Busniness was booming

Kids roamed the streets. Buskers played jaunty tunes on various instruments, a newfound authentic enthusiasm suffusing their music, charming passing Sinners and Hellborn alike, their hats and cans filling with change and bills. Pickpockets wove through the dense crowds that ebbed and flowed through the more affluent neighborhood, nimble fingers prising wallets, watches, phones, jewelry and more as pockets and purses were plundered. Amidst this expansion came new enterprises, each yielding further profits. Marks were carefully selected and pursued, a pickpocket would intentionally bungle a swipe, prompting a chase. When the rich – but not too rich – mark chased the ragamuffin into an alleyway, a robust street manager would swoop in, a Seraphim Steel blade or blessed weapon in hand, swifty dousing any indignation from the mark. They would then be promptly stripped of any and all valuables, sometimes even their clothing should they prove fancy enough. As the operation crept nearer and nearer to nicer neighborhoods, locks were picked, Hextech security systems somehow bypassed, and entire houses were stripped bare. Entertainment systems, finery, and even furniture was stacked into the back of the box trucks and hauled back to the 'Donna in an unending tide of $ouls.


In the dark windowless room of the Computer Lab, a hulking lad sat behind a desk, his thick, sausage-like fingers moving with a surprisingly graceful serpentine speed. A salamandrine, he was set apart from the rest of the 'Donna. Unlike other Hellborn, his people rarely ventured outside of the ancient cities of Wrath, much less to other rings, and even more rarely to Pride. Also unlike Hellborn, his people suffered few of the abuses and degradation the imps and hellhounds endured on a daily basis. His kind were insular, well-connected, and respected. Legend has it that they ruled Hell before the Fallen conquered the realm and opened it to Sinners, and many Hellborn cultures still, to this day, spared the salamandrine a sort of customary respect and courtesy that would otherwise have to be earned or bought.

He was the only one of his kind here.

'Arby,' a message on his screen read. 'This error window keeps coming up.'

A screenshot followed. His four, deep-set eyes squinted behind his quad spectacles, the lenses glinting in the hard glare of the screens. The problem was relatively simple, if the newbie couldn't figure it out, she had no business here. Still… she was catching on fairly quickly, and they needed all the extra hands they could get now that business was picking up. He selected a coding training module and sent it with a clipped, terse message.

'Page 112, paragraph 2,' it read. 'Re-read your code.'

'Thank you.'

He got back to work. As head of the 'Donna's Computer Lab, it was his job to make sure that all the money the orphanage made was put through the wringer, laundered, and sent right back as 'donations' from various sham support organizations and charities. To clarify, all support organizations and charities in Hell were shams, but these were their shams. The Computer Lab operated and maintained no fewer than six online charities and several hundred bank accounts belonging to fictional gangsters. The 'Donna's earnings were split up between these accounts in pre-set percentages of any given income, to give the cursory impression that some ganglord was wringing out the 'Donna for a monthly tithe. This would raise few, if any, eyebrows, as that was exactly what this sham was designed to avoid. In the past, if the 'Donna ever gave the impression of making too much money, it would be inevitable that a gang would swing by and charge 'protection' fees. So, in the interest of avoiding this, Belladonna kept the 'Donna in a state of grim shambles, kept her children filthy and underfed, and kept every last $oul the shithouse earned in her legendary vault. In reality, the venture was quite profitable, not that anyone would guess from outward appearances.

But all that was changing. The orphanage was making more money than ever, sure, but it was becoming apparent that this new influx of income was not wholly the result of cannier business or new ventures, but sheer audacity. As the kids grew more and more bold, so too did their managers. Newer, fancier cars were picked and purloined for the Shop. Not for scrap or parts, but far more profitable resale. The scrapping business had been moved out into the courtyard to free up garage space for the more lucrative turnover business, overseen by the canny and connected imp, Kabby. This, in addition to the brazen plundering of homes and daylight robbery undertaken by the Acquisitions teams, practically guaranteed that the 'Donna would be noticed. Before long, the 'Donna would be faced with giving a percentage to another gang, or be destroyed. Belladonna knew this and, recently, decided she didn't care.

