks. "R-right away, ma'am!"

With that, the imp departed, sharing a glance with Red as he scurried by; this was going better than expected! Belladonna chuckled as she set her rump down on the desk, turning to Red. "Exuberant little thing, isn't he?"

"Driven and resourceful," said Red, turning to her. "He'll get that show on the road in short order. Will Mr. Diamanti be a problem?"

"If he kicks up a fuss, I'll sort him out," she said, airily. "He's good at getting top $oul for his scrapping business, but I doubt that tick-tock tin pot could tell his prick from a sparkplug! Now, on to you, Mr. Nightmare…"

Red stood at attention. "Your Ladyship."

"I can't help but notice you killed another one of my staff." She wagged a finger at him. "Tch tch tch. No, Red. Bad Red! We agreed on this, didn't we?"

"I arranged a suitable replacement," he said, shrugging. "Had I been in violation of our Pact, Ms. Lauper would be with us now, chewing with her mouth open."

"A suitable replacement, yes, but only for that other driver you killed!" She snapped. "You've still no replacement for Eye Watkins, and now you've cost me a Carriage House worker! Lauper may not have been winning any popularity contests, but she was a cat-herder par excellence!"

Red nodded, his expression serene as his hands folded behind his back bunched into diamond-hard fists. "Well, I rather think her skills will not be of further use."

Belladonna blinked, her fury vanishing. "What do you mean?"

Red reached into his breast pocket and produced a small white envelope bearing a pink wax seal and handed it to her. With a trembling hoof, she took it, turning it over in her hands slowly, deliberately, as though it weighed tons. "I-is this…?"

"The Vees' henchmen from before returned today and delivered this in person," said Red. "No bloodshed. They're peace terms."

"H-have you read it?" She said, turning it to see the unbroken wax seal. "How…?"

"Call it a gut feeling. They wouldn't bother with any subterfuge if they were just going to attack anyway. That stationary isn't cheap."

Red smirked. He had read it, just not in this timeline. The terms were remarkably lenient, including a colored map with clearly marked territory and a three-block-wide neutral zone between where the Vees laid claim and where they assumed he had a stake. Erring on the side of caution, the Vees had been unintentionally generous. One hiccup was that the paperwork was clearly addressed to him and not Lady Belladonna. Though, considering the fat bitch looked as though she'd just sat on a landmine, it would take minimal cajoling to distract her from noticing. He'd just have to pick and choose timelines a little carefully.

(~0~)

She would break the seal and fish out the documents. She would be pleasantly surprised with the territory granted and pleased with the sizable buffer. Belladonna would read through the notice letter, catching on quickly that she was obviously not being addressed and raise the issue to him.

What to do?

He scanned the timestream.

Ah-ha.

That'll do.

(~~)

She opened the envelope and fished out the documents. Three in total, one a letter of notice penned and signed by Overlord Valentino himself, a printed sheet that appeared to be a map, and an official document to be signed upon reading. She looked over the map, eyes widening.

"My god!" She exclaimed, showing the map to Red. "Look at all this territory! He's willing to hand over half the district! And this buffer! They're making themselves easy to avoid! Now, let's look at this notice. 'Lube up and grab your ankles, the Vees are talking! It has come to my attention that–'"

"Oh, he's just saying he's not invading our turf today." Red interjected, pointing to the letter. "What are his terms?"

"Anxious about something, Red?" She said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Let's just say I'm less interested in whatever astroglide-scented words Valentino has to spare us than the very real consequences of a violation of terms."

Belladonna was suddenly reminded of the gravity of the situation, clearing her dry throat and turning back to the letter of notice, her wide eyes glossing over the introduction speech - in which she was not even obliquely referred to - and down to the list of terms for 'tolerating your existence'. "Terms are as follows. One: no assisting or doing business with the following gangs… alright, I'll make a note of those. Two: no casinos, studios, independent broadcasters - televised or otherwise - fashion parlors, clothing stores, or any form of fashion-wares distribution within fifty blocks of the buffer zone. Three: no sale or provision of… sexual services in any way, shape, or form." She looked up at Red, irritation clear on her face. "With no stipulations as to range. Like you said he would."

Red nodded gravely, smirking internally. "Even in peace terms, Valentino will not tolerate competition."

"Indeed." Belladonna turned back to the notice. "Any violation of these terms will be met with swift and immediate action. Specifically, me and my boys will… oh. Oh my. That's just… h-he couldn't–"

Belladonna blanched, turning away from the letter, a hand over her mouth. Red made a show of taking the notice from her and reading it. He'd already read that part, naturally, in a defunct timeline. While he considered Valentino a crude, vulgar insect blessed with a vicious sort of low cunning, Red would freely admit that the moth-demon had a vibrant, almost poetic flair when it came to describing high impact sexual violence.

"Well, at least that's on-brand from what I've heard," Red murmured, folding the paper up and setting it down on the desk before picking up the document and holding it out to her. "Shall we get this over with?"

A shaken Belladonna glanced at the paperwork, eyes skimming over the terms and condition of the legally binding magical document. Her mind no doubt bubbling with the vivid descriptions Valentino had provided and snatched it, pen scraping as she put her signature on the dotted line. With that she sighed and pushed the wretched thing away. Red took it and folded it up neatly, placing it back in the opened envelope.

"I thought we'd have more time…" She muttered, rubbing her temples with her thumbs. "Even with Mr. Kabby's plan, we're going to come up short this month."

"Once we get the Shop streamlined, we'll more than make up for it," said Red. "And Home Ec and the Shop could do with some extra hands. Besides, once we push out into that extra territory, we'll have plenty of other opportunities present themselves."

"Yes, yes…" She said, sounding exhausted as she sat down behind her desk. "I need a shot of something stiff–oh, god, not like that! Booze! I need some booze!"

