It was a new day and Mayberry was eager to embrace the hours of the day. She had volunteered to cook breakfast for the rest of the hotel and to show off, the sinner woke earlier than usual to get started. Nothing important was going to happen for the rest of the day but perhaps it would help improve her meals. Her culinary skill was no match for the homosexual gangster among the hotel's denizens; however, it would never hurt to try and improve.

The teacher remembered the last time she was alive and cooked. Fond memories flowed from the back of her mind. Her childhood was special when it came to food since her grandfather would talk great stories at the table with the rest of the family. The father and uncles were ready to work at the steel mill while the women gossiped secrets in the kitchen. Children playing a game of who can catch a thrown tater tot with their mouth. To say it was a great time was an understatement.

She paused in her cooking as the pancakes were flipped over to slowly cook the batter into its warm softness. This time her thoughts fast-forwarded to all of the good moments with the rest of her family and the time she introduced Gerald. At the time, she wanted him to see how her family would react to a long-time boyfriend. Her grip on the panhandle tightened with regret seeping inside her heart.

Grandpa was concerned about the choice of her man. He was a person who was known for his smile and laughter. Seldom did he express his displeasure to the family unless it was truly important. The oldest member of the family did not approve of the man. Gerald and Mayberry tried to sway his initial sentiments and to open his mind about the relationship. Yet, his judgment of her now ex-husband remained hard as the metal the steel workers produced.

How did she not see it then if it was so obvious from one of her most beloving relatives? Why did her stubbornness defy his ruling? Was it out of spite? No, it couldn't have been. She continued to self-reflect on the views of her decision to even marry him. At the wedding, grandpa put on a face to celebrate but when he was alone with the others, the sinner remembered his disappointment. Even when she tried to cheer him up that time would soften his disapproval, the old man told her of his doubts and hoped the man she once loved wouldn't break her heart.

Her soul wanted to prove him wrong until she started that visual call from the computer and watched her husband break his vows of marriage in front of her. Anger flowed through her blood before it transformed into stifling her tears at the sadness that followed. Then the teacher realized that if she had a chance to speak to her grandfather one more time, she would have admitted how wrong she was to fall for someone who betrayed her love.

"Are you okay?"

The voice startled her and she turned around to find Railtracer in the kitchen wearing his military fatigue and gas mask while shrouded by his dark cloak. Behind him, the door was open. How was he able to walk in without a sound? "Oh, you scared me?"

"My apologies," He answered in his Slavic accent, walking to her left, only to snatch a paper towel from a rack and rip it off, "Here. I forget that I can do that to be people sometimes."

The towel exchanged hands as the woman took the time to get rid of her tears while her eyeliner began to stain. "Thank you. What are you doing here and awake at this time?"

"Business at I.M.P. The company and I are going to head off to handle some weaponry and I was about to fetch something to eat from the kitchen when you were here."

Mayberry appreciated the gesture he did for her before going back to cooking. She reached for a spatula placed in another pan, where scrambled eggs were being cooked, and began to flip a pancake over lest it grew too dark to be edible. Relief came over as both sides remained free of crisp. Then she stole a glance to the right of the stove, where a plate full of scrambled eggs and a large bowl of corned beef hash were ready to be served. "The pancakes are not done there's something you can eat in the meantime."

"Thank you," His manners were welcoming at this early hour as he shuffled around the kitchen for a clean plate and utensils, "I've gotten so used to mushrooms for the twenty years of my life that its a surprise the taste buds can detect any flavor."

"Was it the only mushrooms?

It was fascinating for her to hear a small window of someone's life in a post-apocalyptic world as few shared their experiences in those situations. Railtracer gathered his food and sat down at the table behind her. "It wasn't the only food we had. There are pigs and radioactive shrimps that fishermen have managed to slay; however, they are not the only two sources. Not all of us Metro dwellers had access to either of those and sometimes, I would encounter people who didn't eat pigs because their faith was against it."

"That's interesting," Her mind thought of any possible people who would abhor the idea of eating pigs, and then she voiced it out loud, "Were they Muslims by any chance?"

"You know a thing or two about him?"

The teacher tossed the fresh pancake onto an empty plate before putting out more batter into the pan. He sounded surprised she even knew anything about them as she explained her first encounter, "Some refugees from the Middle East were brought over to my town. Nice people who wanted to escape from the wars happening there. How did you meet yours?"

