Chapter 3: Preparations

"What?!"

exclaimed Mr. Highball as he studied the sheet of paper Tafford had passed to him first thing that morning, which turned out to be a two weeks notice.

"What the hell Hardcase, not only are you quitting a job that lots of demons would give their left testicle for, but your quitting to go halfway across hell to help that dumbass princess run her halfway house for retards!"

"Yes"

was Tafford's simple reply.

"Fucking hell, if you really are going to quit to help that airhead run her flophouse for schmucks, why even bother staying another two weeks!? Why not say 'take this job and shove it' or just never show up again?"

inquired Highball.

"Because sir, professionals have standards. Even in hell."

"So let me see if I've got this straight, your giving up a decent standard of living, and regular pay, to run off and help that precious little candy princess chase an impossible dream!?"

"Yes"

Tafford replied again.

"You fucking simp!"

insulted Highball.

*aaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Highball gave a deep exasperated sound that was half sigh, half groan, as he seated himself deeper into his faded leather office chair.

"Son of a bitch, there's no talking you out of this is there?"

Said highball as his decades of working with and around all manner of people kicked in, and allowed him to quickly gauge how committed his employee was to this fool's errand.

"I'm afraid not sir, my decision's been made"

said Tafford ignoring the insult. If Highball had any hope that this was some kind of prank, or that his choice wasn't final, it was sunk with those words. He let out another huff of air as he spoke again

"Well giving me two weeks to dust off my help wanted sign is more than most would have done, so I guess I shouldn't complain. Just go start your shift, AM regulars should already be out there."

"Yes sir"

said Tafford as he got up and left the office. Highball let out another sigh as he propped himself up on his desk and reached for the bottle of vodka he saved for bad news.

'Fuck, now I gotta find a replacement for one of my best guys. Gonna be a bitch and a half to scrape up some loser willing to mop up this dive. Especially in this shabby little boondock on the ass end of the inferno.'

The boss thought to himself, sighing once more as he readjusted himself in his chair. Tafford went to the lockers in the rear entryway and doffed his armor, placing it in the locker he had claimed as his own. Then he went behind the bar and tied the usual apron around himself then began to serve the customers that were already coming in. By this point he had memorized most of the customers preferred drinks. For Ol' Slippy, beer to the top, for Richter a melon bawl, Ms. Maizel liked her blood diamond, but with Mr. Hightower it was never possible to tell what he wanted on any particular day. Today it was an old fashioned but in the past he had ordered everything from a tequila sunrise, a manhatten, a double russian, even trying out other customers drinks such as the blood diamond, and everything in between. He worked the bar for the first three hours of his shift before one of his co-workers took over. He then shifted to busing tables and washing dishes alternately for most of the day. Sometimes, he would also be called on to serve as a bouncer, a job he actually enjoyed. No one was really causing trouble today, but over the years he had been called on to throw out just about all their patrons at one point or another. On the worst day he had seen he had been called on to eject three score demons in the space of two hours.

Buss, buss, buss

sweep, sweep, sweep,

wash, wash, wash.

It was anything but exciting, but it was steady work that payed the bills and killed time. This cycle of busing, washing, and sweeping glass continued for around six hours until his shift was almost over. At this point the days customers were gone but the nocturnal crowd had yet to arrive, so the final hour of his shift was filled with lots of cleaning and prep work for the night shift. Mopping the floors, some dusting if it was needed, restocking the bar, swapping out the empty kegs, and of course, taking out the trash. This is how he spent every day of the past seven years when he wasn't working on one of his many projects on his days off, hunting for meat, or holed up in his shelter to avoid the exterminations. His work done for the day, he put back the apron before going back to the lockers, donned his armor, and walked back to his old jeep for the drive back to his camp.

