The tip of a gun caressed Moxxie's cheek.
Opening the door had been his first mistake. Expecting a client, he hadn't thought twice about exposing himself to the outside.
A terrible storm had befallen Imp City only a few hours before. Moxxie had considered checking out of work early, but his wife, Millie had insisted that they stay to try and get some paperwork done. Moxxie had been busy only a few minutes before, only emerging from his cluttered desk as three distinct knocks disturbed the silence of the evening.
Instead, Moxxie's eyes fell upon a demon in heavy armor at least twice his size. They struggled to fit through their imp-sized doorframe. Through a slick, deceptive, metallic green helmet, Moxxie could make out a pair of tinted white pupils. He maintained eye-contact for only a moment, his attention quickly returning to the gun at his head. With each movement the demon's metallic armor let out a groan; the cry of an animal that had been abused for far too long. Raindrops from a storm outside ran down the sides of the aging metal like tears.
By some stroke of luck, Moxxie had been alone when he opened the door. He swallowed hard before attempting to speak with their attacker.
"...W-What do you want," Moxxie stammered, trying to maintain his composure. He refused to give the demon a show.
The demon replied with a deep voice, Moxxie picking up on an analogue buzz just beneath the bass tones.
"Get out of my way," the demon ordered, "I have business to take care of."
Moxxie's head was violently slammed into the doorframe. Heavy boots trudged along the moldy carpeting towards Blitzo's office.
Waiting for his assailant to walk away, Moxxie silently dragged his throbbing body towards the weapons cabinet. He quickly pulled out a rifle of his own, prepared to do battle.
His finger shook as he placed it on the trigger. The demon's focus was elsewhere, standing patiently outside of his boss's office. Moxxie, over the last month, had been having some trouble shooting. Two of their clients had been refunded after he failed to kill their targets, whether it be due to a malfunction of his weapon, or not finding the target before the deadline. Such a disservice was unheard of in his business. Moxxie had placed a stain on an otherwise presentable operation. Presentable, of course, only by Hell's standards.
What the hell did they want? Usually, when somebody attacked I.M.P, they were after someone in particular, and the name in question was typically given at the door. Moxxie had dealt with his fair share of attackers over the years. It came with the package of working with Blitzo, a man of many names and even more enemies.
Something was different about that one. They didn't speak of their intentions in definite terms, only vague statements of business. It rubbed Moxxie the wrong way, even more than the loaded gun in their hands. A man with a concealed weapon and a clear purpose was one thing. A man with an open weapon but hidden motive was another. One was predictable. The other was not.
A clap of thunder almost startled him into pulling the trigger. He closed his eyes and tried once again to maintain his composure. He had to wait for the perfect moment. A seasoned marksman for fifteen years, Moxxie knew when a target was vulnerable; a few precious seconds where his opponent's guard would be down. He lurked in the shadows and waited for that moment like a vulture.
"Moxxie? Where are you?"
Shit.
Millie's soft voice rang out from down the hall. The armed demon's head turned towards her. Moxxie saw his opening.
"NO!" Moxxie shouted, pulling the trigger.
Nothing happened.
"W-What!?" Moxxie stammered.
He tried to pull the trigger again, but noticed that it was beginning to glow. A green hue had consumed the trigger, tentacle-like formations running up and down the barrel of his otherwise jet-black rifle. The glass in the scope cracked, seemingly by its own accord. Moxxie screamed as he furiously fumbled with the safety.
Come on!
Not now!
What the hell?!
Millie appeared around the end of the hallway just outside of Blitzo's office. Moxxie waved her away as the armed demon turned to face her.
His heart stopped as the demon raised the gun.
"NO!" Moxxie shouted.
He tossed his malfunctioning gun to the ground and threw himself across their decrepit office, using himself as a shield between Millie and their anonymous attacker. The gray walls did nothing to protect them. Across the conference table, an untouched cup from the water cooler sat half-filled, Moxxie wondering if they would live long enough to finish it. He listened to the sickening crack of glass as the demon stepped on the scope of Moxxie's old gun.
"Moxxie?!" Millie asked nervously, notably unarmed, "What's going on?"
"I don't know," Moxxie replied, "I don't know, hun."
