. . .

. . .

. . .

Luna took a deep breath...and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Luna took another deep breath...and pulled the trigger once again.

BANG!

Luna took yet another deep breath...and pulled the trigger once more.

BANG!

Ready...

BANG!

Aim...

BANG!

Fire...

BANG!

Repeat.

Luna had never handled a firearm up until this point, and her handling in question was absolutely and appropriately awkward. Sam—bless her soul—harbored no animosity for her about it, though, and taught her the "proper" lessons on firearms handling based on a series of past experiences through her father. She understood that she was already on edge from the disappearance of her only younger brother, so against her better interest, she allowed her a couple times to empty her pistol at the makeshift training dummies as a means to vent her frustrations.

Holding the empty Glock 17 and lowering it, Luna breathed heavily and calmed down as Sam approached from the side.

"Feel better?" Sam smiled.

"Much better," Luna breathed out as she returned the smile, "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime," Sam planted a light kiss on Luna's cheek, the rocker girl blushing as a result.

"As heartwarming as the gesture is," Lisa noted as Lucy sat beside her, "A couple of safety hazards could befall Luna."

"Such as?" Luna raised an eyebrow.

"Probably a "slide bite" due to your improper grip on the gun," Sam concurred, "A common injury amongst new shooters."

"A "slide bite"?"

"A "slide bite" is a little cut on the web of the hand between the thumb and forefinger that's caused by the sharp metal edge of the slide as it recoils rearward," Lisa explained before simplifying, "Basically, the slide "bites" you when and if you're not holding the gun properly."

Glancing back at the gun, specifically how she held it, Luna nodded absentmindedly. Her grip was rather wonky, and she was only a few inches from suffering the dreaded "slide bite".

"Oh. Okay, then. Then how should I hold it?"

"I recommend the Weaver stance," Sam walked over to help Luna, demonstrating with her SIG-Sauer P226R, "It's a favorite amongst beginners. Basically, the stance is assumed by moving your non-dominant leg forward of your dominant leg; the dominant leg is usually the right, while the non-dominant leg is usually the left. The arm and hand that will pull the trigger is called the firing arm, and that will be fully extended while the supporting arm will have a slight bend to it. Your toes will be pointed forward towards your target and you—the shooter—will need to slightly lean forward."

Sam then smiled at Luna before reloading her Glock 17 for her, "Makes sense?"

Luna stared blankly at her, too distracted by the close proximity Sam utilized when helping her with her stance. Before she could be considered a lost cause, she merely absentmindedly nodded again.

"Yeah, sure. Perfectly not confusing."

"This is going to take a while," Lisa noted softly.

"A long while," Lucy agreed with rolled eyes.

Rolled eyes that flickered red...

The first thing Lucy felt was the rush of cool air. The second thing she felt was the brief sensation of pain from being dropped, albeit from a small height.

Regaining full consciousness, Lucy ultimately stood up and shook her head, wondering to herself if the spell did work and the demon actually did transport her to—

Hell...

I'm in Hell...

So, where to start if you missed up on the first time around? The city landscape was heavily polluted with substantial smoke seeped out of peaked power plants, broken down beyond repair. The rest of the buildings—with their shared abnormal architecture and aesthetic of the dark, depressing, and down dangerous—were not that much better; in fact, the billboards many of them standing and surrounding them often promoted unsavory topics related to crime and violence. such as black market firearms, illegal drugs, and underage prostitution. The occupants who lived within them were...appropriately hellish. Many of the demons shared a distinctive animal motif, ranging from spiders to dogs to deer, but the most reccurring type of demon was the one where possibly the Devil himself had multiple offspring.

Taking controlled breaths and forcing herself to calm herself, Lucy ducked into a nearby alley, carefully minding the hustling and bustling amount of Sinners who populated Pentagram City. Taking shelter behind a nearby dumpster bin, she slowly sunk down and hugged her knees, not in fear but in confusion (fear was still present, though). Yes, she had an affinity for the paranormal, the supernatural, the macabre, and the general spookiness of everyday life.

Never once in her life thus far that her morbid fantasies would become a sinister reality.

Realizing this, Lucy spared a glance at her hands, which had become pale lavender with black fingernails. Deducing that her appearance had changed as a result of her presence in Hell, she needed a mirror to confirm this for herself. When she did find one, she indeed found out as well that her entire body shared the same pale lavender complexion, while her pitch black hair became midnight black with two-tone purple tips tied into a low ponytail. Her hair also revealed the two ruby red eyes that complemented her lips; when she opened her mouth, a pair of sharp fangs were made visible to the human and demonic eye.