As just about everything in his life was about to change, possibly forever, he couldn't help but reflect on the various events of his damnation that had brought him to this point, as he now began to recall how he got this old jeep. He had been in hell a little over a year and a half by that point. He had a tent over his head, and a gun for defense and hunting, but now he was getting fed up at having to walk to work everyday. Tafford had been saving up money over the past few months and with his last pay he finally had enough to begin his search for a vehicle. There were four car lots in town but he knew from both experience, and sob stories from the bar, which ones to avoid. Of the remaining two the first lot turned out to be a bust as there were no cars that met his needs, or whose price tag wasn't so high it scraped the underside of heaven. But at the last lot his lucky stars came out to shine again. This very jeep was there at the very end of the lot, it's price slashed multiple times. The fact was in hell all anyone cared about were fast cars, flashy cars, and anything with a sound system that could be herd two counties over. So this old military jeep had been overlooked all this time. When asked, the lot owner said that this jeep had been part of a military convoy that blew through town some years back. It broke down and the grunts had decided to leave it there because 'the pile of shit wasn't worth their time.' Well the lot owner used to be a mechanic, and apparently whatever hell's military had that passed for one did a piss poor job at maintenance. He decided to look under the hood, and found multiple issues with the vehicle, but nothing that a little preventative maintenance wouldn't have allayed. It only took the lot owner half a day to get it up and running. From there he simply added it to his lineup, where it had steadily moved down in both order and price for years. It would never run as fast as the other cars, owing to it's age as well as it's weight due to the armor plating. That combined with it's rather drab paint job, it was universally overlooked by the usual speed demons, street racers, and flashy narcissists that came here. But Tafford knew quality when he saw it, and though it would never be able to outpace the majority of other cars, he recognized there was still a lot of power under the hood. Then there was also the little fact that, IT STILL HAD IT'S ARMOR PLATING. Tafford made an offer on the spot after hearing it's story and, perhaps out of gratitude that he was finally able to offload this pile after so many years, perhaps out of appreciation that this man knew quality when he saw it, perhaps a little of both, the salesman offered him what was almost unheard of in hell, a reasonable price. After an exchange of money and keys Tafford drove away in his new wheels. He spent the rest of the day changing fluids, doing more maintenance then what the lot owner had done, cleaning the vehicle up a bit, and when he was finally finished, he had what he called his iron horse.

As his recollection finished, he pulled up to his camp yet again and as he hopped out he began to plan out how he was going to break everything down. Tafford's camp consisted of five tents, one outhouse, and a short ways away, the cave he had turned into a shelter for the exterminations. Four of the tents were lined up next to each other, consisting of his aforementioned living quarters that also functioned as his kitchen space. The next tent fulfilled the purpose of a sort of workshop where most of the heavy equipment and tools were stored. Third was a tent filled with racks upon witch rested rows upon rows of large square batteries as well as inverters, micro-controllers, surge protectors, and everything else needed to power every electric device in his camp. The batteries were fed from a series of cobbled solar cells and hand fashioned wind turbines that charged the batteries, with the battery bank feeding into the rest of his camp from there. It wasn't the fastest means of charging, but it didn't use noisy generators or rely on any grid. This was by far the most technologically advanced portion of the camp and took the longest to put together. The final two tents were, a tent used only for storage of various things he had picked up over the years, and a short distance away was a tepee like tent used for showering. His living conditions were anything but fancy, but it was a quiet space and their were plenty of worse places Tafford could have ended up and he knew it. It was too late in the day to begin packing up the heavier equipment in his workshop, so he decided to start emptying his storage tent of things he wouldn't need. He loaded up his iron horse with as much as it could carry and spent the next few hours going around to various pawn shops and junk peddlers whose lust for coin kept them open late. A few hours later he arrived back at camp with a lightened jeep bed and moderately heavier wallet. After dinner he decided to stay up that night to work on drafting his service record, which he thought would be a useful analogue to a resume.

Now you might think that this was short sighted of him given that he had to be at work the very next morning, but then you had to understand Tafford's unique powers. Now hell was not a desirable place to end up by any metric, but like any place, being sent there was not without certain perks. Every human who died and became demon possessed certain unique powers or attributes and these were dictated, at least to some extent, on how the person died and what sins they committed in life. Some had sharp claws, horns, and teeth to mangle and eviscerate anything on the receiving end. Some could conjure fire or firepower at will from the thin air. Still others had more unique physiology such as additional arms, snake or eel like bodies, and all sorts of bestial features that aided them in and out of combat. Finally some of the rarest and most powerful of demons could use various forms of, for lack of a better term, magic. Tafford however had none of these. Self examination, once he had a moment to himself, reviled a body very much like the one he had previously. Quite similar in most respects, but not all. In place of sharp and pointed claws or horns, pyrokenisis, and additional appendages, Tafford discovered he was stronger than the vast majority of demons and not by a little. He also had much greater stamina and endurance, and found over time it wasn't necessary for him to sleep every night. He was also slightly faster then he used to be, though not to the extent of some other demons he'd herd of. All of these worked in his favor on many occasions, but tonight it was his remarkable endurance and stamina that would serve him.