Red stood over her for a moment, rather enjoying her defeated, downtrodden attitude. A far cry from the boisterous demoness that had snared him in this unseemly Pact. She was hardly quibbling about 'who owned what' now she thought her fat ass was the target of Valentino's hot, throbbing ire. He had to suppress a grin as she hurriedly dug out a bottle of scotch and a glass, capping it with a trembling hand.

"There's still the matter of the Carriage House."

"Oh, for–!" She growled as she attempted to pour herself a glass, her hand uselessly unsteady, giving up and drinking straight from the bottle. "Take care of it!"

"And the staff?"

"I said take care of it!"

With that Red nodded and stepped out of the office and into the hall. He almost set off for the Carriage House before stopping in his tracks. He glanced down at the incubus boy, Zak, sitting obediently in the chair. The lad stared up at him, expectantly.

"Go to the kids' barracks. I'll be with you shortly," he said, eyes narrowing. "Don't make me look for you."

"Uh–" Red turned and headed off down the hallway. "Right."

He smiled toothily as he walked, heedless of the children scurrying out of his way, their eyes wide with terror; whenever an adult around here smiled like that, it usually ended poorly for them. Red didn't care, he was in too good a mood. That had gone perfectly! Soon, that unseemly blight would be torn from his throne, its occupants shuffled into more worthwhile ventures, and the Vees easiest excuse for war done away with. Belladonna's misery was merely icing on the cake! Now, to make it official.

He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out the envelope. He opened it and unfolded the Sangunine Sealed document, Belladonna's clipped, professional signature on the dotted line. In her distress - and due to his large thumb covering the logo - Belladonna had failed to notice that this particular document could only be officially signed in one way. He raised his index finger to his mouth, slightly nicking the tip on one of his sharp, shark-like teeth. Red waited for a small bead of blackish-green blood to form on his fingertip before setting it down on the paper next to Belladonna's signature, leaving a dark green smudge. The paper glowed slightly, the bloody fingerprint seeping into the stationary like a sponge. Belladonna's name burned off the paper, replaced with Red's own savage yet graceful signature.

The terms were accepted, the truce was now official.

Now, to business.


The Carriage House was a tall building, roughly as wide as it was tall. At about four storeys it was as tall as the main complex itself, but that's where the similarities ended. Contrasting sharply with the dull, gray, prison-like concrete of the 'Donna, the Carriage House was made from pleasingly stark red brick with floridly designed concrete sills around its many windows. It occupied the far side of the barricaded yard, the grim perimeter fence curtailed around it, becoming a tasteful stone and cement wall, albeit one with a tall chain-link fence wreathed with razor wire. Access to the Carriage House from the 'Donna's side was done through the rear of the building, which extended somewhat into the courtyard, through a robustly built Wrath-steel door complete with card-reader lock.

Red's lip curled at the implied necessity for such a security measure. Lady Belladonna did not believe in 'staff discounts' after all. Not out of any moral fortitude, mind, rather that additional mileage with no income to show for it was no doubt a financial loss in her books. He internally regretted that he had killed Eye Watkins before getting the names of his fellow degenerates among the staff.

Red crouched slightly and leapt, the force of propelling his almost 800lb bulk up and over the Carriage House sent cracks spidering across the pavement. He soared high over the building in a sharply apexing arc, setting down a few meters from the entrance with a loud thud. He turned around and examined the street-facing front of the Carriage House. It gave the impression of a quaint, small-town hotel, with large, but less numerous windows, giving the impression of large interior rooms. Lining the wall all the were rows of tall orange goldpires, the stone wall visible between their trunks but the fence hidden behind the foliage. All in all, it actually looked quite nice, should one not know its purpose.

"Wait…" Red said, aloud, squinting at the sign. "It's actually called 'the Carriage House'?"

"Yeah?" A burly female Sinner growled around a stogie, muscular arms folded across her broad chest. She was some manner of stumpy, calloused… thing. Not short, about six-and-a-half feet, but nearly as broad as she was tall. She wore cargo shorts, a studded leather vest, and nothing more besides the scowl on her lumpy potato head, her black hair tied back in a long oily braid coiled around her shoulder. "What else would it be called?"

"Lady Belladonna's Finishing School for Gifted Youngsters?" Red said, without much mirth.

A sour smile split her scaly face, her uneven teeth like nicotine-yellow paving stones. "Haw! I guess irony ain't Bella's strong suit."

The door swung open and out tottered a pair of Sinners, a male humanoid with blue skin and garish rings and chains festooning his tacky suit. Hanging off his shoulder was a shapely demoness with hair like a plasma ball. They were inebriated and in some state of undress as they shambled past the bouncer and down the stairs.

"See ya, Cowlick!" The blue demon slurred, waving to the bouncer. "I'll show ya some lovin' next time, hot stuff! Sinead here was in a jealous mood t'day!"

"Gee-hee-hee! Pulque!" The 'Sinead' tittered, a sound not unlike a drunk tesla coil. "Like shit I was! I shared my prettyboy witcha, didn't I? Besides…" She cackled and jabbed a thumb at 'Cowlick'. "She's way too much woman f'you, babe! You'd be a mattress stain instead of makin' one!"

Pulque threw his head back and laughed, not watching where he was walking. "Sounds like fu–OOF!"

His bald, blue head bounced off Red Nightmare's solid chest, losing his tenuous grasp on balance and stumbling backwards, leather-clad rear bouncing on the walkway. He hissed and rubbed his rear. "Ow! Watch where the fuck you walkin', man!"

"Uh…" Sinead said, looking up at the towering figure in front of them. "You walked into him, babe. Sorry 'bout that, Big Shoots."

Red said nothing.

"Oh, what? What's yer deal?!" Pulque said, getting to his feet. "Givin' me the silent treatment, huh? Well fuck you, fishfood! What kinda fuckin' loser goes to a hooerhouse this time'a day?!"

