Spawn's first night at the Hazbin Hotel was a restless one. Sleep eluded him, leaving his mind consumed with thoughts of why he was here and how it had happened. The quiet creaking of the old building, the distant voices of the hotel's odd residents, none of it mattered to him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was at play.

The stranger, Callister—his cryptic words and mysterious demeanor—was the only lead Spawn had. He needed answers, and if anyone had them, it seemed to be that man.

At first light, Spawn left his room, determined to find Callister and get some clarity. His movements were swift and silent, passing by the dimly lit hallways as the strange warmth of the hotel felt suffocating. He had every intention of making it out the front door without any distractions.

But, of course, distractions came.

As soon as he neared the lobby, Charlie appeared out of nowhere, her bright and cheerful energy completely at odds with the tension in his body.

"Good morning!" she called out, smiling warmly. "Did you sleep well? We've got breakfast ready if you're hungry!"

Spawn barely slowed his pace, his eyes locked forward as he grunted a curt, "No."

Charlie, ever the optimist, didn't let the cold response faze her. She followed him closely as he moved toward the entrance, her voice softening slightly.

"I just wanted to explain a bit more about the hotel," she began, her tone full of sincerity. "We're here to help—no matter who you are or where you've been. The whole point is redemption. I know it might seem strange, but everyone who comes here has a chance to—"

Spawn didn't even look at her. His boots thudded against the floor as he reached the door, his fingers already brushing against the handle.

Just as he was about to step outside, a figure moved into his path.

Vaggie.

She stood with her arms crossed, her expression hard and unwavering as she blocked his way. "Where do you think you're going?" she demanded, her sharp eye locked onto his.

Spawn's gaze narrowed, finally acknowledging her presence. "What do you care?" His voice was a low growl, edged with irritation.

"It's my job to care," Vaggie shot back, her tone fierce. "I'm here to make sure this hotel stays safe. That includes making sure you don't cause any problems."

Spawn took a step closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over her. "If that's your job, then you'd be better off staying out of my way. I'm not here for any of you."

Vaggie didn't flinch. She stood her ground, the tension between them thickening as they stared each other down. Neither moved, neither spoke. The air was electric, as though a single word or movement would set off an explosion of violence.

"Now move," Spawn finally said, his voice dark and menacing, "or be moved."

A long, silent moment passed between them. Vaggie's hands clenched at her sides, her stubborn resolve clear, but she wasn't foolish. After a few more tense seconds, she relented, stepping aside just enough for him to pass.

"Don't think I'm letting you off easy," she muttered under her breath, her eye still full of suspicion as she watched him leave.

Spawn didn't respond. With one last glance at the door, he pushed it open and stepped out into the streets of Hell once more. He didn't have time for these games. He had a mission, and nothing would stop him from finding the answers he needed.

As Spawn skulked out the door, Angel Dust stood at the top of the stairs, watching the entire exchange unfold. He leaned against the banister with a smirk, tapping a cigarette between his fingers. "Whew, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he remarked, his tone light and sarcastic.

"I'm wondering if he has a right side to wake up on." Husk remarked as he cleaned a glass.

Vaggie, however, wasn't in the mood for jokes. Her face remained tense, her eyes following Spawn until he disappeared out of sight. The tension still lingered thick in the air, and she turned sharply toward Charlie, her frustration barely contained.

"Charlie," Vaggie started, her voice firm but not unkind, "I get that this place is supposed to be for everyone. I do. But you really need to think about whether someone like him should be here. He's dangerous, Charlie. You can feel it. And we have to think about the safety of everyone else staying here. I know you want to help people, but what if he doesn't want help? What if he's not here for the right reasons?"

Charlie took in Vaggie's words, her face soft with concern. She knew Vaggie was only trying to protect the hotel, protect her, but Charlie couldn't shake her instinct. She looked past Vaggie for a moment, toward the door where Spawn had just left, a quiet determination rising in her.

Husk, who had been sitting quietly at the bar, took a long sip of his drink and muttered, "Guy seems pretty high-strung to me."

Angel chimed in with a laugh, "Oh, come on, Husk. We're all crazy here. He's just a bit... moodier, that's all."

Despite the casual comments, Charlie's expression stayed serious. She looked back at Vaggie, her eyes soft yet resolute. "I get what you're saying, Vaggie, but I don't think we can just write him off because he's rough around the edges. He's been through something—something awful, probably. People don't act like that unless they're hurting or trying to protect themselves."

Vaggie frowned, but Charlie pressed on, her voice filled with that same unyielding hope that always seemed to fuel her.

"I refuse to give up on him," Charlie said, her hands gripping each other tightly in front of her. "He deserves a chance, just like anyone else who walks through that door. Maybe he's hiding something, maybe he's been through more than we can imagine—but I'm not going to push him away because of that. If anything, it's all the more reason to keep trying to reach him."