When morning came he left off on his service record, and packed up the back of his jeep again so he didn't have to stop back at his camp when it came time to hit the shops. Leaving any item of value locked in a car was always a calculated risk in hell, even for something as small as a drink or pouch of snacks, but Tafford hoped he had built up enough of a reputation around the small town that any would-be thieves would know that if they tried to steal from him they would only wind up with a few broken ribs at best. The next few days passed almost in a blur, working by day and selling by night, burning the midnight oil writing up his service record, packing up and trying to sell the heavier equipment on his few remaining days off, shopping for vegetables & fruit and hunting for meat to make field rations for the journey. All of this and more filled his time, and a short two weeks later, Tafford's camp was looking mighty bare. He had sold most of his belongings keeping only what he would need for the journey, his Quonset tent and some equipment to set up a camp when he arrived, and some select possessions he couldn't bear to part with. He purchased a tune-up for his jeep with the lion's share of the money he received from the sale of his possessions. It was expensive, but he believed worth it. The remaining funds just about covered the cost of the ration supplies he purchased, some ammo he used mostly on hunting, and the fuel he would need to get him to pentagram.

When all of this was finally done, he was on the last day of his two week notice. He rose up as normal like any other day and left to work his last shift at the Knock & Stagger. The day seemed to pass a little more slowly for Tafford, and despite himself he was actually glad of it. Try as he might he couldn't prevent himself from having a damnable feeling of nostalgia as he greeted each regular. It wasn't really a secret that he was leaving, or the reason why, so some of the regulars came in to say goodbye, a few to wish him well, and even more to laugh at him for packing up everything to go help the dipshit princess with her impossible dream. But he took it all in stride, and despite everything he knew to the contrary, in the moment he couldn't stop himself from viewing them all as the salt of the earth. Inevitably his shift ended, and he went to see the boss one last time.

"Well Mr. Highball, that's it"

sighed Tafford with an undercurrent of melancholy in his voice.

"So it is. You know there's a lot I could say right now, but for what all the years have been worth I'll just say, you weren't the worst employee I've had. And before I forget, here's your last pay"

He said handing Tafford the usual envelope of bills. But as Tafford took it he felt something wrong, and that look of realization in his eyes made the old Highball smile. A quick inspection the envelope reviled twice the normal amount of currency filling the paper sleeve.

"Sir I think there's a mistake, this is twice my normal salary!"

exclaimed Tafford in some alarm.

"No there isn't. Hardcase with the amount of work you put in over the years, with all the times you went the extra mile, you've more than earned every penny of that. Besides you know as well as anyone that life in hell ain't cheap, so consider this gas money to carry you on the long road to pentagram."

"Wh- er- uh"

Tafford stuttered, as this level of generosity was unheard of from the old man!

"Ha, the only time in nearly a decade where I rendered you speechless!"

"Sir I don't know what to say, your never this generous with anyone much less your employees!"

"Well that didn't last long. Listen up Hardcase, and listen good cause I'm only saying this once, you were the best guy I've ever had. You brought more business in to the bar when you fixed up those old arcade cabinets and the neon, plus your work ethic is second to none. I've never worked a day as hard as you, and I've been down here over fifty years. From where I'm standing that's saying something."

Tafford was silent for a few minutes, struggling to find the right words until he simply decided upon,

"Thank you."

"You should thank yourself boy, even in hell hard work usually pays off in the end. Now I've taken up enough of your time, I know there's other people you want to see before you shove off, and if you stand there jabber jawin with me you'll be here all night."

Tafford knew he was right, and so he departed with the words,

"Correct as usual sir, I'll see you- … If I see you I guess."

And without another word, he took to the lockers one last time, donned his armor and was out the door. At the moment he didn't feel any different, but he knew this moment would become a distinct point in his memory as time went on. As Highball said, there were three people besides his boss he felt he had to say goodbye to before he left, and he had to hurry to see the first before he closed up for the night. Minutes of driving brought him to the old gun shop, where the demons in this town who couldn't conjure weapons came for firepower. As he stopped the jeep and hopped out he could see he was just in time. Dex, the demon who owned the store, was just closing up for the night, and Tafford got to the door just before Dex could lock it.

"Whoa, hold up there Dex"

"Hardcase? What are you doin here this late? You know I ain't open."

Said the shorter, slender demon who looked halfway between some kind of lizard and an imp. If asked which he would never say.

"I know by now you've heard the news on how I'm going to pentagram to help the princess with her big project. Well, I'm shipping out tomorrow so tonight's my last night in town, and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Oh, oh yeah"

said Dex with a few chuckles, he had found the news almost as funny as the princess's announcement itself.

"But shit, that's today?"

"Afraid so"

"What the fuck man, now who am I gonna get to buy as much ammo as you?"

"Can't help you there I'm afraid. Maybe some up and coming new warlord will turn this town into a base of operations and make you a supplier."

"I wish! Those assholes may break your legs if you can't give em' what they want, but at least they pay out the ass to keep their goon squads supplied."