She was a vampire.

A naked vampire at that.

Silently squeaking in alarm, Lucy immediately covered herself up and wondered why exactly she was currently in her birthday suit—

CRASH!

—when her ears perked up at the sound of a window crashing. Peeking out her head from the alleyway, she saw a group of Sinners robbing a clothing store. While normally against the idea of committing theft, she was also against the idea of going nude, especially in a densely populated area full of unsavory, unscrupulous people she was unfamiliar with. With that, she took advantage of the distraction, bolting inside to grab the easiest, most accessible clothing set she could get her hands on.

A few minutes later, Lucy exited the store donning a dark purple long-sleeved shirt sized medium, a pair of black leggings, a light purple and pink sash tied around her waist, and black slipper-shoes. She could blend in with the hellish crowd easily, although they probably would be too focused on their own dilemma to even care about her. In any case, it was a momentary win-win.

THUD!

"OW!"

Lucy abruptly bumped into a demon and fear overtook her again as she hung her head in shame.

"I'm... I'm sorry... I'm just trying to find my way through..."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Lucy?"

The vampire goth girl looked up to find a Hellhound slightly older than her gazing down at her. She had a pointed muzzle with sharpened teeth and a black nose. Her eyes contained purple sclera and white irises, and surrounding them was purple eyeshadow. Her fur was brown with grey countershading encircling her face and brown patches on her shoulders. Her black hair, while still styled in a low ponytail, was adorned with a purple streak, and it revealed her dark brown ears that matched her small but long tail on the underside. Her main outfit consisted of a purple leather biker jacket, navy blue jeans that was meticulously torn to resemble a series of three X's, and black combat boots with matching leather fingerless gloves. Around her neck was a black spiked choker collar with two matching spiked bracelets around her wrists.

"W-Who...?"

"Lucy, it's me," The Hellhound smiled warmly, "Ronnie Anne? Ronnie Anne Santiago?"

Getting a closer and better look at the Hellhound who claimed to be Ronnie Anne Santiago, Lucy had never known her personally enough to consider her a close friend or even familiar acquaintance. Her reputation preceded her, as Lincoln would even talk about her in such a tearjerking fashion that it painted her in such a bad light for Lucy to comprehend. Then again, he would often offer a remedying occurrence that suggested a softer, more sensitive side to her than one would realize.

Even so, Lucy had no idea if she could trust her. But for the moment, she was happy to recognize someone she knew and to be recognized by someone she knew. With her eyes welling up, Lucy lunged forward and hugged Ronnie Anne's waist, sobbing into her shoulder. The Hellhound, while momentarily caught off guard, eventually smiled and returned the hug, rubbing circles around her back.

"Shh," Ronnie Anne whispered softly, "It's okay, Lucy. I'm here..."

"This isn't just a dream, right?" Lucy asked in a similar manner, "We're actually in...in..."

"In Hell?" Ronnie Anne nodded as she sighed, "Yeah, it pretty much looks like it."

"I'd say you need a tour guide..."

Instinctively, Ronnie Anne moved Lucy behind her and shielded her from the demon in the alley. The demon was another female Succubus with lilac purple skin, midnight blue eyes, and purple hair with teal highlights. Her main outfit was a black dress with frills and cyan buttons, a long-sleeved lavender undershirt, black fingerless gloves, and a teal belt with a cyan buckle, black high-heeled boots, and purple leggings beneath black fishnet stockings on it.

"...and a friend in need."

Christine Brown was having a...day.

Not a good day.

Not a bad day.

Just...a day.

You know...one of those days.

One of those days laced with boredom, laziness, and tedium.

The BLT.

A practically perfect exercise meticulously marinated in all three adjectives and then some.

It seemed like only yesterday that she was dragged off to Hell to be tortured for all of fiery eternity. Her eternal punishment seemed to be set in a stone, specifically the one designed to kill two birds, but the moment she fell down, she felt...oddly safe?

And oddly sound?

She expected—among other things—her skin to burn and peel off in such a horrific fashion, but she also expected it to stick whenever she arrived. Instead, aside from a brief burning sensation, she remained intact all the way down to the fire and brimstone torments and torrents of the underworld. Well, that, and she became a demon with the attributes of the very demon that tortured for the three days before her fiery demise: the most feared, most dreaded, goat-like Lamia. It then occurred to her through a moment of brief realization that the Lamia she encountered was not exactly the one associated with Greek mythology.