The door to the Computer Lab opened, prompting Arby to look up from his screen; the reason for Belladonna's newfound brazenness strolled in; a tall Sinner by the name of Red Nightmare. He was accompanied by the Shop Second, Kabby, and Setty, one of the Head Kids at the 'Donna.

Another change, Arby noticed, was taking place at the 'Donna. Among the Staff a new air of tension had arisen as Hellborn began appearing in their ranks. First Kabby, the swaggering Shop Second, then Macks, a drunken truck driver, and Zak, the new nightwatcher and a former 'Donna Kid, no less! The Sinner Staff could only guess as to what had caused Belladonna to abandon her longstanding and vociferous bigotry, but most correctly guessed 'money'. The Hellborn worked for half-pay, after all.

No, what really annoyed the Staff was that the ringscrapers got to sit in the lounge and eat and drink with their Sinner coworkers. Kabby even got to sit at the manager's table when Belladonna threw her monthly dinner-meetings, and right next to her, a luxury she only afforded her most esteemed earners. To say this brazen show of favor towards a ringscraper, an imp, irked certain members of the Staff was an understatement.

"Can we…" said the head Overseer of the Computer Lab, a tall thin reptilian Sinner named Taco. "…Help you?"

"Yeah," said Kabby, shoulders rolled back as he strutted forward, glancing about at the rows of young, illuminated faces, rendered gaunt and hollow in the glare of their screens. "Can you go ahead and call over Arby? We got something we want to chat with him about."

"Arby's busy," said Taco, visibly bristling at the imp's tone. "Tell me what you want to talk to him about, and I'll tell him on his break. Dunno if you know, but this place is where both of your paychecks come from! The kids are busy, so unless you got word from the Boss, I'm gonna have to ask you to piss off!"

"Are we really going to have these dick-measuring contests every time we take over a hustle?" Setty said, rolling her eyes and canting her hips off to the side.

"Take over?" Taco said, incredulous, as he looked up at Red. "What's going on?!"

Red didn't seem to be listening, instead scanning about the room, his eyes locking onto the tall, rounded lump that was Arby's silhouette. The young salamandrine felt a chill race up his spine, his thick leathern hide pebbling and hardening reflexively, becoming a carapace in response to a threat: what did that Faller want with him?

"Seems like it," said Kabby, smirking. "Red?"

Red didn't bother responding, making a dismissive, effete waving-off gesture over his shoulder before setting off towards Arby. All eyes were on him, now.

"H-hey!" Taco stammered, even in the dim light of the Computer Lab, his consternation clashed with the beads of sweat forming on his brow.

In the two months since Red Nightmare had joined their ranks, profits had meteorically increased despite the loss of the Carriage House and its associated services. New territory and hunting grounds were opened up, and pay raises were graciously bestowed by their billowing boss. It didn't take a genius to make the connection: Red Nightmare was good for business. It took but a few vulgar displays of power for him to kowtow surrounding gangs that would have otherwise hunted down and butchered the children and Staff alike. Now the 'Donna was turning its tidy profits while also accepting monthly 'protection' payments from the quailed gangsters.

But Red's monstrous strength was not reserved only for their enemies; he frequently and messily made an example of any Staffer that failed in their duties, subverted the 'Donna, or simply annoyed him in some way. The terrifying Sinner was good for business, and so long as he kept the money flowing, the Staff knew Lady Belladonna would gladly overlook the occasional punitive murder. One less paycheck, after all.

"Hey!" Taco shouted, momentarily rallying a modicum of courage. "I'm talking to you!"

Red stopped, glancing over his shoulder in a silent challenge.

"Yeah! Don't think I don't know your schtick! You got Dealt with, but found a loophole," Taco growled. "You've been killing us left and right, but only because you've been offing dispshits with no skill. Eye Watkins, Strokes, Lauper, Sidewalk? Fuckers couldn't jack off without a manual. But me? I run this stable, I taught these brats everything they know! I'm in charge here!"