"Yeah, anyway, I still have to see Wenty and Karen over at the Cram It and I just stopped in to say goodbye, and thanks for all the ammo you've sold me over the years."

"Hold on there Hardcase, step inside, I've got something special I've been saving for a moment like this."

Dex said as he beckoned Tafford into his store. Tafford walked through the familiar rows of ammo and cases filled with all manner of death dealing machines. All in all, he felt a lot like a kid in a toy store. Dex then led Tafford into the back sections of the store where he had never been. All manner of firearms in various states of repair filled his vision, from well oiled machine guns, to rusted out hulks more fit for a scrap pile than a gun store. As they reached Dex's office he stopped Tafford at the door. He then crouched down and fiddled with a strongbox on the floor opposite his desk, and removed a small item wrapped in cloth from it. Closing up the strongbox again, he rose and turned back to Tafford.

"Can't have one of my best customers go out into that big dangerous hell without one last, extra special, goodie."

He unwrapped the item, and what it was sent mild surprise through Tafford's system. A small, but impossibly sharp jet black dagger that seemed to radiate death from it, the former weapon of an exterminator.

"Whoa, e-weapon, been a while since I saw one of these up close."

Exterminator weapons. Not a rare sight in hell seeing as how the exterminators just left a great many of these embedded in their kills every year, but given that these were the only weapons that could kill a demon permanently, everyone knew they were to be feared. No one knew what happened to a demon killed by these blades, and most demons never wanted to find out.

"Yeah, not many of these this far out, and I'm usually quick enough to bag most of the ones those feathery bastards leave behind every year."

said Dex, slipping it back into the leather sheath that was also hidden by the wrap. Re wrapping both he turned it over to Tafford, who took it after a moment with some hesitancy.

"Still not exactly rare, though if someone pulls one of these on you, they mean business."

"Exactly why I'm giving it to you. It's no joke that hell is a dangerous place, with a lot of assholes who want to ruin your good time. But with one of these babies, people know to take you serious. Just don't get caught on the wrong end of one and you'll be fine."

Said Dex as Tafford unwrapped the blade again and examined it more closely. The weapon was clearly fashioned from the tip of an exterminator spear and was a very well made blade from what he could see. It was balanced almost perfectly, nearly weightless, and sharp enough to effortlessly carve through the toughest hide, as well as the muscle and bone underneath. Though the latter two properties doubtlessly owed to the material the weapon was made of. It's color was that of midnight black with lines and swirls in the metal that gave the dagger a terrible beauty. As he stared at the entrancing blade for just a moment longer Tafford said,

"thank you Dex, for everything."

Before slipping the dagger back into it's sheath and re-wrapping it. He had never given any thought to owning an exterminator weapon, not that he was averse to owning such a thing, he just never put any thought toward it. But now that one was put right in his lap he wasn't going to just get rid of it and allow any old psycho to stumble along and find the perfect instrument to go on a killing spree.

"Eh, don't go getting sappy on me now you old tin can. And when you see Karen, tell her I'm still up for that three way~"

Shit! He had been so lost in the moment he forgot all about Wenty and Karen! There wouldn't be much time left before they closed up!

"Fuck, forgot all about them! Gotta go Dex thanks again for everything. Take care of yourself."

"Don't mention it, but seriously, try not to get yourself killed!"

Tafford rushed out of the store and back into his jeep as he hurried off to the grocery store owned by Wenty & Karen before it closed. But as he traveled he couldn't help but look back on the moments he had in that gun shop, specifically that first time, when he bought his favorite shotgun.

6 years 8 months prior

It had been a few months after his arrival and Tafford was just getting himself established at his camp site. At that point he had a tent over his head and a decent supply of food, now what was desperately needed was a weapon to defend what little he had from the plethora of monsters who would steal it in a moment if given the chance, and with his latest pay he finally had enough to begin his search. He had asked around the bar and through the insults, drunken ramblings and even the few attempts at flirtation, he had located a gun shop where the pieces weren't little more than rusted out pipe and the prices weren't quite jacked through the ceiling. It was a good hour's walk away from camp, and carrying this much money on him, even concealed as it was, was a big risk without a proper weapon. Finally he arrived at the front of the moderately sized brick building near the outskirts of the town. It was about as rundown as the other buildings were. The owner apparently only caring to put in enough maintenance to keep the place from coming down on top of him, and in that, the two story redbrick afterthought fit right in. Tafford strode up nonchalantly to the door trying to attract as little attention as possible and opened it into a room that looked to be half showroom, half storage.

"huh, Whadaya want!?"

cried the owner apparently being roused from a nap by the front door's bell.

"I was told this is where I can get some firepower"

said Tafford in a firm voice.