"Uh," said Sinead, whispering in his pointy ear. "Us, babe."

"Sinead, I swear to Lucy…" Pulque muttered, pulling her close to him in a huddle. "Stop makin' us look bad in front of the squid-man!"

"I'm not makin' us look bad, you stumbling drunk!"

A pair of huge, Seraphim Steel gauntlets set down on their shoulders in an almost friendly gesture. The two looked up at the taller Sinner, expressions a mix of concern and confusion. His arms snapped shut like a steel trap, the holy-metal gauntlets smashing the two's heads and torsos together in an instant. Blood and viscera fountained, Sinead's electrostatic hair fizzled as Pulque's various golden chains flew hither and thither, one looping around her wrist. The demon's remains stood, propped up by one another, their bodies fused together above the waist in a wad of meat and twitching limbs.

Blood and meat and other things beaded and slid off Red's suit like water off a duck's back, a feature present in the wardrobe of any self-respecting demon of means. What had splattered on his face sizzled and dried as he flexed his aura, crumbling away as desiccated powder. He hummed to himself as he rifled through their pockets and purses, pocketing their Hellphones and wallets and any other valuables he found. Most of it was cheap, tacky garbage, but would fetch a tidy sum nonetheless. The 'Donna was about to take a dip in profits, so every little bit helped. He stepped around the standing corpses and made his way towards the Carriage House.

"Hey," grumbled Cowlick, puffing on her cigar. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Inside."

"After that performance?" She parked her wide, fridge-like body in front of the entrance, blocking it almost completely. "We don't do rough-housin' here, Namor! Besides, those two dipshits were regulars, and this business is all about repeat customers! Now, fuck off!"

Red was now at the top of the stairs, standing before Cowlick, staring her down. She looked up and met his gaze, her formidably ugly mug creasing into a defiant scowl.

"I'm staff."

"Then double-fuck off!" She sneered. "Only paying customers are allowed through the front door! No freebies!"

Red eyed her up for a moment, noting the actual dedication in her eyes, a queer sort of protectiveness in her posture. "You… don't go in there much, do you? No. In fact, you only go in there when you have to, to… protect the kids. Ah. You don't like this job, hate it even, but ever since that incident uptown, this is the only place you can work without fear of being recognized and taken back. Taken back to him. She found that out, didn't she? Yes. Yes, and that's why you were Dealt with."

"Huh?" She blinked, eyes widening in confusion and horror. "How did you…?"

"You told me so yourself, once upon a time," he said, pointing a taloned finger at her, his hand curling into a claw. "Though I had to tear it out of you. I prefer this outcome, don't you? Now, it's time for your nap."

"What're you–"

Inside the Carriage House foyer a young succubus lay upon a long, red velour loveseat, idly pecking at her Hellphone. It was a slow day, so even the cat-herders weren't getting on her case for laziness. She squeaked in surprise as a mighty thud sounded from the other side of the wall, the whole house seeming to shudder on its foundations. A framed portrait of Lady Belladonna, sitting in the Mona Lisa with a benign expression on her face, jerked on the wall with the impact. The portrait, jostled from its perch, tumbled to the floor, shattering on the maroon colored carpet.

"What was that?" Came a belated call from elsewhere in the building. "Did that fatass John upstairs pass out or something?"

"Uh–" The young succubus said when the door creaked open. "Ooh! A customer!"

She got to her feet and straightened out her black silk backless dress and hopped behind the front desk, leaning forward on crossed arms, emphasizing her assets. "Welcome to the Carriage House, where all who walk through these doors are treated like old friends! Hang up your coat, put up your feet, and let us make you feel welcome!"

Red stepped in through the tall, crenelated doorway, leaving the doors to close slowly behind him. The succubus glanced up at his face and smiled, a pinkish flush forming in her cheeks; too often the demons who walked through these doors had to pay for company, so it was always nice when a pretty face turned up. "Oh, you're Mr. Red, aren't you? I think I've, like, seen you around. My name's Leni! Like, staff aren't allowed to come into the House, but maybe we can make–"

Her eyes shot to the doorway, glimpsing the limp legs laying there, the low, thick groans of the bouncer cut off as the heavy oak doors swung shut.

Her eyes shot back up to his, recalled stories of his casual brutality surfacing in her mind. "Uh…"

"Shh," said Red, placing his finger over his full, dark green lips before pointing to the intercom. "Call Gowan, will you, Leni?"

She did, pressing the call button to Gowan's office, there were a few rings before a feminine voice replied. "Yes? What is it?"

"There's a Mr. Red Nightmare here to see you."

A dramatic sigh followed by a click as Gowan hung up. Red stood before the desk, the ambient sounds of the Carriage House hanging in the air over the tense silence. Leni cleared her throat. "Uh… Mr. Red, sir?"

"Yes, Leni?"

"Did you, like, k-kill Ms. Cowlick?"

Red smirked, shaking his head. "No, Leni. Would you like me to?"

Leni's eyes went wide with horror, shaking her head, jostling loose a platinum curl from her intricate hairdo. "No! No-no-no-no! Ms. Cowlick's one of the good ones! Like, even the cat-herders chill out on her shifts!"

"I know," said Red, reaching out and putting the curl back in place. "We won't be needing bouncers much longer, though. But I think I can get her another job. Tell me, Leni, what do you like to do in your off time?"

"Huh? Uh… like, for fun?"

"Yes, like, for fun."

Leni pondered this for a moment. "Well… I like, like, sewing and stuff. Like, hemming dresses that get torn up and adding pretty things like ruffles and ribbons and stuff. I wasn't, like, fast enough for Home Ec, so I got sent here, you know?"

"I know. Would you like to work in Home Ec, though?"