Red's huge, pale hand was on Taco's shoulder an instant, palm-up as though to press for an answer. Despite every set of eyes fixed on him, no one had seen Red turn around, much less reach out.

It was clear from the look on Taco's face that, in that moment, he very much didn't feel in charge. "Y-you can't kill me…"

Red smirked, reached up and patted Taco on his slick, sweaty cheek before turning around and setting off back towards his target.

Arby sighed, turning back to the screen, his fingers a blur as he tried to wrap up as much of his work as possible. His outermost eye glanced about, the other kids in the Computer Lab – about two dozen now that ten Carriage House workers had been brought in – turned back to their screens as well. Not to follow his lead, no, but to avoid looking at the Sinner walking towards him. When Red came to a stop behind his station, he cleared his throat.

"A few seconds, please," said Arby, not looking at him. "Tortilla."

A small, scrawny imp with short, twisting kudu horns perked up from across the rows. "Yep."

"Finish what I've left and get me started on the next job, please." Arby adjusted his glasses and pushed his arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket hanging on the backrest of his chair. "And send coding module-2 to Marley, she'll need it for her homework tonight."

"Yep yep yep," Tortilla replied in his flat, geckering voice. "Yep."

With that, Arby got to his feet, his robustly built office chair groaning as it was freed of his 250kg bulk. He rose to his full two-meter height – or nearly 6'7, as much as he loathed imperial measurements – coming about eye-to-chest with the Sinner. He wasn't accustomed to being significantly shorter than someone around here, even though he wouldn't be considered tall for his age – which was 14 – by his people's standards. He didn't dwell on it, taking time to notice the make and stitching of Red's suit: a Braille-brand Kingsley, and a nice one at that. Kingsley was a line of suits owned and produced by a famous member of his kind, the venerable King Braille. His exclusive and enchanted products populated the wardrobes of the Goetia and other Royals, and were rabidly sought after by scrabbling Faller Overlords. Such suits were not sold so much as they were applied for or gifted by Kingsley. How did a nobody like Red get his claws on one?

"Follow me, please," said Red, smiling courteously.

Arby did, shifting his suit jacket on his sloped, rounded shoulders and adjusted his cuffs before tightening his tie. He'd gotten the Home Ec kids to make him his ensemble, and even though it was very obviously patched together from several smaller suits, it offered him some small measure of status. He may be a dispossessed orphan, but he was still salamandrine.

They left the Computer Lab, Taco's mouth working wordlessly as he tried to muster something approximating a dignified response. Upon failing, he simply slouched forward, finding something very interesting on the ground between his feet as they stepped out into the hallway. Arby wasn't one to revel, but seeing his taskmaster in such a state was viscerally gratifying. Still, he was thankful Red had not made an example of the blustering Sinner. Taco might be an arrogant Faller and petty in his handling of his duties, he was still a competent technician at the end of the day. One could only imagine the drooling peon Belladonna would have replaced him with.

"Never get tired of that," said Setty, walking alongside Arby as they followed Red. "Still, props to that idiot for shutting his fucking yap."

Arby grunted something that might have been an agreement.

While none of their number would admit to liking any of the Staff, there were those that weren't actively despised. Doc Habbo, the resident sawbones, was one such Sinner for his habit of actually doing his job when a kid got hurt or sick. The Cafeteria Crones were another three that never needed to worry about someone pissing in their shoes. Not for their culinary skills, mind, as there was only so much anyone could do with the bargain-bin slop Belladonna saw fit to feed her kids. Rather, for their habit of accepting packets of cigarettes and bottles of booze and then enjoying them as the kids raided the pantry. Cowlick, the former head bouncer of the Carriage House, was apparently making a name for herself as a street manager. Specifically for her dedication to actually protecting the grifters and pickpockets from incensed Sinners and Hellborn, rather than just standing by and laughing as the kids were pummeled.