"Well ya came to the right place, but ya don't wake a guy up from a good nap asshole!"

"Well you're awake now, so can I get some goddamn guns or not?"

"Now that I'm awake, asshole!, you may as well browse the displays, what's there is there. And if you so much as think of pulling a fast one I'll plug ya twelve times before you can even blink!"

"Fine"

was Tafford's straightforward response. Then came minutes upon minutes of walking up and down the dusty isles searching for one particular firearm he had encountered during the war. After around twenty minutes of searching, he found it! Tafford knew there was a chance this particular design hadn't made it to hell, at least not yet, as production of this particular weapon had started just two years before the war and was still getting around to all the states at the time of his death. But here it was, the lever action, the carousal mag, the automatic choke, the unmistakable Argus shotgun. He was a bit surprised, though not a bit dismayed, that he found it in the first gun shop he tried, and at a price he could actually afford no less!

"Yo shop-keep, how much for the Arg-"

…

"What is that?"

He trailed off as he noticed a beautiful weapon mounted above the door behind the store clerk's head.

"What are you-"

the owner started before he followed Tafford's eyes to the piece mounted above.

"Oh, I see you spotted my entertainment."

"Yeah, where did it-, wait, did you say entertainment?"

Asked Tafford before he could stop himself

"You heard right, that particular little beauty has been a consistent source of entertainment since I first opened this dump."

Flatly stated the clerk. After a short pause Tafford came back with,

"Alright I'll bite, why do you call it your entertainment? You use it to blast anyone who looks at you funny?"

"Good guess, but god no. I got a little test here for anyone who really thinks their tough shit. You think you can be the next radio demon? Then we head out back to the little range I got set up and we put that to the test. I load this baby up, and whatever schmuck thinks they're a real certified badass lets loose with all barrels, and then when their splayed out on the ground, I try and keep my sides from splitting!"

said the clerk, getting excited just from the thought of it. Tafford took a good long look at the weapon again, it truly was a beautiful piece, a break action shotgun with what looked to be custom machining for greater strength, engraving near the break, and a pistol grip handle made from some kind of ebony. But most prominent of all, was the fact it had three barrels. Without really stopping to think, Tafford was already speaking.

"Are you a betting man?"

"Depends, what you got in mind?"

"Let me take that test, if I lose, you'll get to see me get knocked on my ass and I'll even give you a little cash for the trouble. But if I win, you gotta let me buy that beautiful thing."

"Hmm, let me think, I get to see another loser fall on his ass and get paid for it? Deal!"

And with that the clerk removed the weapon from it's mounting and started out the back way, with Tafford using the front and walking around the building. He found himself on a shabby little improvised gun range with empty bottles and cans perched atop old crates, boxes, tire rims, and even an overturned wheelbarrow.

"Just one try, that's all you get."

said the owner loading up the barrels, closing the action with a satisfying *click*. Tafford hefted the weapon in his hands, getting a feel for it, weighing it out. After getting his bearings on the weapon he assumed a shooting stance, took careful aim at one of the bottles, and,

BOOM!

"What the fuck?!"

The weapon went off with a thunderous sound that reverberated a good ways into the distance, but when the clerk looked back for the big reveal, Tafford was still standing.

"What the hell, how can you- NO, no this is a fluke, you pulled something. I don't know how but I know you did!"

The owner exclaimed indignantly.

"The only thing I pulled, was this trigger."

"The fuck you did!, you must have super speed or some shit and got up before I saw, there's demons that can do that."

"If there's one power I don't have it's super speed, don't believe me you can watch me as I take your test again"

"Fine! Your lucky asshat, I'm only giving you another shot because no ones ever been able to pull off bullshit like this before, and I like to watch dill-weeds fall on their asses!"

The owner said as he quickly took back the shotgun, reloaded it, and handing it back, kept his eyes trained on Tafford like a hawk. Once again Tafford took careful aim and,

BOOM!

"Holy shit!"

said the owner, taken aback.

"Your doing something asshole, I know it! I don't care who you are, no one can keep standing when this thing goes off!"

"If you keep disbelieving your eyes, how bout you hand me some shells and I'll show you again."

Utterly baffled and without another word, digging into his pocket, the owner handed over three shells. It took a moment to find the catch to the action, but when Tafford found it the spent shells were ejected with a satisfying *Click*. Loading up three more he fired again, and when the owner needed more proof, he loaded and fired again. After another four vollies of buckshot Tafford was getting tired of this exercise, with the owner never taking his eyes off Tafford for an instant.

"We could be at this all day but I'm about tired of wasting good shells, how bout' you?"