Said realization was brief because, as luck would have it, Christine had been dragged off to Hell on the day of an annual (now bi-annual, whatever that meant) Extermination, wherein armed Angels from Heaven are sent down to Hell to contain the overpopulation crisis by murdering as many demons as possible. Either genuinely unaware or purposefully oblivious to their surroundings, the Lamia had attempted to continue/finish what it had started after those three torturous days, but with a little ingenuity and that aforementioned luck, she had managed to fend off the demon and actually end its life through the usage of an Angelic Weapon discarded elsewhere.

Both Christine and the Lamia were stunned for entirely different reasons: the former because she had managed to survive against a powerful and feared demonic being with no combat experience, and the latter because they came to a realization of their own.

Was this Hell?

Remaining down on her knees as the ashes of her enemy blew away, Christine watched the Angels...these Exorcists...slaughter the Demons...these Sinners...with bloodthirsty, murderous intent. Ultimately, it came down to three choices: run, hide, or fight.

Alas, the first option was far more easier than the second or third options...but alas, she decided to try out all three anyway.

A few years later, after being trapped in a monotonous routine consisting of (among other things) shotguns, sundaes, and strippers, Christine decided to get her act together and trap herself in another monotonous routine, albeit one far more professional and dignified. Following a salvagable incident in which she offered a pair of helping hands to a married Imp couple search for an apartment in the imaginatively named "Imp City", she decided to head back to square one in the world of the dead and pick up where she left off in the world of the living.

The door to her business building opened with a cheerful bell ringing out, startling her enough to snap her out of her daydream, draw a Smith & Wesson Model 36 "Chief's Special", and take aim at the front door.

"Damn it, Christie," The rabbit demon at the door in turn aimed her SIG-Sauer P229 E2 at her, "You gotta work on your bedside manners."

Christine scoffed, "Look who's talking, Jessie."

Neither one preferred to go into full detail whenever asked, but Christine had met Officer Jessica Loren a good five years following her own descent to Hell.

A rookie police officer on her first assignment, Officer Loren was ordered to take the last shift at a police station before it was permanently closed, with her commanding officer explaining that—aside from her not permitted to leave her post until her shift was finished—a HAZMAT team will arrive later on to collect evidence considered difficult to dispose of. What followed was a series of supernatural events that brought to light the true reason behind the station's enclosure: one year ago prior to her last shift, an infamous cult led by John Michael Paymon killed many officers in the process of their capture (including her father, a police officer as well) before committing mass suicide; Paymon threatened to come back and destroy everything in his rampage. Said infamous cult was also revealed to worship the presumed King of Hell, a spirit coincidentally named Paimon as well.

Several visions of the cultists and their victims were witnessed, culminating in a final shootout between her and the cultists assaulting the police station. After she killed the last member, her commanding officer put a bullet in her from behind, which prompted a moment of clarity: through the paranormal events, the cult had manipulated her into murdering the very HAZMAT team she was waiting for for the duration of her shift. Dying from her wounds, she fell down and down into Hell as the spirits of Paymon and his cultists closed in on her.

Loren kept silence on any and all events between her descent and first meeting with Christine, but she stated she did meet Paimon at one point. He...was not at all what she was expecting. At the end of the day, Jessica was just happy to make a friend in Christine.

And Christine would not have it any other way.

Exchanging knowing grins with each other, the goat and the rabbit both holstered their handguns.

"How are you holding up, boss?" Jessica asked as she set down a box of squid ink pasta.

"I've been better," Christine narrowed her eyes as she scrolled through her Nirvana and Paramore playlist on her phone, "I had dreams about riding a horse and taking a pill in Pasadena. Don't ask me why it entails what it entails; I'm merely spitballing here. What about you?"

Jessica's jaw hung agape before she shook her head and replied, "Well...we had a New Arrival in Hell a few days ago. His name is John Wick, and he's made quite a name for himself during his time in the living world as an assassin."

"An assassin?" Christine's eyebrows shot up, "It shouldn't be anything new, but it is...for some reason. What's his physical description?"

"Hmm," Jessica rubbed her chin, "I'd say...tall, brooding, and..."

She then sighed lovingly, "Astonishingly handsome..."

Christine rolled her eyes, "You're giving his personality, not his appearance. Focus, will you?"

"But most of what I said was true!" Jessica pouted, "He's tall, brooding, and astonishingly handsome! Plus, I've seen only a pair of pictures of the guy, and I can't exactly remember most of the physical-wise details because...I just happened to be distracted by the personality-wise details."