Just yesterday, in fact, she had earned herself a trip to the Doc for grabbing a blade aimed at a busker. There was talk among the Acquisition Kids about putting together a gift basket for the grumpy, lumpy Sinner. One of the former Carriage House girls, a legendarily dim succubus named Leni – now a seamstress in Home Ec – suggested sewing a dress for her and teaching her how to apply make-up. The other kids knew she meant well, but the idea of trying to pretty up that humanoid callus was hilariously absurd.

As for the other Staff, opinions ranged from indifference – Taco being a sterling example – to outright hatred, as some of them just did their jobs and let the kids be as much as possible while others… did not.

Others relished their position of power over a multitude of small, weak creatures. Beatings for infractions, real or imagined, were common from these Staffers. Backtalk earned a slap, sometimes a throttling. 'Gluttony' with food rations usually got a gutpunch, which would typically be followed by the stolen food surging from the offending kid's mouth in a torrent of vomit. A few kicks and stomps would ensue for 'making a mess', and then topped off with a suspension of Cafeteria privileges. The former street manager Strokes was infamous for his quick, hard fists and whipcrack slaps that hurt like a flogging but somehow left few if any marks. Several of the cat-herders from the Carriage House were also renowned for their ability to corral the merchandise without spoiling it.

And then there were the ones like Eye Watkins, who indulged their sadism and other inclinations as often as they could. One less of his kind skulking around the 'Donna was still one too many.

So, no, none of the Staff were winning any popularity contests among the kids.

But Red was… different. Maybe.

Arby had been made aware of the new hire around the same time as the rest of them, but had paid little mind to the rumors and stories circulating about the new guy. Kids exaggerated when the moonshine flowed, especially the younger ones, so mountainous piles of salt was the norm when tolerating rumors. Arby had no tolerance for rumors, and little salt to spare, so Red's antics had flown comfortably under his radar. Besides, maintaining his relative privilege among the 'Donna kids – and, by extension, those of his Computer Lab peers – was a full-time job. It wasn't until Red's actions impacted the flow and source of money did Arby spare the whispers some mind. Red gave the impression of kindness, or at least a measure of respect, towards the children, and would often make gestures of generosity such as procuring them greasy, salty foodstuffs. This did little to improve his standing in their wary, suspicious eyes, as there had been Staff who made similar gestures in the past, each with their own malign intentions. Such Staff were either fired or Dealt with by Boss Lady, the latter unfailingly becoming less magnanimous afterwards. Then again, Red had been Dealt with, too. After somehow getting leveraged into a Pact, or 'Deal' as the Sinners called it, he nonetheless upheld his persona of a benevolent or at least benign creature. This had, of course, only made him more suspicious in the children's eyes.

Then, the Bunks happened.

Through a series of events Arby had not bothered to research, Big Brother Zak had been brought back to the 'Donna some two years after he aged out. Arby remembered Zak from back in the day, and he recalled liking him, inasmuch as he was capable. He had been charming and generous, offering the only taste of true kindness and affection most of the kids had ever known, and his 'retirement' had ushered in the ruefully titled Age of Syx.

Syx…

Arby was, in some way, cognizant of his attraction to the stern, taciturn imp. He would find himself admiring his calm, stolid demeanor, his pragmatism, and effortless lapses into brutality when necessary. Syx ensured regular income for Arby and his peers to parse and launder. Syx reigned in the chaos of the rabble and squeezed them into something resembling a respectable arm of the 'Donna. Syx made things run smoothly in a way Zak never had. There were times Arby wished he could converse with him, understand his clean, efficient, unemotional mind. Arby would even allow himself to presume they would get along, their thought processes similarly unhampered by petty considerations like emotion and sentiment. Complimenting one another, gears with teeth that meshed together within a giant clock, ensuring efficiency. Also like Arby, the other kids did not like Syx. They were likely even a little afraid of him. But unlike him, the kids respected Syx, following his lead without question. Even the Staff gave the blind ringscraper a wide berth, knowing that not only was he Boss Lady's favorite pet, but the little Hellion could and would leave his mark, even on a Sinner. Arby longed for such universal regard and acknowledgement, and not just within the dark, stuffy confines of the Computer Lab. If only they could work together more closely…

He found himself getting distracted.