"Survivors just like me," Mayberry looked over her shoulder to see the food before him as his hand reached for his gas mask, "Azerbaijanis and Chechens who were fortunate to escape to the Moscow Metro like most people. Most of them took refuge at a station owned by gangsters but they were surprisingly fair with them. Hated pork but they certainly knew had the spices to turn a rat into one of the greatest delicacies someone can taste."

"They must have left quite an impression on you."

She looked at the pan to see the batter cook. "They did but it wasn't for long. Nazis from the Fourth Reich showed up and began to… exterminate the locals."

"Nazis?" Just the way he casually spoke of the event shocked her as the teacher stole a glimpse of the man slip his gas mask off and reveal a skull wrapped in a burning blue flame 'eating' her cooking, "What were they doing there?"

"Expanding their territory. The bastards believed that Russia is for Russians and anyone who didn't look like them or talk like them deserved the bullet. I barely got out of there alive."

Maybe she shouldn't have asked about his personal life as she continued to produce the pancakes. Then again, someone like him was probably used to the horrors of that reality to the point he was too jaded from experience. Nonetheless, the sinner remained wary of asking any further questions.

A phone rang from his pocket as he ceased his meal and began to respond to the call. "Yes?"

Whoever spoke to him, Mayberry could not discern the voice on the other side. Yet, it all sounded important based on how Railtracer replied.

"Ladna, will go there now," The moment he ended the call, his fork began to tap against the plate as his voice was muffled by the food in his mouth, "Got to go. Can't finish my meal."

She stole a glance from her fellow sinner and watched the straps of the gas mask being adjusted back over his head. "Go ahead, I'll wrap it up."

"I hope the tram will get me there on time."

"Don't go to the station, it's not open at this time," Reaching into her left pocket, the teacher pulled out her car keys and tossed them in his direction, "Take my car."

The boots clicked against the titles as he went through the door. "Thanks, I owe you one."

He was gone like a ghost in the wind. All that remained in the kitchen was a woman pondering the regrets of her life. Yet, it all seemed as if her brief conversation with him had improved her mood. She did not know why and had no of expressing those feelings but Mayberry appreciated the company.

The director of the Federal Bureau of Control was keen on the search for the weapons container alongside the servants of Heaven and that one organization that dabbled in time travel. Life had improved since the lockdown at the Oldest House was cleared and every aspect of the Hiss was terminated. Despite the reports on her desk and subordinates, she remained wary of its return and reality at risk. The building was brim with life as new blood joined the bureau and all seemed well.

Everything changed when Arael arrived and entered her office unannounced. Jesse Faden was a woman who did not take to being surprised but that changed when the Archangel of Death was offering coffee and donuts. As it turned out, he had met with every director since the first was appointed to the task of keeping the definition of normal… normal. She could have turned away but there was nothing wrong with accepting outside help so long as they offered to exchange favors for help in return.

It took time to adjust to the new paradigm as time passed for the FBC and the Department of Purgatory encountered other organizations specialized in certain aspects of existence. Yet, this unofficial alliance only made everyone stronger and pool their resources in case a situation arose to be resolved by words, containment, or bloodshed. Once a representative of the department had messaged her about the situation, she was so eager to assist out of the desire for experience since rarely do mortals enter the realms of the afterlife without the consent of its authorities.

Jesse looked at her phone and scrolled through the latest text message involving files containing detailed information about an organization of amateurs. Their latest catch involved the black bagging of an exiled Cherub, who was currently locked away in one of their many buildings. She mused at the impotence of this information until her eyes came across a paragraph mentioning that the servant of Heaven was there because of I.M.P. It shouldn't have happened in the first place but it did and Death was keen on preserving the status quo about the living prying into the matters of the blessed, damned, and anomalous.

The problem didn't seem too much of a deal since D.H.O.R.K.S. was such a comical name for her to take seriously. At least the time-traveling agents with auto-targeting submachine guns had a name with some serious respect. This simply reeked of sad men and women who wanted attention. Hopefully, they won't react poorly when she informs them about the shoes they were stepping on.

She reached for the opened box of pizza on the table in front of her and pulled out a slice with gusto. Then she leaned back in her metal chair and took a bite out of the Chicago-style delicacy. Despite her enjoyment of the meals, the director had to cut back before the fat got to her. The souls of the afterlife didn't have to worry about weight loss.