"I dunno. Yeah, I guess? Why? Do you think you can, like, get me in there?"

"It's either that or, like, the Shop," Red said, head turning to the adjoining room. "Ah."

"The Shop? Ew. No. What do you–?" Leni began to say when Gowan turned the corner and strutted into the foyer. "Oh, Gowan! This is Mr–"

"We've met," Gowan cut her off, offering her(?) hand.

Red studied the Sinner for a moment. Gowan had been a confounding one. They had met at the orientation meeting when he first started at the 'Donna. While much of the staff were content to grunt their greetings through mouthfuls of fingerfood - Belladonna had provided free (aka cheap) food and drink to encourage attendance - Gowan had been one of the few to attempt smalltalk. No matter what timeline Red Nightmare had scryed, he could not for the life of him conclusively determine Gowan's gender, much less their preferred means of address. They presented as a tall, lithe orange amphibian demon of some stripe, dressed in elaborate finery, heavy gold chains and delicate platinum necklaces around their neck, with gilded bracelets about their wrists and heavy tooth-cracking gold rings on their fingers. In dress, they wore what appeared to be a maroon doorman's coat that extended into a brothel madam's long, fitted dress. Every attempt to politely determine their preferred pronouns was met with a demure deflection, and any guesses were stymied with coy correction, regardless of choice. Red ultimately determined via an alternate timeline - one that involved torture, naturally - that Gowan at some point planned to rob Belladonna's safe and vanish; their ambiguous presentation an intentional obfuscation, one that would make them and their plunder difficult to track down, rather than a preferred identity.

And just like that, Gowan ceased to be interesting in the slightest.

Red took Gowan's hand and nodded. "Gowan."

"It's been too long, Mr. Nightmare," Gowan drawled in an affected accent that sounded somewhere between 'Blanche DuBois' and 'Pepe le Pew'. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

'Tu hwat du ah oww thee pleshuh?' Red mused, before remembering why he was there. "How many clients are presently on the grounds?"

"Presently?" Gowan puffed delicately on a long-necked holder, at the end of which was a fragrant clove cigarette. "Ten, I believe. Why do you ask?"

"Make it zero," Red said, sternly. "The Carriage House is closing early, Belladonna's orders."

Gowan gawped for a moment, confusion and concern spreading across their heavily painted features, before whispering: "Is it the Vees?"

Red smirked at how Gowan's syrupy, 'Noo Awleens' accent had vanished like so much cloying, clove-scented smoke. "Once all the customers have vacated the premises, gather all workers and staff, bouncers included, in the main room for a meeting."

"But–"

Red curtly tapped an imaginary watch, arching an eyebrow.

Gowan locked him with a tight-lipped glare before hiking up their dress and heading off, calling out in an impressively commanding bark. "Hup-hup! On your feet, ladies and fuckbois! House is closing early! Cat-herders, clear out your rooms and get the talent dressed, we're having a meeting after the Janes and Johns amscray! Assholes and elbows, people, c'mon!"

The house cleared out with little if any drama. A few outraged patrons protested, but were quickly subdued and shown the exit, sometimes via the window. Red surmised that this sort of work required that many, if not all, of the staff here had to be martially capable in some respect to corral not only the workers but recalcitrant customers, too. Part of him pondered if the staff here was salvageable in its entirety, as muscle was presently in short supply. But when the workers - the kids - were coarsely herded into the main room of the House, some of them disheveled and only partially dressed from their interrupted duties, Red found himself parched for reasons to not gruesomely kill every Sinner he could get his talons on.

Pragmatism prevailed, however.

"Is that everyone?" He said, scanning the crowd.

"Cowlick's passed out at the front entrance," said one of the cat-herders. "Didn't feel like hauling her fat ass in here."

Red's eyes narrowed. "Where is Setty?"

The kids looked about, confused, when one of the staffers, a feline demon of some kind, raised her hand. "She's upstairs with Ricky. He pays extra so he gets special treatment."

Saying nothing, Red set off from the front of the room, storming towards the staircase. The kids scurried out of his way, trained from a young age to avoid Sinners wearing certain expressions. A cat-herder, the same feline demon, wasted time looking about as the workers fled, a bemused expression on her fuzzy face.

"What–"

The larger sea-demon didn't bother to push her out of his way. He didn't react to her presence at all. The feline demon bounced off him as he stormed over her, her body bending and crumpling under his tread like loose garbage, her protests cut short by almost 800lbs stomping down on her ribcage before another equally heavy footfall landed squarely on her face. Red ascended the stairs in long strides, stopping momentarily at the top before heading down the hallway, to Setty's room.

As he approached he could hear sounds emanating from the boudoir. "…ike that, wimp? Satan, you make me sick, you worm! Huh? What's that, you pathetic little bitch? Speak up! Speak! The fuck! Up! You think I like whupping your pansy ass?! You're lucky I do, you wallowing little f–"

Red Nightmare didn't bother with the doorknob. Didn't bother with the door. Didn't bother with the doorframe. Wood and plaster shattered and splintered against his body as he carved a new entrance into the room, walking through the door and much of the wall as though it were a bead curtain. Standing before him, dressed in little more than a skirt and knee-high leather high-heels was Setty. On the floor before her was some manner of porcine Sinner in a gimp suit, his thick yellow tongue in the middle of lavishing her boots.

"Red?" Setty exclaimed, stepping back. "What're you–?"

He reached out, grabbing her by the arm. "We're having a meeting. All of us."

"Red! Cut it out!" Setty protested, struggling in his grasp. "You can't–wait! What do you mean? What's happening?"

"Hey!" Ricky said, getting off his knees and pulling off his mask. "Hey! I got an agreement with this place! I pay extra, so that means I don't leave until I c–URCK!"