So, Zak had returned to the shrill jubilation of the 'Donna Kids. The kids loved Zak. Adored Zak. Idolized Zak. Were loyal to Zak beyond the simple creed the kids at the 'Donna shared. When it came time for Red to collect their former mentor, they had clustered about him, willing to put their tiny frail bodies between their Big Brother and the infamously defiance-intolerant Red Nightmare.

Then, something happened.

Red didn't storm the Bunks. Didn't wade through the children as they knew he could. There was no dropping his mask of affability, nor did he attempt to reason with or bargain with the children. They would not allow a Faller to get his claws on one of theirs, no matter the cost. But he did all the same. He had appeared behind Zak, quite literally out of nowhere. No portals, no puff of smoke, none of the pedestrian forms of truncated travel that proliferated in Hell. He was simply there among them, looming. Even Syx, unbreakable Syx, was taken aback. All that tense defiance Arby had sensed in the Bunks deflated, snuffed like a quivering flame. The kids of the 'Donna were often beaten and trampled, stomped flat and cast aside, but never cowed, never defeated. Red Nightmare's simple act of pure dominance, of unquestionable authority, had done just that. Red had done with a gentle hand on the shoulder what Belladonna had never managed with beatings, starvation, and indignities: he had demoralized them.

Arby could respect that.

Of course, the children's spirits were restored the next day, when it was discovered that Zak had been hired as the 'Donna's new nightwatcher. Apparently, Red had done away with Sidewalk, the chattering, avaricious monkey-Sinner who was famous for nabbing all the kids' best loot as 'payment' for ignoring their night lives. This move struck Arby as eminently logical, as Zak was not only respected and liked by the kids, but also had firsthand knowledge of the 'Donna's layout, rules, and operation. Belladonna's past refusal to hire Hellborn had always been a source of irritation to Arby, as they would accept less pay than Sinners, and were far less likely to threaten Belladonna's rule over the operation. Sinners could only be relied upon to scheme for power and leverage any advantage they could. Red's actions were, clearly, designed to facilitate his takeover of the orphanage, although how he planned to do so now that he was Dealt with remained to be seen.

The four of them walked into Red's personal office, Setty and Kabby sitting on the sides of the desk as Red took his place behind it.

"Please," said Red, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "Have a seat, Arby."

Arby did so, carefully. While he was hardly above average in height for his race, his sedentary lifestyle and superior rations had lent him a bulk that was… above average for his kind. Regardless, the chair withstood his mass with little difficulty, allowing him to properly settle in.

"So, Arby…" Red began, taking a file out from his desk and opening it. "How are you enjoying your stay at Lady Belladonna's Institute for the Enrichment and Education of Dispossessed Hellborn Children?"

Arby studied him, cooly, before saying. "What's this all about?"

"Don't you know it's rude to answer a question with a question?"

"Don't you?"

"You started it."

"Quid-pro-quo."

"Very well," said Red, seemingly amused. "You're a talented young man, Mr. Arby. I have an eye for talent. You see, in operations such as these, one might be tempted to compare it to a clock, with every piece meshing together to ensure the mechanism runs. One cog out of place, one missing screw, an improperly calibrated balance wheel, you name it, one thing goes wrong and the whole machine stops. Would you call this operation a clock, Arby?"

"No."

Red leaned back in his chair, gesturing for him to continue. "How would you describe this operation, then?"

Arby shifted in the seat, the sturdy Hell-oak creaking in protest. "Well. It's a building, figuratively and literally. There are many parts that serve a purpose, but not all parts support the structure. If a room is expanded or a window boarded over, the building still stands. Moreover, parts can be added or demolished and, provided they do not affect or are not keystones themselves, the building will still be sound. The 'Donna is more like that than a clock. Parts and places can be added or subtracted without much detriment, but certain pillars must be maintained."

Red chuckled and nodded. "Certain keystones."