"Eh- eh- eh-"

The owner stuttered dumbfounded, he never thought it could happen, but he saw it with his own eyes. When his brain managed to process that he had met defeat he looked up at Tafford and simply said,

"How? How did you do it?"

"Honestly? I don't know, I just got into the right stance, kept my eye on the target and fired."

"But that don't make no sense, I seen guys at least as big as you hit the dirt with barely one pull of the trigger! What makes you so special!?"

"Again, don't know, but this thing has the best kick of any weapon I've ever handled."

"Well fuck me! UGH! Fuck me with a bren-gun and pull the trigger, a bets a bet! So get back in the damn shop while I try to figure out how the hell to price this thing!"

Forty five minutes of rough math later the clerk finally figured out a price for the beast, and with it, the only other thing Tafford could afford, was one box of shells.

"So mister, where did you get this monster anyway?"

Inquired Tafford indulging his curiosity.

"Actually it came with the store. Apparently the last owner of this place was a gunsmith, like, a real REAL gunsmith that could do engraving and all that rich shit that nobles, and overlords, and the royals like. When he put enough money together and moved on up, I moved on in. And this marvelous machination of murder was locked in a strongbox in the back of the workshop. I think it was like, an unfinished project for an overlord or some shit, either way it's a real beauty."

"That it is, custom machining, engraving near the break, perfectly aligned sights, and a genuine ebony grip as the cherry on top."

"Heh, this really is your wheelhouse huh?"

"You could say that."

said Tafford without revealing too much about himself.

"Well whatever, you just be sure to bring that amazing machine of death back around here sometime right?"

"Eh, OK."

"Name's Dex by the way"

"Hardcase, glad I stopped in."

Present Day

The old jeep pulled into it's usual spot in the parking lot of the busy store.

'CRAM IT!'

said the bright illuminated sign out front in big bold letters, with the words

'food mart'

below in smaller type as if in afterthought. The place was a scant half hour from closing but still swarmed with demons going in and out, mostly to the liquor section at this time of the evening. Tafford sauntered inside taking a good look around, as it may be the last time he did so. Same dirty tile floors, same ancient display tables stocked with produce, same liquor section with demons swarming around like bees, and same, strangely immaculate, coolers and freezers. Tafford had shopped here for years, both to provision his camp, and the occasional supply run for the K&S. Once in a blue moon he was also able to sell off some surplus meat from when his hunting trips got a little too, "enthusiastic". Walking past isles of busy demons, lazy employees, and various foodstuffs of dubious freshness, he came to the back office where he knew he would find the owners. Knocking on the door he mentally braced for the rude greeting he was sure to receive.

"Goddamn it you lazy pricks, what did you break now! If you so much as scratched my prized coolers again I'll-, oh Tafford it's you!"

Exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, the co-owner and proprietor of the little store that had kept Tafford in produce for so many years.

"Is that Tafford? Send him in, I want to see him!"

"Well you herd the lady, you'd better come on back."

Stepping through the door, Tafford saw Ms. Karen, the other half of the co-ownership, and Wentworth's wife of some years. The couple were somewhere between what you would think trolls and orcs to look like. Prominent protruding under bite, sharp teeth, and mottled green/tan skin. They weren't short, but far from the tallest demons he had ever seen.

"Now then, if you've come knocking on our door this late it isn't for vegetables, so you'd better get it out."

"But don't rush yourself now."

Said Mr. Wentworth getting right to the point, followed by his wife with more hospitality.

"Well sir, ma'am, as you may have herd I plan on leaving town to pursue another venture that I think is more worth my time, and tonight is my last night in town, so I came around to say goodbye."

"Oh yeah! That damn fool princess and her stupid hotel!"

said Mr. Wentworth as he and his wife broke into a good long laugh. Several minutes of unbridled mirth later Mr. Wentworth managed to chuckle out

"Boy, I'll never understand why you want to go off on a fool's errand like this, but if that's what you really want to do, folks could do with another funny story around here!"

"Well Mr. Wentworth I just think I would do more good there then I'm doing here, and as long as we're on the subject, how did you find out it was the princess I was going to help?"

"Well, time and again ol' Wenty and I like to drink ourselves stupid at the K & S, usually when your not on shift, and it was so funny your boss just couldn't keep from spreading the news to everyone he met!"

said Ms. Karen, fielding the question. After another few good minutes of laughing they pulled themselves together enough to process what he said.

"Wait, we knew you were leaving, but your going tomorrow?" Ms. Karen interjected.

"Yes ma'am I'm shipping out tomorrow for pentagram."

At that Mr. Wentworth gave a whistle,

"Long drive"

he stated flatly.