The short, porcine Sinner was hauled off his hooves, an enormous pale hand fixed around his windpipe. The steely, taloned fingers tightened with hideous strength, causing his beady piggy eyes to bulge from their sockets. Wet, urgent noises issued from the Sinner's mouth as his legs kicked uselessly in the air.

"Red," said Setty, eyes darting between him and her client. "Red! Red, stop!"

Red did not stop. Lips peeled back from fangs in a snarling smile as he saw the degenerate flail, flesh purpling as his eyes went red and distant. Just a little harder, and his ugly head would pop right off!

"[Titanium]!"

A shrill keening filled the air as Setty summoned her Stand. Clad in her ethereal armor, she lunged forward, grabbing Red's wrist in one hand and the Sinner's leg in the other. Ricky phased through Red's clutches like a ghost and bounced off the floor, mouth forming a gaping 'O' as he took a huge, ragged gasp of air. Setty held Red's wrist firmly, his other hand streaked towards her customer and she caught it, holding it implacably. The two struggled for a moment, Red's eyes growing wide as he actually found himself somewhat struggling to overpower her.

"Setty…" Red growled at the floating, armored figure before him.

"Red, don't. Please," she said, her voice reverberating from within her helm. "He's… he doesn't hurt us. He doesn't even touch us. He just likes it when we kick him and spit on him and call him names. He pays really good. Please, Red. He's one of the good ones."

Red glanced over at the heaving wretch on the ground, his eyes glowing toxic green with killing intent. He looked back to the girl, to the misplaced sympathy in her eyes, and relented. He sighed and wrested his wrists from her grip, standing up to his full height, adjusting his cuffs and collar and tie. "We're having a meeting in the main lobby. If you would be so kind as to join us?"

"Yeah, sure, in a second." Setty walked over to Ricky. "Hey, Ricky. You good?"

"Buh-better than good!" Ricky sputtered, his tone husky and exultant, as he shakily got to his feet. "Y-your friend has such st-strong hands! Please tell me he's a permanent addition! I'll pay–"

Red stepped forward and punted the pig-demon into the far wall hard enough to crater the plaster.

"Red!" Setty exclaimed, manifesting her Stand yet again, attempting to restrain him once more.

"Oorgh!" Ricky moaned as he crumpled on the floor, clutching his ribs and coughing sickly black blood. "Bruh-br-broccoli! Broccoli! Too hard! Broccoli!"

Red glanced at Setty. "Broccoli?"

"It's his safeword."

A Seraphim Steel gauntlet flashed into being atop Red's hand. In an instant, he snatched Setty's wrist in his grasp, holding on with gentle yet implacable pressure. Setty struggled as he stomped forward, unable to phase out of the Holy Metal wrapped around her arm. Red came to a stop in front of the sputtering pig-demon, raising his foot in the air, an angelic sabaton and greave encasing his foot and shin.

"Red!" Setty cried. "Don't!"

His foot came down, smashing the floorboards in front of the disgusting creature. Ricky examined his reflection in the polished metal, the light shining off it stinging his eyes in an all-too-familiar way.

Terrified, he slowly looked up at the demon towering over him, his gammon-pink face pale and pallid. "Oh fuck."

"Listen, and listen closely, scum," growled Red. "The Carriage House is closed for business. If I ever see you here again, if I ever see you in the street…" His hand streaked out, talons wrapping around the pervert's throat as he hauled him off the floor. "…I'll hurt you in ways you can't enjoy."

Ricky blinked his beady eyes, greasy beads of sweat pouring down his bulbous face. "…Promise?"

Red snarled, hurling the demon at the far wall. The porcine-demon impacted the wall just to the right of the window, smashing a hole into the brick and plaster before careening out into moving traffic. The screech of brakes and bleating peal of horns sounded through the fresh gash in the masonry.

"Huh," grunted Red. "I was aiming for the window."

"No you weren't," grumbled Setty, yanking her wrist out of his grasp.

"No, I wasn't." Red held out the hand that touched the customer, lip curling his disgust. "You wouldn't happen to have any, uh…?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." Setty reached into her purse and produced a tube of alcohol hand sanitizer, pouring a dab into Red's palm. "Here."

Red rubbed his hands together, spreading the stuff around. "Much obliged."

"Well, I hope you're happy!" Setty said, sighing heavily as she gathered her things. "Gonna have to scrounge up a few more regulars, now. Thanks, Red."

"Weren't you listening?" Red said. "The Carriage House is closed for business."

Setty blinked in surprise, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

"The Vees responded earlier than expected," said Red, tickled at her confused expression. "The stipulations of their peace terms were very clear and concise, as were the consequences of violating said terms. Her Ladyship was, heh… moved by Valentino's logic and choice of vocabulary. Henceforth, Lady Belladonna's Institute for the Enrichment and Education of Dispossessed Hellborn Children will no longer be operating a 'services department'."

Setty eyed him up, her posture not unlike that of a wary animal, waiting for the trap to spring. "And the girls? L-like, what's going to happen to us without the, y'know…"

Red chuckled and waved her off. "Please! After losing the services department, all the other ventures will have to bust ass to make ends meet. We'll need all the extra hands we can get! You and the girls aren't going anywhere."

Her mouth hung open, eyes wide. "Deadass?"

"I think?" Red cocked his head to the side. "What does 'deadass' me–"

Setty's disbelief melted away, her wide eyes becoming shiny and glassy with tears. Setty's normally hard, weary stare broke, her full black lips quivering as something raw and fresh bubbled up from within her unbidden. Red cocked his head, confused as tears began to spill down her rosy cheeks. "Setty? Are you alright?"

The girl threw her clothing and purse to the ground and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug. Setty wept openly as she buried her face in his belly, muffling her sobs as she pulled herself closer still. Red was frozen in place, shoulders tense, a flat look of bemusement on his face. Why was she crying? Didn't she hate this place? Should he do something? He should probably do something.