"Precisely."

"Now for my end," said Red, leaning forward. "Arby, would you be surprised to learn that you were one of those keystones?"

Were? "No."

His pink eyebrows canted up at this as he nodded. "You know your worth. I admire that in a young man."

The fact of the matter is that without my expertise, the 'Donna would have been enthralled to another gang long ago."

"Long ago…" Red said, thoughtfully, glancing at the open file. "How long have you been here, Arby?"

"Ten years," he said. "But you knew that."

"Your kind mature quickly, don't they?" Red tapped the file. "You were already good with computers when you showed up on the doorstep, and knew how to move money and set up shells. Could you please tell me about your life before coming here?"

Arby folded his hands on his lap, staring impassively. "I could."

"Cagey." Red leaned forward. "I like that."

"Knowledge is power."

"Indeed it is. I won't claim to know much about you beyond what's in your file, which isn't much. But from what I do know, I can make a few educated guesses," Red said, his usual smile now taking on an unpleasant predatory quality, his green eyes dancing with the cold interest of a Goetia toying with an imp. "I think you're an insult."

Arby blinked at this, surprised. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, Arby." Red nodded, his expression mock-grave. "You, being who you are, being what you are, being here. It's an insult. A petty jab. Carefully curated to send a message to others. Your kind rarely sets foot outside of Wrath as adults, much less as calves. Yet here you are, in Pride, in an orphanage, surrounded by the lower classes, eking out an existence at the behest of a Faller whom your parents, were they alive, could arrange to be given the Old Hell Treatment until it ceased to amuse. If it ceased to amuse. Wrath is considered a virtue among your kind, after all."

Arby was silent, his pebbly, leathern hide hardening into carapace as his mind curdled with formless outrage.

"There it is!" Red crowed, clapping once and rubbing his hands together, diamond-hard placoid scales rasping together with an industrial sound. "Oh yes. Your parents played a dangerous game and lost, didn't they? And for their failure, their only son was sent to languish in the pits among the rabble. Do you ever wonder, Arby, if you're being watched? If whoever did this to you, to spite your parents, keeps tabs on you to make sure you're living as ignominiously as possible? Do they toast the anniversary of their final triumph over your family with a raised glass to a clandestinely taken picture of you? Stooped afront a third-hand computer, managing the finances of a Faller, dressed in the finest digs a group of motley orphans could cobble together. Do you, Arby?"

Setty and Kabby took notice of mountainous salamandrine's posture, the cold glint in his four eyes, the set of his teeth, and quietly shuffled off the desk, backing away. He may have been overweight and flabby by his people's standards, but over 80% of his 250kg bulk was hide, bone, and muscle. Kids and Sinners alike had made the mistake of assuming him to be a soft, flabby desk-jockey, only for him to correct them in the traditional Wrath fashion.

He sighed and leaned back in the chair, his tone calm and measured. "A fascinating conjecture."

Arby prided himself on his sang froid. Indeed, on the rare occasions he deemed it necessary to 'correct' the presumptions of his peers and overseers, it was always with ample provocation, and cold, calculated methods on his part. Arby never lost his cool.

"Never underestimate your past, Arby," said Red, evidently unconcerned with the large, incensed salamandrine before him. "No matter how much you try to run from it, it will always wriggle its way out of the gutters to pull you down into its filth."

Arby cocked his head slightly at this bizarrely specific statement. "Excuse me?"

Red didn't seem to notice his confusion, carrying on. "Circumstances notwithstanding, your arrival here at the 'Donna has been an absolute boon! Before your 'charity' idea, Belladonna was forced to divvy up the workforce between dozens of different ventures to maintain profits while giving the impression of impoverishment. Over the past ten years, your suggestions have narrowed the 'Donna's focus to just a few profitable markets, allowing them to expand."

Arby studied the Sinner for a moment, the tonal whiplash of the conversation was beginning to wear on him. "You still haven't answered my question. What's all this about?"

"Well, I said you were a keystone, Arby," said Red, hands together, taloned fingers to his lips. "Were."