Christine then frowned at her, "And you're supposed to be a cop?"

"A rookie cop," Jessica crossed her arms.

"More than five years here should have triggered a point of improvement."

"I'm working on it."

"I hope so."

Christine and Jessica exchanged knowing grins again before the former rubbed her chin at a comment prompted by the latter, "With that said...you're telling me that this John Wick arrived in Hell a few days ago...and nobody knows where exactly is he in Hell or what he looks like?"

"Yes?"

"Not even you, the police officer, a rookie or otherwise?"

"Yes...?"

"And you're telling me this just now?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Oh..." Jessica's eyes widened.

"Oh..." Christina's eyes narrowed.

Arriving at a underground bar from beneath the building, Lincoln, Hilda, Miss Mayberry, and Corey followed James as he led them towards the heart of the lounge, where a group of supposed Sinners partied and socialized with each other. Some of their appearances leaned more towards the true demonic side, while others gave way for a humanoid appearance, their animal traits downplayed. Lincoln vaguely remembered a fact taught by Miss Mayberry: there was no true extent to the appearance of a Sinner because it was the manifestation of the soul in question. Their demonic form can reflect the manner in which they died, represent a creature associated with their past human life, or influenced as an individual reflection of the human's soul, sins, or crimes.

One such Sinner was a spider-like demon with white fur, green eyes, and blonde hair with pink streaks. She wore a white full bodysuit with matching tactical pants and a dark green bulletproof vest, which served as protection from the gunshots and debris brought upon her four hands wielding four Glock 17 pistols that were fired at the suspended target sheets. Oh, and did we mention she was hanging upside down while opening fire?

Yelena liked to challenged herself once in a while.

Eliciting sporadic yet triumphant cackles like a mad woman whenever she scored a hit or two, the spider spotted James and Hilda leading a group of new vistors, smiling when she spotted Hilda gripping on tight to Lincoln's hand.

"Hilda!" The spider swung down from her training spot and pulled in her foster sister for a tight hug, "How are you, my mladshaya sestra?"

"I've been doing well, Yelena," Hilda laughed, "Thank you."

"And who might this young boy be?" The spider named Yelena regarded Lincoln with a slight good nature, "Your little boyfriend?"

Both Lincoln and Hilda blushed as they exchanged glances with each other.

"What?" Hilda shouted, "No! Of course not!"

"We just met, ma'am," Lincoln laughed awkwardly, "We're not there yet."

"Yet?" Yelena smirked as she rubbed her chin, "Hmm. We'll see..."

She then turned her attention to James, who shook his head, "So, it seems like we have New Arrivals?"

"Not exactly. Lincoln, Miss Mayberry, and Corey have been residing here for some time now; it just happens to be the first time they visited here."

"Finally, someone close to our age!"

Looking up, Lincoln, Hilda, Corey, and Miss Mayberry two Spider demons swinging down from the ceiling, both of whom had rather feline—specifically and conspicuously, panther-like—features to them in regards to the ears and claws. The youngest of the two had primarily black fur (he had red fur enveloping his hands and feet, which gave off the appearance of wearing gloves and boots), eyes with white sclera and red irises, and six arms. He wore a black jacket above a red hoodie with navy blue jeans and red-and-white sneakers. The oldest of the two had primarily blue fur (he too had red fur enveloping his hands and feet, which again gave off the appearance of wearing gloves and boots), eyes with green sclera with purple irises, and eight arms. He wore a black leather studded vest with a matching choker, bracelets, and leather boots, all of which gave him a distinct punk vibe.

"Although...aren't you older than all the teens here, me included?" The younger spider lovingly wrapped two arms around the older spider, who rolled his eyes and pecked him softly on his cheek.

"Well, technically, love," The older spider replied with a noticable British accent, "Yelena over here is probably older than us both in her home dimension."

"You bet your ass!" Yelena smirked as she reloaded her Glocks and added, "But hey, I'm not one to refute."

James shook his head and smiled as he introduced the three spiders, "Lincoln, Corey, and Miss Mayberry, this is Venom and The Prowler, the self-proclaimed Bonnie and Clyde of the United States of Anarchy. And you've obviously met the Black Widow."

"But since we're getting acquainted with each other," The younger spider introduced himself, "You may call us Miles..."

"Hobie..." The older spider flashed the devil's horns.

"And Yelena!" The female spider flashed a fanged smile and her now remarkable Russian accent, "I mean, you probably know that already. Right, Hilda?"