Uhlman entered the room with a black briefcase before approaching the table to lay it out in front of her. He began to flip the locks out of position to unlock it, revealing a dismantled gun with all of its parts ready for assembly. Strange white markings were embedded into each piece, revealing its holy craftsmanship and potential lethality. "The others are scouting out the marketplace while we speak but I can't wait to get this over with."

"I am not coming," She began while slowly savoring the pizza in her hand, "It seems that something has gotten my attention and I have to leave."

"Really, right now?"

His reaction was understandable but she had her reasons.

"What could be more important for you when we are this close?"

Jesse needed to remind him of his position and inform him of the details. "I am here because your superiors made a request but I am the Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. Other duties deserve my attention than some lost weapons."

"Then what could possibly demand your attention to walk away from this current operation?" The Russian wondered as he placed his hands on his hips, "Tell me what this is all about?"

"A couple of cherubs got exiled thanks to that group of assassinating imps your friend is with. Right now, they're scouring the world for a way back but an organization of demon hunters has managed to capture one of them. Since the dead are not allowed back into the mortal realm, it's up to me to deal with them."

He closed the briefcase and let out a deep sigh. "Okay, how about this? You help me with this operation just for this once, please. I need all hands on deck for this one and then you can head off and deal with that problem. Is that fine?"

"Give me a moment," The director finished her pizza as the taste of marina sauce remained on her lips. Uhlman had put out a decent offer for her and it was not bad. There was a degree of seriousness that he rarely showed and then there was the fact he was not cracking any bad jokes, "Fine, I'll help but you owe me."

"Thanks."

A door into the mess hall was swung open as Niko arrived in his sinner form as a demonic Bes, like the old Slavic tales, before reaching for his wrist and pulling off his transformation bracelets. His body transformed back into a Serbian in a tracksuit before turning his attention toward them. "Everyone is set up at the east side of Pentagram city. The arms market is being run by a fat fuck called Sidorovich. Strelok seems to know him but there's talk about a container inside a warehouse of theirs."

"Are you able to find the one?" Uhlman grabbed the handle of the briefcase while the director brandished the Weapon at her side, "We're going to meet Artyom over with I.M.P. and we don't have the time to search for everyone."

"Pavel's doing that already. The others are peaking around in case the suspects are present."

He nodded his head in approval before stealing a glance from her. "Good, we can end this once and for all. Mount up, people."

The business had been waiting for their sinner of a colleague while in the van. It's a shame that Blitzo didn't earn enough to buy a second car so I.M.P. didn't have to rely on a single vehicle to make do but Loona didn't mind that. Her adoptive dad was doing his best despite his lack of organization with the funds. Yet, it seemed that things have gotten better since Railtracer's employment. She rarely had the opportunity to speak to the man since he was too busy fixing everyone's weapons; however, the equipment and weaponry were improving.

Now they were waiting for him while she busied herself on the phone. As she scrolled through her social media for places she liked, the Hellhound overheard the conversation with Millie and Moxxie. Both imps made for an adorable couple and despite the latter's finer speech, he did everything he could to be sweet to his wife while being annoyed with Blitzo's behavior. Then he spoke up from the back seat. "Sir, how long are we going to wait in the parking lot? Couldn't we just drive and pick up some weapons."

"It ain't that easy," The boss replied while his hands rested on the steering wheel, "Railtracer doesn't have a ride and I don't think the funny-speaking sinner has a car."

"Couldn't we have picked him up at his place?"

He looked over his seat and looked at the imp in the back. "That's the thing, he didn't say. So unless we have an address we have to wait for his ass."

Millie offered a suggestion. "Anyone wants to play a game while we wait?"

"Sure, does it involve stripping?"

She loved her dad but some moments made her roll her eyes before looking back at her phone. Feeling bored, Loona decided to get a selfie to remember the moment as she extended her arm out of the car and prepared the camera to adjust. Suddenly, she saw a car approach the van thanks to the reflection of her screen which caused her to steal a glance at the oncoming vehicle.

The sedan arrived and parked beside the video with a window rolling down. Blitzo turned his head towards the newcomer before she and her dad recognized the sinner. "Railtracer?"

"It's a bit of a drive," Commented the Russian, "Sorry that I couldn't come earlier but the train station wasn't open."

"You certainly took your damn time."

There was something odd about the car. She could recognize the scent but didn't know who owned it. Memories poured throughout her head as the boss conversed with the Russian, ignoring what words they exchanged. Several clients came to mind but didn't match the old scents they had. Then she remembered that one sinner who made that request. "Hold up, I recognize that smell."