Slowly, unsurely, he reached down and patted her on the back. "…There there?"

"I'm happy, you dumbass!" Setty sob-laughed, looking up at him, mascara running down her face in thick, black lines. "J-just let me… (sniffle) Thanks, Red. Really. I just, I n-never thought– Sorry, I'm a mess."

"Yes, you are," he said, still a little confused. "Do you need a tissue?"

Setty giggled, her voice still thick with sobs, and shook her head. "Nah, I'm good."

She pulled his suit shirt up and wiped her eyes and face clean on it before loudly and wetly blowing her nose, smiling wryly up at him. "There. Did I get it all?"

"You got it all." Red was disgusted but allowed himself to smile, setting a hand on her bare shoulder, a small flicker of embarrassed realization in his eyes. "Setty, can I ask you a favor?"

She looked up at him, eyes wide; there was something in them he could not place. Fear? No. Wariness? Not that, either. Gratitude? Something like that, maybe? "Anything."

"Could you please…" He smiled apologetically. "...Put on a shirt?"

"Huh?" Setty's eyes went wide as she glanced down at her current state of dress, or rather, lack thereof, an almost luminescent pink blush forming in her cheeks. "Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, uh, I'll just…"

She crossed her arm over her chest and set about collecting her scattered items. She picked up her top and, using [Titanium] phased into it. Setty turned to Red, a strange, embarrassed smile on her face. "Better?"

"Much, thank you." Red gesturing at the flicker of her Stand aura. "That's a neat trick. Selective intangibility?"

"Dunno what that means, but me and anything I touch can move through anything. Well, almost anything, not your fancy metal boxing gloves, apparently."

Red nodded, without his gauntlets, restraining her back there would have been impossible otherwise. Interestingly, divergent timelines indicated that striking her with them also proved impossible, although only when she had activated the ability before being struck. Future inquiries as to the full extent of her abilities would be necessary. "I see. And how did you figure out your Stand could do this?"

"A drunk John put his arm around my shoulder and his hand down my shirt when I wasn't expecting it," she said, flippantly. "Dumbass fell right through me and down a flight of stairs."

Red grimaced, contemplating if he should tear this whole building down and raze the foundation with fire and salt when he was done. "That'd do it."

"Nah, it's cool," Setty said, a wry smile spreading across her face as she held up a very familiar wallet. "Makes 'collecting tips' from distracted assholes real easy!"

Red recognized his wallet in her hands and patted his pockets, smiling sourly. "That's the second time someone's picked my pocket today."

Setty giggled, a strange, tinkling sound he hadn't heard from her before, and tossed him his stolen property. "Losing your edge, Red?"

"Hardly," said Red, pocketing the wallet. "Let's just say the attempt cost them dearly."

"Wish I coulda seen it," Setty chirped, grinning toothily. "Something to warm up my bunk after lights-out."

His smile vanished, best to nip this in the bud.

"Setty." Red locked her with a stern gaze, lips pulled tight in a frown. "Please, don't talk like that. That's not your life anymore, understand?"

"O-oh?" Setty blinked, her bravado doused as though by a bucket of cold water. "Y-yeah. Sure thing, Red. Anything you say…"

He smiled approvingly, reaching out and patting her on the shoulder. "Good girl."

Setty giggled - that same odd high-pitched laugh - and returned the smile, hands fidgeting. Red cocked his head at this reaction. He was expecting indignance, repudiation, defiance even, from a strong will such as Setty. Perplexingly, that rosy blush that had persisted in her cheeks since her tearful, snot-laden display of gratitude deepened, becoming dark and almost radiant.

Teenagers were so confusing.

"Anyway, I think we've made the others wait quite long enough. Come along."

She smiled and nodded, following after him.


The two descended the staircase. As Red strolled to the front of the room, Setty took her place at the head of the workers. One of the girls sitting the loveseat got up and gestured for her to sit, which she did. Another offered a cigarette, which she accepted, as another muttered and gestured at her smudged make-up, prompting Setty to slap her hand away and point to the front of the room, to Red.

"Now, you are all no doubt wondering what's going on," said Red, hands folded behind his back. "Well, due to some complaints from our new neighbors, Lady Belladonna has decided that some restructuring in the services department is necessary. First things first: all bouncers raise your hands." Three out of the crowd did; they all looked the type, robustly built and mean-looking demons. "Mm-hm. Thank you. All of you stand over there, please."

"Excuse me," crowed one of the cat-herders as the bouncers segregated themselves. "The fuck is going on?"

Red gave no indication he heard her and continued. "Alright, who here knows how to fight? And I don't mean glassing Johns when their backs are turned. Who here can be relied upon to help the bouncers run out the trouble-makers?"

As he expected, most of the staff raised their hands or otherwise appropriate protuberances. For the purposes of the acquisition department, the pickpockets, beggars, and the Shop, he only needed eight. The four bouncers would serve as muscle for the Shop drivers in case of trouble, but he would need an additional four demons who could handle themselves and…

"Out of you, who here can drive stick?"

Fortuitously, several of the tougher demons could. Despite how smooth this operation was going, presently, something ate at him. Solido was pecking away at the back of his head again, compelling him to… do what? The irritating presence in his mind seemed to be somewhat mollified by the contemplation of tearing the entire staff asunder like so much screaming meat and hunting around for additional talent later. Solido did not care for these degenerates, apparently. Not that Red could say he was a fan, the fact of the matter was that his organization needed muscle, and quibbling over nonsense like the moral character of said muscle was a waste of time.

'That's why we hired Cioccolata and Secco,' that curious little voice that was both his and not chimed in. 'Totally worth it.'

Red Nightmare suppressed a shudder. 'Yeah, alright, fair enough.'