"Your telling me, I sold most of the stuff from my camp, the lion's share of the money I got went into a tune-up for my old jeep, and you know most of the remainder came here."

"Money well spent all around. And I'm not just saying that because I like having my pockets lined."

said the Mr.

"The roads in hell probably haven't been maintained since they were first put in, and the ones that lead to pentagram are no exception."

"And we say that from experience, we once took a trip out to Imp city to pick up some new equipment for the store, and the roads were so bad, they just about shook our old truck apart!"

"If I didn't know better I'd say it was a goddamn miracle everything made it back in one piece."

went a back and forth between the Mr. and Mrs.

"Shit, well now I'm thinking that tune-up I got might be worth it's weight in gold."

"More valuable than that my boy, if your broken down by the side of the road, is a load of gold going to get you up and running?"

"Fair point."

The conversation went on in this way for some time, brisk and pleasant for all involved, until Tafford made the fateful decision to look up at the clock.

"Fuck! When did it get to be one!"

"One?! We were supposed to close two hours ago!"

And with that, the demon couple and Tafford went into a flurry of activity, announcing the closure over the store speakers, ushering the remaining 'customers' out of the store and away from the liquor, locking up, and seeing out the employees who were so asleep on the job they didn't think to check when their shift was over. Tafford assisted in this, as he felt responsible for this unpleasant situation. When finally the store was locked up for the evening they reconvened in the office one last time.

"Well, that sucked."

the fact stated by Mr. Wentworth.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I really should have been keeping track of time."

"Don't feel bad Tafford, if this really might be your last time here I wouldn't regret staying a little late. Though I could've done without the mad dash closing up for the night."

remarked Ms. Karen

"And speaking of which, Wentworth, give him the thing."

"Hm, oh, oh yeah!"

said Mr. Wentworth going into a desk drawer and removing a good sized bottle from it.

"You remembered I like rum!"

Said Tafford warmly as a bottle of his favorite kind of spirit came into view.

"But you two don't have to do this, I know how hard running a business can be, and this is some top shelf stuff, it could really help your overhead!"

"Now now, we don't want to hear it. We talked about this days ago and we agreed, if we didn't want you to have this we wouldn't be giving it to you."

"And for all the times you kept our meat department in good cuts, and all the times you kept my precious coolers in good repair, you've more than earned it boy."

Explained Mr. Wentworth

"Thank you both, not just for this, but for keeping me in produce and everything else over the years. But now I think it's time I get back to camp, and for you two to get some well deserved rest, it's a busy day for all of us tomorrow."

"I'd say so Tafford, safe travels, wherever you go."

And after exchanging a hearty handshake with the both of them, they exited the store. A final goodbye was exchanged as they parted ways, unsure if they would ever see each other again. Of all the demons in hell, Tafford would call none his friends, but those two had gotten closer then any other. Now you may wonder why these two called Tafford by his real name. Well most, but not all, demons in hell went by some nick name or other name they wished to be known as, but these two just didn't. They didn't try to hide what they were, and Tafford respected that and responded in kind.

Tafford hardly noticed when he pulled up to his site, so engrossed by memories of his experiences here for the past seven years. Few he would call truly good, but some were not bad, and a few were pretty damn funny. Sleep came surprisingly quick that night but it was fitful, as in his dreams he became enraptured in a world of reverie, lost in a sea of memories, both of his time in hell, and of precious earth. The next morning he awoke at his normal time, his body so drilled in routine he couldn't sleep in if he tried. Today was the day everything changed and today's breakfast was anything but common. While ordinarily he would have a few refrigerators around to keep fresh meat and produce, he had sold them on his last day off and had been surviving mostly on fruit and jerky, but today was the first day he tried out his new field rations. Breakfast menu 1, smoked slices of bacon, dried fruit, a biscuit, and water. Not the best or tastiest meal he ever had, but far from the worst. After breakfast, came the final phase of his exodus, he packed up his cot & sleeping bag, table and chair, and finally his tent into the bed of his jeep with the trunks filled with his belongings. With this done and all in readiness for his departure it was with some measure of sadness that he looked around this, now mostly empty, clearing that had been his encampment. He took a short walk around to where everything had been, the last part of his camp still standing being the outhouse.