"Loona?" Blitzo asked turning his head towards her, "What's up?"

"That car belongs to Mrs. Mayberry."

He was taken by surprise before focusing his full attention on the sinner. "Do you know one of our clients?"

"Yes," Spoke the sinner, "She offered to let me borrow her car."

"Oh, did you give her a good fucking?"

It was surprisingly adorable to see this silent and somewhat stoic member of the business express his embarrassment. Even with his gas mask on, his gestures were enough to convey them at this moment, "What? No! It's not like that!"

"That's what they all say," Blitzo teased as his daughter caught a glimpse of a genuinely friendly smile, "Tell her I said hi, and don't forget to send pictures."

"Are you guys ready to pick up some weapons or not?"

Millie rolled down the window and perked her head. "Not sure I want to do that. This is far more interesting."

"I am not fucking the teacher," Stated an annoyed Railtracer, "Can we go now?"

"It's okay to be embarrassed. That's how Moxxie and I got together."

He groaned in his seat as Loona managed to record the whole thing on her phone. It was funny and probably worth putting on social media. While she prepared to make her post, the Hellhound took the moment to check out what few pictures she had of the former client. Slipping her fingers across the apps and phone functions, she thought about that kind of relationship between the two and considered that those two would make a pretty decent couple.

Uhlman and the director of the FBC had set up a sniper's position from a construction building across the street where the arms market took place. Most of the safehouse team was already there, pretending to look like the would-be customers looking to expand their arsenal. Although the weaponry was plenty, Strelok seemed not surprised by the exorbitant prices compared to the various arms markets he's been to.

The Russsian had his Dragonov out and placed it atop several crates that were conveniently placed behind an unfinished wall. He had good concealment from the public eye just so long that nobody looked hard enough to see his Hell form that was a blue and tall furry creature. Throughout the scope, his attention was focused on the people that were present. Line of sight was perfect; yet, he had to account for civilian casualties and worry about the armed guards meant to keep some degree of order. He hoped that his scope wouldn't have any glint that would give away his position.

A pair of footsteps came from behind as the disguised servant of Purgatory looked over his shoulder to see Jesse arrive from a staircase. The director's Hell form was an eldritch horror that seemed to be inspired by the stories of Lovecraft's writing. It honestly fitted her given that she could lift herself off the ground or use some incredibly strange powers rarely seen outside the parameters of the FBC. Her face was that of a squid and creepy in a sense due to her soulless eyes reflecting upon her work as the head of the bureau.

"Did anything happen while I was away?" She asked before brandishing a pair of binoculars from her belt and kneeling beside him, "Surely, something would have come up."

He shook his head. "I wish. The stakeout is a bit boring compared to what I have seen on the job."

"What about the location of the container?"

Pavel had been helpful in that specific objective and succeeded by his lonesome. To the left of the market, past the stalls and merchandise of heavy weaponry, was a closed warehouse surrounded by armed guards patrolling the surrounding entrances and windows. His hand reached out and pointed towards the building.

"There."

"It seems so obvious for us," Jesse remarked as she leaned forward on her left knee, "Everything about this feels wrong."

Uhlman felt she was going to say that but the truth was he had orders to follow. So much attention from Tony, Azrael, and the other echelons of Heaven was demanding some kind of progress on this sort of issue. Much more, it would prevent the possibility of reigniting open war against Hell once more and the bloodshed between those who lived in these realms. He wished he could take the methodical approach but time was against him and the chance to track the container was uncertain. "I know the risks but there's little that can be done about that."

"Still, it feels like a trap. Is there a way to ease our worries in case things go south?"

"Yep," He did have a Plan B. If they couldn't take it, they would track it, "Artyom and Pavel will make their way inside to find anything important. If seizure can't be completed, we can place a transponder to have our eyes on it."

The former Polis Ranger noticed her nod in approval. "That's good. Here goes nothing."

Soon the duo heard two vehicles make their approach toward the arms market while the head of the group focused his eye on the scope.

"Seems we got additional contacts," Jesse noted before reaching towards the radio on her shoulder and activating the signal, "Someone gives me a visual on the oncoming vehicles."

A moment passed before V replied, "It's I.M.P. Blitzo and his employees are stepping out. Artyom's in the car behind them."