Tedious as it was, he peered the timelines wherein he slowly and painfully reduced each of the filth into screaming piles of meat. It was gratifying in its own way, satisfying both him and Solido on a visceral level. Interestingly, most of the staff getting their's was met with silence and impassive, vacant stares, even from Setty. He'd expected her to smile, at least. Even more confusing, certain members' gruesome dismemberment garnered an even less enthusiastic response. A select few, even, prompted the children to attempt to intervene on their behalf. Why?

' 'One of the good ones,' Leni had said. Like that walking callous out front, perhaps some of these degenerates can be salvaged?'

He had made a decision.

"You, you, you, and you," said Red, picking his recruits out of the crowd. "Over there, please."

The selected exchanged glances, looks of worry now spreading among the staff. Red's reputation had no doubt made the rounds among them. Nonetheless, they obliged and walked over to the separate group.

"As for the rest of you," said Red, the beginning of a toothy smile spreading across his cruel features. "I'm afraid that due to recent events, the Carriage House and services department require some restructuring. Specifically, there is no more Carriage House or services department and your talents are no longer required. Goodbye."

A rumble of discontent rose up among the recently fired staff members. Red prepared to launch himself across the room, to wade through them, slashing, tearing, crushing. A reward to himself for his patience, for tolerating this place long enough to do his job and be done with it. He examined his immediate future, relishing the terror and panic on the faces of the staff… and the kids, as blood and gore splattered at their feet.

His smile faltered. Didn't they hate the staff? Shouldn't they be smiling? Laughing? Cheering him on?

'It's you, Red,' that voice spoke up. 'They're afraid of you.'

This revelation stirred something in him he couldn't articulate. Why should the children fear him? He wasn't going to hurt them. Quite the opposite, in fact. He would deliver them from their wretched lives and set them up to seize their own destinies as they never would have otherwise. They should adore him!

But they didn't.

The children in his vision recoiled from him when he approached, eyes wide in pale faces. Terrified… of him.

'You just can't do stuff like that around children, Red!' Kabby had said.

He wasn't surprised by the disgust that rose in him. That such weaklings could be considered worthy of his blessing! How dare they rebuke his hideous behavior and revile him like the monster he is?!

Wait, what?

Disgust burned hot and bitter in his chest, but unlike before it was directed at himself. For him to behave in such a way, to drive away even these poor abused things, to repulse even those so thoroughly desensitized! Could he consider himself any kind of king if he indulged his inclinations so freely to the horror and disgust of his subjects? To behave like a debased animal and then expect their loyalty? Such unseemly behavior was beneath the Future King of Hell.

"What are you talking about?!" Gowan snarled, pushing through the crowd. "What do you mean 'no longer required'?!"

"I mean 'no longer required'," Red explained, patiently. "To clarify: you're all fired. Please leave."

The former staffers began to complain, their protests the growls of angry lions. Red sighed and shook his head; the beginning of a headache thudded in his temples. Restraint was not his strong suit and these fools were pushing the newfound boundaries of his patience.

"Let me rephrase that," he rumbled, his aura flaring as his gauntlets materialized, his metal-clad hands snapping into fists with a cannon-like report. "Get off the grounds or I'll fucking kill you."

He channeled his might into his aura, an otherwise useless display but suitably shocking to the uninitiated. A shiver spread through the room's occupants as he ionized the air, hair and fur and feathers stood on end as a warm static-laden breeze rolled over them in a greasy, ozone-stinking wave. The lights flickered and a dull rumble caused the building to shudder on its foundations. The outrage and fury of the remaining staff snuffed like a candle in a stiff wind, replaced with a somewhat gratifying impotent fear. It was no wholesale slaughter, but it was something. The lay-offs scurried out like frightened rats, pushing past those he had elected to stay on, passing off sardonic mutters of 'good luck' and 'been nice knowin' ya' as they did.

With that done, he turned to the retained workers, the gauntlets vanishing as he brought his hands together with a sharp clap, a bright smile spread across his face. "All of you, report to the acquisitions department for your debriefing. Your shift starts tomorrow." They stood in silence, their eyes wide. His smile broadened to a shark-like grin and made an effete 'shoo-shoo' gesture. "Go~"

Once they had hurriedly excused themselves from the building, Red turned to the kids, hands folded neatly behind his back. "As for you lot… gather your things and head back to the bunks, your new positions will be ready for you by the end of the week."

The kids stared at him in silence, their expressions shifting from concern to concerned confusion.

"And…? What more do you want?" Red pointed to the back of the room, where the rear exit was. "Go! Shoo! The day's over, head back to your rooms!"

The kids, still looking like deer in headlights, shuffled out of the meeting room. Red clapped his hand to his face in frustration as the group began to ascend the staircase. "Oh, for–Setty!"

Setty put away her phone and got to her feet, she took a drag on her cigarette before hooking her fingers into her mouth, splitting the air with a shrill whistle. "YOU HEARD THE MAN, DAY'S OVER SLUTS! PEEL YER PANTIES OFF THE FLOOR AND HIT THE SHOWERS! DOUBLETIME!"

Automatically, the forty-odd herd of kids froze mid-step and spun around, descending the stairs in a single unit before filing out of the back door, Setty bellowing the entire time: "HUP HUP HUP! POLISH YER ASSES AND GET BACK TO THE BUNKS! YOU GIRLS BETTER SMELL LIKE WET-WIPES AND LISTERINE THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU! GO!"

"Huh," Red grunted as the last of them marched out, feet moving despite the confused, distant looks on their faces. "That was easy."

"They were just a little bluescreened," said Setty, turning to him. "That was kinda a lot to drop on them out of nowhere."

"Still, good hustle. You really know how to get them moving."

"Lots of girls bluescreen by the end of the day, you just have to train 'em to obey without thinking when they get like that."