"Well, look at that," the demon taunted, his deep voice shaking the fragile walls of the office, "I would have thought that you assassins would be putting up a better fight. I wanted some fun."
Moxxie tried to identify the demon beneath the mask. There was no visible tail, but then again, that might have been hidden beneath the armor. He had to know whether their opponent was hellborn, sinner, or royal. The first two could easily be taken out with ordinary weapons. The third, however, could only be taken out with angelic bullets. Due to recent events, there was a rare surplus of angelic weapons in the city. I.M.P. had a few on hand, although Moxxie was hesitant to even consider using them.
Just as Moxxie tried to peek beneath a hole in the armor, the door to Blitzo's office swung open with a deafening thwack.
Shortly thereafter, the demon recoiled in pain, dropping their own gun in the process. Moxxie's quick-thinking boss quickly rose to the occasion and swiped it.
"I don't know who the fuck you think you are," Blizto shouted, not hesitating as he turned the weapon on their would-be assailant, "But I'd like to tell you to fuck off. And if you don't want to listen, I'll let my trigger finger tell you again!"
The demon, once a large and threatening presence, was enveloped in a sudden and fast-moving cloud of fear. His powerful stature quickly shifted to the shape of a hunched-over man cowering in fear like a dog with a spray-bottle.
He left quickly. Almost too quickly.
Blitzo fired two shots from the gun and chased the demon out the door.
"And fuckin STAY OUT!" Blitzo added before slamming the door shut, "Or next time, I'll shoot your dick off!"
Moxxie should have been relieved as the figure disappeared into the all-encompassing night. The only evidence of his presence was a trail of muddy footprints and Moxxie's shattered gun.
A furrowed brow from his boss forced Moxxie's gaze to the ground.
"Moxxie," Blitzo said with an eerie calmness, "What the fuck was that about?"
There was nothing scarier than a calm Blitzo.
His boss slammed the door shut, the room consumed by the dim white lights that adorned the ceiling. The trap had gone off. The rain and hail outside paled in comparison to the tempest that was about to rip Moxxie apart for everything he was worth.
Millie tried to stand in his path, placing a hand on Moxxie's shoulder as Blitzo's mouth contorted to form an angry scowl, "Blitz, let's be nice-"
Her beautiful southern accent was quickly replaced by Blitzo's snappy big-city tongue.
The next thing Moxxie knew, he was pinned against the wall with a hand on his windpipe. Blitzo knocked over one of their desks in the process, knocking the company radio and clock down onto the ground. What had once been their conference room; a place for diplomatic dissent for the betterment of their business, was now, in Moxxie's eyes, no better than the gallows. He knew that he had been slipping up on the last few jobs. Blitzo had openly been threatening to fire him. Sleepless nights and hundreds of pulled hairs had brought him no progress. His spark was gone. The Marksman Moxxie had died the moment their assailant stepped into the room.
"I saw the whole damn thing through the peephole. You've been on THIN fucking ice for the last month," Blizto said, pressing harder against Moxxie's neck as he struggled, "You listen to me Mox, and you fuckin' listen good."
Millie screamed and tried to grab Blitzo's arm. He waved her off, although he did loosen his grip enough for Moxxie to speak.
"Yes sir," Moxxie choked, tears filling his eyes as they grew dry.
Blitzo's eyes narrowed with disdain. His pupils stared at him like bullets in a chamber, ready to break loose and leave Moxxie dead from the floor. If looks could kill, Moxxie would already have been in a coffin.
"You've been nothing but a FUCKING mess!" Blitzo shouted, "You've fumbled our last six kills. And now, the one time your ass could have fixed it all, you sit there and do nothing?! That could have been a royal for all we fucking know! What if I hadn't opened that door, huh bitch? You, your wife, and most importantly ME would all be dead."
Bullets. Verbal bullets. They pierced his soul and weighed him down like an anvil, taking him to depths deeper than anything Hell could offer. Moxxie knew that he was a failure. He didn't need his short-tempered boss telling him again.
His throat was dry, only able to choke out a single raspy apology, "I'm sorry, sir. The gun malfunctioned."