He walked that short distance away to the cave that had served as his extermination shelter for all of his time in hell. He would never forget that first extermination the seemingly inborn, existential dread that had built in him during the days leading to the event, and the primal terror that swallowed him whole when he first herd those terrible sirens screaming out. He had executed his plan on that day with a speed he had not thought himself capable of, even though it was just rolling a large boulder over the entrance and holding up with his shotgun and a flashlight until it was over. But then he had his next big project. And over the next few months he had expanded the cave adding lights, rugs, some furniture, and the strongest steel door he could find, with blackout curtains to help avoid drawing attention. All in all, it was a pretty damn good shelter. But he still always rolled that boulder in front of the entrance, for camouflage if nothing else. And if it happened to prevent an angel, or whatever the hell those things were, from getting in then no harm done. Eventually extermination day had come to be seen by him as another day off, and the only day he allowed himself to try and sleep in. And now he was beginning to grow a little worried about what living through the exterminations in a city would be like. The buildings almost definitely wouldn't offer the same protection as his shelter, built into the side of a solid stone outcropping. An unwelcome thought entered his mind, as he found himself wondering if the exterminators ever swept the interior of the buildings. But this wasn't the time for such thoughts, his decision had been made, and he would be going to pentagram even if god himself conspired to stop him.

And so clearing such thoughts from his mind he strode back across his clearing and loaded up in his iron horse, intending to make one stop before he got on the highway. A few minutes of driving and he pulled up out front of the Knock & Stagger. Much like he had years before he walked into the bar, although this time his confidence wasn't fake. It was still pretty early in the morning and first shift was still setting up for the days customers.

"Hey boss, you were right, he did stop in before he left"

called one of the female demons behind the bar. He never really got to know any of his co-workers, in fact never really speaking to any of them beyond the amount necessary to do their jobs and the occasional passing greeting.

"I thought he might."

called back Mr. Highball as he made his way out behind the bar.

"Hey boss"

greeted Tafford as he made his way up to the counter.

"I knew you couldn't resist stopping in for a last goodbye. Sentimental ass."

"Yeah, I know. But still you can't work for a guy for over half a decade and not stop to say a last goodbye."

"Now Hardcase, you know we don't say goodbye with cheap ass words here, we say it with cheap booze. So, what will it be?"

Needing only a moment Tafford came back with, "Shot of rum, anything but that bielza-brewery garbage."

"You know to drink it your going to have to take off that mask, so that means we're all finally gonna get to see your face"

Teased Highball smugly. Damn, never in all his years in hell had another demon seen his face, none had even come close. But now he had to think of something fast, or else make a run for it. And he really didn't want to leave on that. But as he took off his helmet and sniffed the strong, dark, somehow sweet brown liquid in the shot glass, he was blessed with a sudden flash of brilliance. Glancing up at the TV he said

"Shit, did killjoy just have a wardrobe malfunction?"

At that every head within earshot was magnetized towards the TV, the men who didn't care to hide such urges, and even the women who wanted desperately to see killjoy finally embarrass herself on live TV. It took but a second to realize Tafford's deception, but when they turned back to glare at him the shot glass was drained. Quickly looking to the floor to see if he had simply thrown the drink over his shoulder, they found no such puddle, but did discover Tafford with eyes smiling mischievously.

"Holy shit, how'd you do that so fast?"

Said another demon on shift.

"Ah, ah, I got to preserve some trade secrets now don't I?"

"That was a dirty, cheap, floor-faced, trick that wouldn't work again in a hundred years! Well done."

Said Highball with a measure of pride.

"Thank you sir"

was Tafford's simple, yet confident response.

"Well, I'd better not waste any more time, pentagram's calling my name."

"Wait just one second"

said Highball as he dug into one of his jacket pockets and came back with a letter.

"What's this?"

asked Tafford as he took it from his former boss's grasp.

"Just a little introduction form me, that princess might be a naïve dipshit with her head up some cloud's ass, but she is still royalty. And royalty is discerning, in a stuck up 'I'm oh so better than you' kind of way, but discerning. So a recommendation from your former boss might just be the kick that you need."

"I never even thought of that, good catch sir."

"You Hardcase are just over prepared enough to overlook that, but with the quality of your work I would've done it either way."

"Thanks Mr. Highball, for this and everything else over the years. Even giving me my first job in hell."

"This was your first job? Could've fooled me."

Said Highball with a momentary look of surprise. "But whatever the case, it was good having you work here, and remember, you got a place here anytime. Now hit the road, unless you want princess sparkle face's hotel to fail while you keep flappin your gums!"

That gave Tafford a second's pause, under his mask he wore a blank expression, not that anyone saw it. Without another word he grabbed his helmet from the counter, pulling it on as he walked out the door and hopped into his jeep. He started the engine, then tore out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Finally, after weeks of planning, selling, buying, and more planning, it was all finally coming together. His route research would come into play now as he directed his jeep onto the particular road that he knew led to pentagram city. At last, with not a look back at the little town on the ass end of nowhere that had been his world for the past seven years, he left his past behind and began the journey into his future.