"Were?"

"Were," Red confirmed. "You see, with local gangs not presenting a threat anymore, well, there's not much reason to keep the laundering operation going, now is there?"

Arby's blood ran cold, his eyes going wide.

"I'm afraid so, my boy." Red said, trying to sound sympathetic but very obviously not trying very hard. "Now, Lady Belladonna has not yet seen fit to disband the Computer Lab, as your operating costs are low and, yes, you do still serve a purpose, after a fashion. But, I'm afraid your status as a keystone is… well, dubious at best."

He turned to Kabby, the sour-faced old imp shrugged apologetically. He turned to Setty, who was examining her talons, sparing him an indifferent glance before returning to her nails. His hearts thudded in his chest, slow and loud, what felt like low things racing across his skin on icy legs as his guts clenched into something dense, solid. What… what would he do? If he couldn't leverage the Staff as the gatekeeper for their pay? If he lost his status among the other kids? What would become of him? Would he have to find work in the other departments? He was large and cumbersome, hardly a good fit for Acquisitions, and even a smudge of oil on his hands made him anxious, so the Shop was out of the question. Home Ec? His heart lurched at the idea of being a lowly seamstress on the line.

"So, that's why I wanted to touch bases with you." Red set his hands down on the desktop. "How would you, had you the power, expand the Computer Lab's scope of expertise, given the new paradigm at the 'Donna?"

"Intelligence gathering, network hacking, and online fraud," said Arby, automatically.

It was Red's turn to be surprised. "That was quick."

Arby locked eyes with Red. His people, like imps, held within them the Gift of Wrath; a bubbling, sizzling fury that took hold, lending them focus, determination, and drive. His people did not delve into the feral trance of their imp counterparts, but rather used the rage to channel their will into a single-minded purpose: to survive and conquer. "I've been saying as much for years, but the Bovine never listened. With my original team, and now with the newbies so early in their training, we could have eyes on every street corner. Ears in every Wifi network. We could see, hear, and hack every pin number, password, and safe in our territory. With the proper algorithms, we could even monitor the communications of everyone in our turf and sell them what we stole from their neighbors. We could phish the vulnerable, scam the greedy, and dupe the predatory. The Computer Lab can do all this and more, I can promise you that!"

Red grinned, steepling his fingers like a cartoonish supervillain. "When?"

Arby blinked, considering the logistics of his ambitions, the necessary legwork, the coordination with other branches at the 'Donna. "I… I can't say just now. I'd need to touch bases with Acquisitions, for wiretapping and the like."

"And when you do?"

"Weeks…" Arby said, quietly. "Months? It will take time for me to train the others. How long, I can't say. This new batch of kids shows some promise, at least."

Red strummed his fingers together, pursing his full lips together as he examined the ceiling in a vaudeville of contemplation. "Well… as I said, Her Ladyship hasn't yet contemplated shutting you down. How quickly and – more importantly – how discreetly can you arrange this paradigm shift?"

"As I said, I'll need access to Acquisitions," said Arby, a flash of hope glinting in his eyes. "Perhaps I can speak with Syx about this?"

"Unnecessary." Red jabbed a thumb at the slouching harlot to his left. "Setty here is now co-Head Kid of Acquisitions. Any questions or requests regarding this project going forward, you deliver it to her."

His heart dropped as he turned to the succubus, a saccharine smile glowed under a pair of glittering, mocking eyes. "Oh."

"Well?" Setty said. "Is he in?"

"He is," Red said, his phone buzzing, prompting him to pull it out and look at it. "Ah! The Greebles are back with their terms! Uh, Setty…?"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, holding out her hand. "I'll take care of orientation… again."

"Excellent!" Red shot to his feet, reaching into his pocket and producing, alarmingly, an ornately designed arrow before placing it in her hands. "So good to have people I can rely on!"

He set a hubcap-sized hand on her head, playfully touselling her perfectly coiffed auburn hair until it spilled over her face. "You're my number-one girl, Setty! Remember that! Kabby, if you please?"