It was time for the dead to perform their duties as the sniper made his initial order on his radio. "Ladies and gentlemen, the operation is green. Pavel, Rendezvous with our comrade and proceed into the warehouse."

They arrived on schedule.

Artyom sat quietly in the driver's seat as he watched the others leave their parked vehicle on the side of the road. Now was the time to avenge the colonel but a whisper at the back of his mind made him hesitate. Whatever the reason it was, he resisted those fears by taking a deep breath before stepping out of Mrs. Mayberry's car.

Blitzo turned around and waved toward him with a bright smile. "This one's on me. Pick what you like!"

A few seconds passed as Millie and Moxxie ran off together to explore the arms market on their own time. Meanwhile, the head of the company and his daughter walked together as the Hellhound busied herself on her phone. This left the Russian on his lonesome as he approached the bazaar of firearms and melee weaponry among sinners and Hellborn alike.

The denizens and visitors took notice upon his arrival and gave him an initial scowl before returning to their search and haggles. It almost reminded him of the moment when he arrived at Kuznetsky Most for the first time and encountered vendors and gunsmiths that produced enough firepower for the Red Line and perhaps the rest of the Moscow Metro. The only difference between these environments was that the air was relatively better and the guns were of better quality.

He quietly walked among the crowds and pretended he had any interests. Even though he was on a mission, it seemed like many of them were hand-me-downs of debatable quality. Though, what surprised him was the number of bladed weapons put on display. What could make them so dangerous compared to firearms? Curiosity got the better of him as continued his pretend search, realizing that these blades came from the exterminators with some advertisements eager to admit their thievery.

"Chuvak!" There was only one person in existence who could say those words and it was coming from his right. A robotic man approaches him in a trench coat, "Follow me."

Then Artyom stole a glance from his surroundings as a form of caution that there would be no prying eyes observing him and the dead communist. Especially, the Hellborn of I.M.P. He hoped they were busy looking around while he carried on with his duties.

The duo left the market area and entered an area sealed off by wooden fences; however, they were fortunate that one of their fellow members from the safehouse was standing beside an open door. A body was dragged to the side as a cowboy, whose face was entrapped in bandages, noted their presence and Pavel spoke. "Fresh kill, Morris?"

"Yep," He quipped before brandishing a silenced pistol and firing two more rounds into the supposedly dead person, "They shifted guards. I decided to make this easier for all of us. You two get going before they check up on us."

"Ladna, there's an open window with our name on it. Get in there and start digging for information and evidence."

Two Russians entered the compound where the warehouse resided. Each footprint was quiet as they approached the nearest open window ahead and slipped inside unheard. Then the darkness within had taken over their eyes, forcing them to adjust to the shift in lighting but once Artyom had recovered from the transition, a container chassis was parked in the confines of the building. A closer inspection made him recognize the vehicle he had seen earlier, back during the attack.

He didn't think much of it then but that detail in the past allowed him to acknowledge its existence. "I think we found it."

"As much as I want to trust your word, we need to open the back to check it out," It almost felt like old times when he met him for the first time but the pain of his betrayal lingered despite the nostalgia. Still, he couldn't let those feelings get the better of him as he followed his lead and watched Pavel unlock the lever and open the container door, "Open sesame."

"What do you see?"

His compatriot swung the door open and stood still for a minute. Curious, the former Polis Ranger stepped forward for a closer look. Inside was a collection of weapons placed on pallets and racks; however, the center was filled with strange suits of armor that took up space in the back of the container. "They were stealing power armor along with some serious firepower to kill a good chunk of Hellborns."

"Should we call this in and take it with us?" His colleague didn't respond as he stepped inside and looked around, "Pavel?"

"A shipment of this size would have some lists lying around. I'll see if there's a cargo manifest. Go check the office behind us. We might find something there that could help find out why this was stolen. Break a few cabinets if you have to but don't make too much noise."

He understood what was being asked of him as he stepped away from his side and turned around. There was a separate room that was connected by doors and windows but the problem was that the blinds hid away any view inside. Artyom was eager to explore but his gut sensed danger as he looked over his shoulder to find Pavel searching through the container. "I need a weapon, just in case."

"Here, you don't mind if it isn't a Kalash," The dead communist replied as he pulled a weapon off the rack with the pure white markings on the blessed gun, "It's an M4 but I heard from our American counterparts in other safehouses that it's good."