Red grimaced, that was a little detail he could have done without. "Anyway… once they're all cleaned up and back in their heads, I want you to go through and assess who wants to go where. Write it down and give that to me when you're done. We're going to have a lot of expansion in the other areas in the near future and I want them trained up by the time we kick it into gear."

"Gotcha," said Setty, setting off for the door before stopping, turning around. "Oh, right! Hey, Red, how'd it go?"

"How'd what go?"

"You know…" She said, placing her hands over her eyes and scowling. "How'd it go?"

Red sighed, bitterly reminded of this day's lowest point, shaking his head. "It didn't work out. He's weak."

"What?!" Setty exclaimed, perhaps a little too forcefully. "Syx?! He's, like, the toughest, hardest bastard around here! If Syx isn't strong enough, no one is!"

"He's strong, he's resourceful, he's a cunning fighter and a dependable young man," Red said, patiently. "But he's weak. He had an enemy at his mercy and he hesitated. I had to intervene."

"So?" Setty snapped back, shaking her head. "He'll do better next time! He–"

Red reached out and set a hand on her shoulder, internally pleased at how she didn't recoil at his touch like she did others. "Setty. Listen to me. Down Here, success is not measured by how many enemies you have, but by how many you've had. We will make Hell bend to our whims one day, but right now we're vulnerable. I cannot afford a capo who leaves his foes alive. Syx will get his Stand one day, as a soldier. But he's not leadership material, not like us. Do you understand?"

Setty glared at the floor for a moment, her hands balling into fists, before slackening and meeting his gaze, her rose eyes set and determined. "Yeah, Red. I just thought… nevermind."

"I know, he's your friend." Red patted her on the shoulder. "Think of it this way. I'm keeping him safe, freeing him from making those tough decisions."

Setty eyed him up, her full black lips pulling into a thin line, and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly as she pressed her face into his abdomen.

'Oh, this again…' he groaned internally. 'Is this going to be a regular occurrence? …Let go anytime, Setty. How do I make her stop without being rude?'

'Hug her back, you sperg,' that Other Voice in his head grumbled.

'Hey! I'm not–Oh, right!'

He slowly, awkwardly, reached down and crossed his arms over her upper back. The wings made it difficult, as they felt delicate, sensitive. After some fumbling, he managed to avoid pinning them as he returned the embrace.

Success!

Setty heaved a sigh and loosened her deathgrip on his waist, stepping back from him, hands clasped behind her back, eyes wet with new tears. "Thanks Red. Really, for everything. It's not like we've had a… here at the 'Donna it's just–"

Red, quite finished with this conversation and with this day in general, set a hand on her shoulder, smiling what he hoped was a warm smile. "See to your girls, Setty."

Her eyes shone with that renewed strength, mouth curling into a triumphant smile. "Gotcha, Red!"

With that, she turned about and ran out the back door. Red waited until she was well and gone before unleashing a frustrated bellow and marching over to a nearby mirror mounted on the wall. He pushed aside the playful cowlick hanging over his forehead, revealing the tiny sleeping rendition of his own face hidden there.

"Who are you?!" He growled, face twisted into a furious snarl. "Answer me, damn you! How dare you tell me what to do! Who the Hell do you think you are?! Answer me!"

Solido said nothing.

"A̸̞̾Ņ̷̋Ș̴͗W̷̧͑Ȩ̴̚R̶͉̍ ̶̠̑M̵̬͠E̸̱͆!̴̗̉!̶̱͘"

Solido opened one eye, smirked, and closed it again.

Red Nightmare roared in fury and drove a fist into the wall as hard as he could, the mirror and the wall it hung on vanished in a bright flash. Light filled the room, the atoms themselves breaking down and scattering. A shockwave of heat and light rippled through the interior of the room, vaporizing the furniture, carpet, floor, walls, ceiling, atomizing the ash that remained before propelling it outward and forward at unthinkable speeds. The entire front of the Carriage House flashed into blue-white plasma and bowed out in a bubble for a fleeting fraction of a second before bursting out into the street like a relativistic claymore. The cone of raw force exploded outward towards the street, tunneling through countless blocks of buildings and carving a delta of flaming, smoking rubble into the neighborhood, the buildings directly across the street little more than glowing, molten slag.

Some of the nearby rubble shifted, tumbling away to reveal a slightly disheveled Cowlick. "What the fuck was that?!"

Red stood, huffing and puffing, his smoking fist still extended, boggling at the devastation; the Carriage House a smoldering, crumbling ruin around him, to say nothing of the seemingly unending fan of fire and rubble freshly carved out of the city. "Whoops."


Setty ran across the courtyard, grinning maniacally.

Did all that really just happen? It was over? She was free? They were all free?

Did she really just do that?

"Gotcha, Red."

She looked down at her hand, in it was that damned, glorious arrow. He was wrong about Syx, she just knew it. Syx deserved to be involved in this, and not as some grunt! He deserved to stand by her as they tore this shithole down and forged their destinies, together.

Red would understand. When he saw what Syx could do, he'd understand.

Syx just needed a second chance!

A tremendous boom filled the air, followed instantly by a surge of painfully hot air that smashed into her like a runaway train. [Titanium] automatically flared to life, withstanding the bone-crushing shockwave as though it were a light breeze, debris and pebbles peppering her ethereal armor at bullet speeds, the pattering of rain to its adamantine skin. She spun around to see what appeared to be a wall of fire surging away from the shattered, crumbling remains of the Carriage House, razing the surrounding city. Standing among the ruins was Red Nightmare, looking awkward and bashful, as though he'd just accidentally knocked over a vase. She turned to look at the 'Donna, unsurprised to see the bunker-like structure barely scathed by the detonation, its shatterproof windows not even cracked. The thing used to be an Exorcist shelter, after all.

'Shit.' She thought to herself, gripping the arrow harder. 'Oh well, in for a penny.'