"Yeap." Kabby grunted, holding out his hand. "[Bridge Over Troubled Water]."

Arby jerked back as the imp's frame flared with a purple aura, a glowing red plumbata materializing in his hand. "What the–?!"

Red and Kabby took no notice of his shock, indeed, it was as though they had forgotten he was even there.

"I told you, you don't have to say it every time," Red said, rolling his eyes.

Kabby smirked at him, jabbing him with the arrow. "I know, I just like–"

And they were gone.

"What…" Arby muttered, shocked. "What did he do? The imp? How did he…?"

It was impossible. No imp, no Hellborn, could teleport without an artifact. Arby knew this because, well, he had been taught as much by his… anyway, the way it worked, usually, as that the artifact had to be activated, brought out and called upon, for a portal to open. Other methods were messier, louder, displacing air and destroying the surroundings, displacing matter. Kabby had simply summoned an item from thin air and 'blip'! Gone.

He turned to Setty, who was brushing her hair out of her face. Arby braced for the no-doubt foul mood the touch-averse succubus would be in now. Even Arby knew that Setty hated being touched without permission, and messing up her – admittedly gorgeous – hair was a quick route to a long recovery. Still, whatever deal that vile Sinner had her locked in stayed her hand and quick tongue long enough for him to leave unassaulted.

She brushed the hair out of her face. Arby braced and… almost gasped in shock.

The girl setting her hair right looked… different. For a moment, given what he had already seen, Arby believed that she was different. That whatever bizarre forces were at work here had traded the acerbic, sour-faced succubus with some other, more softhearted girl. Her usually set, focused, and cold rose-pink eyes were wide, glazed, and shimmering as though she was about to cry, but lacked any tears. Her cheeks flushed in an almost luminescent glow as she dreamily swept her hair back into place with slightly trembling hands. Her full, black, pouty lips, so often drawn into a flat frown or contemptuous snarl, were curled up at the sides in a stunned, dreamlike smile.

He knew that look.

Arby had never considered himself an expert on emotions or anything of the sort. In fact, he always found such things to be frustratingly obtuse in day to day life. However, even he would notice when the kids got to a certain age, they would get a look, a peculiar look, when thinking about certain people. Most boys would fixate on Setty and her lot because of their 'nice smells' and 'purdy hair', but the girls tended to be more… confusing. A good many would fixate on Syx, for his high status and authority, but this quickly passed once it became obvious that such a man could not be swayed by the crass charms of a common harlot. The look would then pass to others of their ilk. Boys such as Dew, a Shop incubus who was, admittedly, an exemplary physical specimen in every regard, drew his fair share of looks. His brutish behavior, violent temper, and sweet-naturedly jealous little sister generally made any sort of pursuit a fool's errand. The looks would then filter down the ladder, usually falling to the less-volatile Shop kids and the charismatic and athletic buskers in the Acquisitions department.

No looks ever lingered on him…

He could hear her murmuring something. "…Number-One Girl…"

It was with dawning horror and disgust that Arby connected the reaction with the context: Setty… was sweet on Red Nightmare?!

"Setty?" He ventured.

The spell broke and that dewy, starstruck girl was replaced with the 'Donna's Alpha Bitch once again. Her eyes went cold as she turned to him, her smile soured into a dismissive frown. The blush remained, though,clinging stubbornly and pinking her rose-red cheeks.

"What?" She said, rolling her eyes.

"What the fuck is going on?"

She eyed him up for a moment before loosing a sputtering laugh. She clapped a hand to her face, cackling now, as she thudded her fist against the desk. She turned back to him, calming down somewhat before her face contorted once more with laughter.

"Setty."

"S-sorry…" She stifled another bout of laughter. "Sorry. I just… I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

Arby bristled at this. It was true, he rarely indulged in profanity, as it was the base language of the lower sorts. "True. But please, if you can overlook that lapse, tell me what's going on here?"

"Sure. Just one catch."

"Which is?"

She tossed the arrow at him. "Catch."