Hilda smiled and hugged her back, "Of course, I do."

"How long you have been here?" Lincoln asked as he shook their hands...all eighteen of them.

"As long as we can remember, kid," Hobie shrugged as he took one of Miles' hands and spun him around in a loving manner, "But I suppose none of it matters when my Bonnie is here with me."

"Hey, I thought I was the Clyde in the relationship," Miles frowned.

"Ehh, I thought you was too soft to be a Clyde," Hobie shrugged again, "Then again, you're probably too rough to be a Bonnie either."

Lincoln had little to no understanding what Miles and Hobie were possibly talking, causing Hilda to giggle and Miss Mayberry to smile while shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"Hey, Bonnie and Clyde," Corey frowned and caught their attention, "Is it just you guys here?"

"Well, if you would pay attention..." A girl's exasperated voice echoed out, "...then you would get your answer!"

Strutting onto the scene was a young girl who was quite short in stature with soft features and sharpened fangs. She had green hair; eyes with green sclera and red irises, both of which appeared to be cybernetic; stark white skin with a faint blue tint to contrast with the pink tattoos on her neck, stomach, and right thigh that read "PK DICK"; and quite overall minimal clothing. She only wore a black, high-collar jacket with green accents that traveled below her waist and a pair of matching sneakers; worn underneath was a simple black bra and underwear. Her green hair was pulled up into pigtails by a dual-clipped hairband, and she fashioned cybernetic arms (blue for left, red for right) and matching pink and yellow optics.

Yawning, stretching, and cracking her muscles all at once, Rebecca popped a cube of bubblegum into her mouth before catapulting a trio of empty beer bottles into the air, brandishing a Remington 870 MCS and opening fire, managing to hit all three and cause the glass shards to rain down upon the crowd...before emptying the shotgun through firing on said glass shards. Thankfully, the seemingly hazardous effect was not as hazardous as one would suggest.

"That was quite hazardous," Miss Mayberry noted as Rebecca concurred with a smirk.

"Hey, at least I didn't shoot anyone directly," Rebecca replied before nonchalantly acknowledging Hilda, who waved back, "Oh. Hey, Hilda."

"Rebecca," James called her attention, "Have you seen Tyler?"

"You mean the incredibly handsome, incredibly ripped, and incredibly brooding Australian demonic dingo?" Rebecca smirked again as she reloaded her 870, "He's probably venting his frustrations on a bunch of lonely Sinners...and Valentino. Most definitely Valentino."

"Jesus Christ," Hobie commented as Rebecca set down her shotgun, "I mean, the bloke's quite effective in combat, but tell me he ain't a bit dodgy?"

"He's obviously going through a lot," Miles defended the dingo named "Tyler", "Judging by his body language, he's probably a death seeker above all else. Plus, he usually doesn't talk to us a lot."

"Neither does Godluck," Hobie noted as he grabbed a drink from Rebecca, "But at least he's literally mute and nice to Hilda."

"He and Tyler are both nice to Hilda because she's probably the youngest out of all of us," Rebecca grabbed a drink of her own, "That, and—in the case of Godluck—she probably reminds him of his son."

Before any more words could be spoken, the doors of the bar burst open and two more Sinners were unceremoniously dropped inside in front of the group.

The both of them female, the first Sinner was a Hellhound had a pointed muzzle with sharpened teeth and a black nose. Her eyes contained purple sclera and white irises, and surrounding them was purple eyeshadow. Her fur was brown with grey countershading encircling her face and brown patches on her shoulders. Her black hair, while still styled in a low ponytail, was adorned with a purple streak, and it revealed her dark brown ears that matched her small but long tail on the underside. Her main outfit was a purple leather biker jacket, navy blue jeans that was meticulously torn to resemble a series of X's, and black combat boots with matching leather fingerless gloves. Around her neck was a black spiked choker collar with two matching spiked bracelets around her wrists.

The second Sinner was a vampire with pale lavender skin, ruby red eyes with matching lipstick, midnight black hair with two-tone purple tips tied into a low ponytail, and a pair of sharp fangs. Her main outfit was a dark purple long-sleeved shirt sized medium, a pair of black leggings, a light purple and pink sash tied around her waist, and black slipper-shoes.

"Yahoo!" A vaguely feminine British accent boomed from behind the doors, "I've brought a few more stowaways for you!"

Taking a closer look at them, Lincoln could gasp in horror and shock. He had no idea how he was able to recognize them or why they were here. What mattered was they were here.

"Ronnie Anne...? Lucy...?"