Outside, raindrops raced down the window. How Moxxie wished to be one of them, able to slide down a plane of glass without any problems, his existence blissfully brought to an end when the sun rose again. Freedom was so close, yet so far away.
"Sorry won't cut it," Blitzo spat as Millie begged and pleaded beside him, "I don't believe for a second that your gun 'malfunctioned.' You're just trying to save your ass. I've put up with your bullshit for six years! I'm done. I put my heart and soul into this business. It was my last chance to get off the streets. I've wasted so many paychecks on your pathetic skill. This was the last fucking straw. You did NOTHING!"
Blitzo let Moxxie go and dropped him to the ground.
Millie rushed over and grabbed Moxxie's arm while Blitzo disappeared into the back room. The pair remained silent. The simple act of whispering felt like screaming into a void.
He didn't have it in him to cry. Blitzo would get too much enjoyment out of that. He would stay silent for as long as they were together. Blitzo had gone off on Moxxie before, sure, but never with such vulgarity and abhorrence. Their fights had never breached such heavy subjects.
"Hun?" Millie asked, "Are you okay?"
He didn't respond.
"Mox, I'm going to fix this. I'm going to make him apologize-"
Moxxie placed a finger on her lips and shook his head. He didn't want an apology. He had put up with Blitzo for far too long.
He loved Millie like nothing else in the world, living or dead. She was the only person left in his life that he felt he could count on when the sky darkened. Her presence was a break in the clouds; a lone star against an otherwise empty sky. Her supportive nature had thrown him head-over-heels in love. Even as he lay recoiling from an attack not only from their demonic attacker, but also an assailant wearing the face of a friend, he couldn't help but smile as he looked into her endlessly expressive eyes.
On the other hand, Blitzo had waltzed into his life like a drunk uncle. He had upended Moxxie's life, brought him into the killing business, and shoehorned him into his own egotistical idea of what a marksman should be.
Those days were over.
One of the lightbulbs overhead burned out and cast the pair into partial darkness.
Blitzo returned a few seconds later with a handful of boxes. The man paused for a moment to take a look at the broken light, sighing to himself and silently continuing towards Moxxie. He dropped the boxes at Moxxie's feet. Moxxie was able to make out the muzzles of various weapons sticking out from the top. He quickly found that they weren't just any weapons.
They were his.
"Take these," Blitzo scoffed, grabbing him by his shirt collar, "And get the hell out of here. I don't want to see you or your sorry face ever fucking again. Do you understand?"
"Blitz," Millie pleaded, eyes watering, "You don't have to do this. Really. Mox has just been havin' a bad day."
"Every day is a fuckin bad day with this princess. I don't know how you do it, Millie. He's not even a twink. He's a pile of unicorn shit rolled up into a suit."
"Don't talk about my HUSBAND that way!"
"I'll talk about your baby brother any way I fucking want to, especially after today's little display."
"The gun really malfunctioned, Blitz. I watched him-"
"Don't cover for him. Do you want to be out of a paycheck too? That shitty little apartment of yours looks expensive."
At that, Millie fell silent.
Moxxie sympathized with her. They both knew that losing half of their income would put them underwater. Millie going down with him would tie a weight to their feet.
"Don't worry," Moxxie said, snatching the boxes and making a beeline for the door, "She'll be fine. I'm the one you want to get rid of. And to that I say, good riddance!"
Moxxie stormed out the door, boxes in hand, and made his way into the unforgiving elements outside.
The light from the office cast a shadow on him as he exited the elevator. Puddles danced in yellow luminescence as rain fell from the sky and broke their surfaces over and over again. The occasional car would pass on the nearby freeway, but since it was almost midnight, Imp City was largely quiet. Any activity happening that late at night usually occurred in back alleys or abandoned buildings.
He quickly realized that he had chosen the worst day to screw up. The rain pelted him like there was no tomorrow, and he desperately pulled his phone from his pocket to try and call an Uber.
"Yeah?" a gruff voice asked as he dialed the hotline.
"Hello," Moxxie said, trying to hide the quake in his voice, "I am at 437 Peccatum Street. I've got some boxes. I need a ride."
"Where to?"
"Home. East side of town. Dahmer Complex."
"Gotcha. I'll be there in ten."