Angel blew out a puff of smoke, glancing between them with an amused grin. "You really are something, Charlie. Still think you're gonna fix all of us, huh?"

Charlie smiled warmly at him, but her resolve didn't waver. "I'm going to try."

Vaggie sighed, still unconvinced, but she couldn't argue with Charlie when she was like this. That unshakable faith in people was why they were doing this in the first place, but it was also what worried her the most. With a final glance at the door, Vaggie spoke softly, "Just… be careful, Charlie. We don't know what he's capable of."

Charlie nodded, her smile turning softer. "I will. But I won't give up on him. Not yet."

Vaggie reluctantly stepped back, knowing that Charlie had made up her mind. Despite her doubts, she would stand by Charlie's decision, as she always had. They all would—even if the newcomer's presence had unsettled them all in different ways.

For now, Charlie's mission stood: to help anyone and everyone who came through the door. Even if that someone was as dangerous and broken as Spawn.

Spawn's boots hit the pavement in heavy, deliberate steps as he prowled through the dimly lit streets. The weight of Hell still clung to him, a darkness that even the stifled glow of street lamps couldn't chase away. His mind was a storm of questions and frustration, and only one person had the answers—Callister, the old man who had found him when he first arrived.

It took time, but eventually, in a forgotten corner of the city, Spawn found him. Callister sat quietly, tucked away in the shadows like a ghost who had seen too much of the world and had grown tired of it. His eyes were closed as if he was waiting, not surprised by Spawn's arrival in the slightest.

As Spawn approached, Callister spoke without looking up, his voice calm, almost amused. "I knew you'd come back."

Spawn didn't bother with pleasantries. "You're going to tell me what the hell is going on," he growled. His eyes burned through the gloom, glowing faintly in the dim light.

Callister finally opened his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ah, straight to the point. Just like I remember."

This gave Spawn pause. His brows furrowed beneath his mask, and he took a step closer, looming over the man like a predator ready to strike. "What do you mean, 'just like you remember'? Do we know each other?"

Callister chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not in the way you think. We've never met face-to-face, but I've been around long enough that meeting someone like you isn't out of the question. Hell is a small world when you've lived in it as long as I have."

Spawn's eyes narrowed at the cryptic response. Callister's words reminded him too much of someone he used to know—Nicholas Cogliostro, a man who had guided him during his early days as a Hellspawn. But Cogliostro was dead, wasn't he? Or worse.

He clenched his fists, his patience wearing thin. "Enough with the cryptic bullshit," Spawn snapped. "You know something about why I'm here. Why did you show up, and why are you watching me?"

Callister tilted his head, his calm demeanor unwavering in the face of Spawn's anger. "You're here because Hell isn't done with you yet, Spawn. You may have thought your fight was over, but fate has other plans."

Spawn's frustration boiled over. He grabbed Callister by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. "I don't care about fate. I care about why I'm here. What's the game this time?"

For a brief moment, Callister's smile faded, but there was no fear in his eyes, only a deep understanding. He placed a hand on Spawn's arm, the weight of his gaze intense. "You're here because you still have unfinished business. Not with the people you've fought before, but with yourself."

Spawn's grip loosened, but only slightly. The words hung in the air, a heavy truth that gnawed at the back of his mind. "What the hell are you talking about?" he muttered.

Callister's expression softened, a glimmer of sympathy in his ancient eyes. "Hell didn't bring you here, Spawn. You brought yourself. You're searching for something. Maybe it's redemption, maybe it's revenge. Maybe you're not even sure what it is. But until you figure that out, you're going to be wandering aimlessly—like you are now."

The words hit harder than Spawn cared to admit. He let Callister go, taking a step back, his mind spinning. He had no time for cryptic prophecies and riddles, but deep down, he knew there was truth in what the old man was saying. He had been searching for something, but what? Closure? Revenge? Or something more?

As Callister straightened his clothes, he gave Spawn a knowing look. "You've always been a fighter. But this time, you're fighting yourself. And until you stop fighting, you'll never find the answers you're looking for."

Spawn clenched his jaw, his fists still trembling with restrained anger. "Why should I believe anything you're saying?"

Callister smiled once more, that same infuriatingly calm smile. "You don't have to believe me. But sooner or later, you'll see it for yourself."

Spawn's eyes bore into Callister, searching for a hint of deception, but all he found was a strange, unsettling wisdom. As much as he hated it, he knew he wasn't getting any more answers from the old man today.

With one last glare, Spawn turned away, walking back into the night. He didn't have time for this. He needed answers, real answers, and he wasn't going to find them by talking in circles with cryptic old men.

But as he left, Callister's voice drifted after him, soft but clear in the dark. "Remember, Spawn... sometimes the only way out is through."

Spawn didn't look back. He had heard enough. But the words lingered in his mind as he disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving him with more questions than before.