"Appreciate it. I hope Uhlman doesn't mind if I take a bit of inventory with me."

It was a strange weapon to him than the makeshift designs he had encountered in the post-apocalyptic wastelands but it always paid to try new guns out. The weapon was tossed in his direction as he snatched it mid-air and then approached the office. He lowered his barrel as the distance to the room's entrance began to close. His hand reached out for the doorknob and slowly opened a creak inside.

The glass shattered and ears began to ring while Artyom dodged a shotgun blast and immediately raised his carbine. Flicking the safety off, he immediately fired three rounds into the room as the gunshots echoed throughout the building. Soon the Russian kicked the door open and saw the body of a human laying against the wall, bleeding out as a weapon lay at his side. What surprised him was the fact that the hostile wasn't disguised.

His companion called out to him. "Shit, take what you can and get the fuck out of here. We're going to get swarmed if we stay."

Time was now against him as Artyom slung the M4 over his shoulder and began to search through the room for any important documents worth keeping. As he rummaged through cabinets and drawers, Uhlman's voice was on the radio now alerted of the situation. "We heard gunshots within the warehouse. What's going on?"

"We've been caught," Answered Pavel, "Mission's compromised but we're sacking this building for intel. Keep the bastards off our backs before they get in."

"Is the container there?"

There was a moment of hesitation before a reply came. "Ladna. I got a manifest shipment and Artyom's searching through the office."

"Artyom, pass the intel over to Pavel if you find anything," He ordered with no hint of comedy in his tone, "Then get out of there and rendezvous with I.M.P. before they leave. We can't leave any trace of your involvement here."

He did not need to respond to the orders as his concentration was focused on the numerous papers and manila folders that were littered throughout the office. Yet, none of them were related to the container that was parked outside. Frustrated with his lack of substantial reward for his efforts, he grabbed a nearby table and turned it over. What remained in its place was a safe that was kept closed under a lock.

There was no time to waste on trying to find the key but there was an opportunity to be creative as he ran over to the shotgun that almost killed him and picked the weapon off the ground. It wasn't like the ones Artyom had used before but he had heard stories about the cool factor that came with reloading the pump. Then he pumped the reload mechanism as a shotgun shell popped out of the chamber, meaning it was now ready to fire. His attention went over to the safe and aimed it at the lock with great concentration.

A single pull of the trigger made him become witnessed a forceful blast that tore apart the lock from its place. When the steel box was free, he pulled the front open and saw some manilla folders that carried a red mark named 'Classified' on the cover. This had to be it and as much as he wanted to verify the information, time was of the essence.

He slung his newly acquired blessed shotgun and gathered what was inside. Now part of him pondered about Uhlman tackling this intelligence goldmine before looting what stacks of cash were inside. Then he ran out of the office to see Pavel standing near the open window while gunfire erupted outside.

The communist turned his head to Artyom's approach before folders were handed over to him. "Here!"

"I'll be damned," He remarked before slipping out the window with the classified files kept close to his chest, "The others started a shootout with the local guards. It should distract them and keep them busy. Go find Blitzo and we'll meet again at the safehouse at a later date."

"Good luck, comrade."

A brief moment of brotherhood came between them and was defined by a smile before proceeding to the entrance where Morris stood. No words needed to be said as the investigators disguised as a robot and cowboy had begun to run into the alleyways away from the arms market. Meanwhile, Artyom made his way back to his car through it, each step approaching the gunfire that erupted.

Part of him wanted to steal anything that was there but the danger was too great to even consider that. Bullets zipped past him as he ran through the deserted stalls with great haste. Yet, the firefight was not just between the investigators of Purgatory and the local guards but also with I.M.P. taking defensive positions on the outskirts of the market with overturned tables as cover. In a sense, it was a relief to see them as they returned fire from the positions near the cars.

Blitzo took a moment to stand up and wave his hands in his general direction. "Nice guns, now let's get the fuck out before the cops show up!"

There was no time for the imp to repeat that order as the Russian jumped over the crew without hesitation while they ran towards their cars while returning fire. Gunfire echoed from behind but Mrs. Mayberry's car and the van remained untouched as they eagerly took their seats. Once the vehicle in front of him had begun to drive off, he strapped his seatbelt and slammed his foot against the pedal.

Author's Note: Now that I have finished this chapter, I'm going to shift my attention back to Knight of the Apocalypse Redux to add five more chapters there or see if I can actually finish that crossover once and for all.