Moxxie had more than enough time to sit with his thoughts as he waited. The cardboard holding his boxes together became soggy, with the occasional magazine coming loose and spilling its contents out onto the street.
That was the last straw.
He knelt down, slammed his fist into the ground twice, and let out the loudest scream that he could muster. It wasn't only a scream of annoyance. It was the release of anguish into a place where the cries of the damned struck fear into the hearts of mortals.
He couldn't help but play Blitzo's final remarks over and over in his head.
" I don't want to see you or your sorry face ever fucking again. Do you understand?"
Blitzo had attacked his skill, his character, and his worth. Those final words, however, cursed his presence. Blitzo, for better or for worse, had become an important aspect of Moxxie's life. Their differences had never mattered until that point. Just a few years ago, they had vowed to respect each other while tied up with some agents on Earth, and Moxxie has received Blitzo's his only sincere compliment ever.
" You shoot and kill good, you escape things easy... you can be strategic and cold-blooded when you need to, and don't expect any more compliments; I'm maxed out."
That day felt like ages ago. Moxxie had tricked himself into thinking that Blitzo could actually change. Taking it literally, there wasn't a chance in Hell that would ever happen.
The Uber pulled up a few minutes later. They drove a green car with dim headlights and an overflowing ashtray visible from the windshield. On any other day, Moxxie would have told the man to leave and waited for a better car. Sometimes, however, circumstances called for one to compromise on their principles.
Moxxie loaded his boxes into the backseat as the soggy cardboard prepared to give way.
"Is that everything?" the man asked.
Moxxie nodded, "Yes."
The man said nothing as they drove down the empty freeway.
Moxxie's mind raced as he stared out the window. His driver turned on the radio, the faint noises of mortal pop music accompanying Moxxie down that lonely road paired with the strong smell of cigarette smoke. The rough leather seat offered him no comfort.
Six years of work had come crashing down in just a month. As angry as he was at Blitzo, it was only a matter of time until the revolver spun around to face him. Moxxie had been nothing short of useless. He tried to blame it on losing his spark, but his heart still burned for the art of shooting. Nothing had changed there. It was as if he had forgotten how to fire a gun. His old tactics hadn't been working. It felt, sometimes, as if his opponents knew exactly what he was planning, and managed to step out of the way at the last second.
Blitzo's tirade wouldn't have hurt Moxxie if there wasn't any truth to it, but there was.
Moxxie wondered if he had squandered his last chance. Blitzo had loosened his grip enough to allow Moxxie to speak. Maybe if he had come up with the right words. All Moxxie had done was come up with excuses. Maybe the gun malfunction had been a figment of his adrenaline-filled imagination. Facing death did strange things to people. Moxxie certainly didn't see himself as any exception. Something must have snapped within him. Perhaps Moxxie's arms were stronger than he thought, and he had shattered the gun in the heat of the moment, with his mind coming up with creative images to get in the way.
Then again, Millie claimed to have seen the malfunction. Had she been telling the truth, or had she been trying to defend him with a lie?
Something else was bugging him.
The figure had given up too quickly. Blitzo slamming a door into their face shouldn't have been enough to make a demon with such sophisticated armor run away like a spooked dog. Even without the gun malfunction, that alone was enough to leave a bad taste in Moxxie's mouth. The whole incident reeked of foul play.
Then again, it wasn't like Moxxie could do anything about it anymore. Any action on his part would be interpreted as a desperate attempt to glue his fragile ego back together.
Blitzo, in retrospect, had every right to be angry. Their lives had been in danger, and for one reason or another, Moxxie had been unable to shoot; to do the one job that he had been trained to do.
To do the one thing he was good at.
Without a good shot, what was he?
For most of his life, Moxxie had accepted a position of mediocrity. Shooting was the one area where he could shine. Even Blitzo had conceded supremacy in that regard. Whenever the job called for a marksman, Blitzo would take a backseat and let Moxxie do his thing. For years, the business had been booming. For the first time in his life, Moxxie had moxie. He had found a field in which he could shine.
With his aim failing, and cowardice driving him out of a job, what else was there for him to do?
His pocket buzzed. For a moment he wondered if it was Blitzo, or perhaps Loona dialing a wrong number. She had moved to a Qaburn for work a few months prior, and would occasionally butt-dial him or Blitzo. Moxxie didn't dare ask how she had gotten his number.
With brief relief, he opened up his phone to a text from Millie.
"Hey, hun. I'm really sorry about Blitz. He's being an ass. I'm on your side, but I can't quit. Not yet. We can talk about this. Take your time to cool off, and please be safe wherever ya go. Love you!"
Moxxie couldn't leave her in the dark. She was the last person that made him feel special. He had already thrown his career out the window. He couldn't afford to lose the love of his life as well.
Part of him was worried about her staying behind. He feared the return of their assailant, far more prepared and less afraid of doors.
He had to stop those thoughts before they gained power. He knew Millie. She wouldn't get out of bed without a knife ever again after an incident like that. Millie was street-smart. Far more than Moxxie. He would have to trust her.
Sliding across the keyboard like knives against a neck, Moxxie's fingers quickly typed a response.
"No, you have to stay at IMP. We need the money. I'll find work somewhere else. I don't want you getting dragged down with me. I appreciate you trying to fix things. It really helped. Be careful, just in case that man comes back. I don't know what's going on. That whole thing feels wrong to me. But, clearly, Blitz feels differently. I can't do anything about it. Love you, Millie."
Moxxie closed his phone and sighed to himself. As long as Millie still had a job, they could keep themselves above water.
He sat back and tuned in and out of the radio's noise. It wasn't pleasant, and he found the songs playing to be upbeat and annoying, but they were a distraction. Occasionally, an ad would play between songs, usually from some prostitution ring needing more employees.
Only when they made the turn onto his street did Moxxie hear an ad that caught his attention.
"Hey!" a cheerful female voice said over the radio with a faint undertone of static, "My name is Charlie Morningstar, princess of Hell, and owner of the Hazbin Hotel. You know, the place that just ENDED the exterminations!"
Hell was all up-to-date on the recent battle that had taken place at the Hazbin Hotel. Thanks to that, the yearly purge of sinners had ended, and every soul responsible for it had been killed. An era of unprecedented peace had followed. That peace had been interrupted by power-hungry overlords trying to fill a power vacuum in the aftermath. Moxxie wasn't as tuned-in as he had wished to be. He only knew the basics. His job had taken up most of his time.
Charlie's voice continued, "Due to recent violence in Pentagram City, we have an opening for a paid position as a security guard. You know, someone who can keep the looters away. All they have to do is show up with a can-do attitude and be willing to follow our hotel policy regarding sinful behavior. Anybody interested can come to the hotel and speak to me personally!"
Moxxie's eyes lit up at that. Imp City was usually the best place for imps like Moxxie to work, since his kind was at the bottom of Hell's social caste. The Happy Hotel, however, proved to be an enticing opportunity. He knew that Princess Morningstar wouldn't look down on him, nor would she let anybody else do the same. She had built up a reputation as a woman fighting for righteousness in the land of sin. Many considered her dreams to be short-sighted and pointless. Moxxie found them enticing.
The Happy Hotel might have been the escape he needed.
"Wait a minute," Moxxie said as the driver approached his house, "If I pay you more, will you take me to Pentagram City?"
The driver let out a groan, "Are you kidding me, kid? That princess give you a boner or something?"
"No. I think I'm going to take the job."
"Sorry, kid. That's out of my jurisdiction."
"How does another one-hundred souls sound?"
The driver didn't hesitate before answering, "Sure thing, kid. That and a magazine."
"A what?"
"Come on, kid. I saw everything in those boxes. I know you've got some magazines in there. I need something to protect myself. Things are rough where I am, you know? It's either that, or you can kiss that job goodbye."
Moxxie sighed, "Sure. Thank you,"
"Alright. You can give it to me when we get to the hotel."
The driver pulled into Moxxie's driveway, turned around, and set out down the road towards the center of town. There, they would find a large portal that could take them to the Pride ring.
All Moxxie had to do was walk in, convince the princess to let him work there, and if all went well, he would start the next day with a new job. He could find a haven away from Blitzo and their suspicious hitman.
Take that, Blitzo.
I can do better than you.
I'll show you.
If I have any worth left.