Helluva Time 11 (Patreon)

Where: Office of Immediate Murder Professionals, Imp City, Pride Ring, Hell

When: 206 days to next Purge

Who: Blitzø, Owner and Manager of Immediate Murder Professionals

The team and I were shootin’ the breeze, almost literally in my case, as we had no jobs lined up for the next bit, and we still had a pretty nice nest egg from the level of carnage we’d scored as part of the bet with that cock-addicted whore of my ex. Millie and Loonie were both at the table with me, Moxxie was acting as target manager, Jacques was outside the office chattin’ up Stolas’s daughter (still weirded me out that they were apparently goin’ strong, honestly kinda expected Jacques’s crossed wires upstairs to have caused any attempt at a relationship to crash and burn).

Mox flipped the channel, and there was some ad that seemed to be a Candyland ripoff of my own ad for I.M.P. Right then, shooting that!

“Nice one, B,” Millie complimented, as she should (that was a damn fine shot, if I do say so myself).

“Gimme another, Mox,” I told the beta member of the couple as I fished out my powder bag to reload my favorite pistol. Moxxie knocked away the TV I’d shot and put another up in its place, turning it on to show some silly cartoon of a big tittied demoness doing a stupid dance. “Nah, not feelin’ it, NEXT!”

Moxxie switched the channel, showing that limp-dicked bastard Wally from Loo Loo Land trying his luck at some scam. If you’re going to con people, then don’t tell them that you’ll make all the money!

“Bingo!” Fire away! Two shots, two destroyed targets.

“You’re on a roll, Sir!” Millie shouted, clearly stating the obvious, unvarnished truth.

Jacques walked in at that point, blinking in his odd way before turning to face the rest of us. He opened his mouth to speak, probably some boring shit about shooting TVs not being an effective use of company funds, when the whole building started to shake.

“Guys, you feel that?” Loonie asked as her cup fell over from the shaking.

“Oh shit, is that a Hellshake?” I asked, mostly to mess with Jacques and the lovebirds.

“That’s possible?” Moxxie asked, making me a little disappointed he didn’t buy the bluff.

“Alright, don’t panic, Moxxie!” Millie practically yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“I’m not ‘panicking’ because hellquakes don’t happen.”

“STOP GETTING HYSTERICAL FATTY!” Loonie shouted before slapping the limp-dicked little troll so hard he flew into the wall.

Moxxie was damn near spread-eagled against the window right as a big black ball smashed into it, leaving a big fat hole in my wall and Moxxie buried under the remnants of it. The ball turned into a buncha tentacles before an old fart appeared on top of the rubble.

“Do not be afraid,” the old geezer sorta said/sorta wheezed.

“Please tell me ya got that… ‘insurance’ thing?” I put out there, moments before Millie did her thing.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked, ax at the ready.

“I am Loopty Goopty, dastardly inventor of all things loopy and loopish!” Old Man introduced himself, doing some sorta weird loopty-loop roller coaster thing to move further into the office.

“Coulda just used the door dude. Doesn’t need to be this whole thing,” Loonie said, switching back to her phone now that it was obvious the excitement was over.

“I am eccentric, and must therefore do eccentric shiiit!”

“Please,” Jacques spoke up, his voice in that polite tone of his that promised imminent violence and a pained grimace on his face. “Speak in a lower register.”

I, in the meantime, decided to test a hypothesis I had. Taking a whiff of the old fart confirmed it, “This old fuck reeks of the living world, did you just die?”

“Yeeeesss! Moments ago in fact, which is what brought me heeer-urk!” the old geezer was cut off as Jacques appeared in front of him, one hand covering an ear with the other grabbing the old fuck by the throat.

“I asked that you modulate your voice. I will not ask a third time,” Jacques growled, his shadow lengthening in a way that I did not want to happen in the office.

“Calm down Jacques, why don’t you go help Moxxie, while I deal with this, m’kay?” I suggested, stepping between the potential client and my team’s powerhouse. Things were tense for a moment, before Jacques let go of Potential Client’s throat and moved over to where Moxxie was.

I turned back to Potential Client who merely rubbed at his neck before pulling out a picture of a fat old tub of lard while saying (at a noticeably lower volume), “This is the man I’m going to need you to kill.”

“Not even a shit’s length of time in Hell and already plotting revenge,” I mused while taking the picture. “I can respect a man with that kind of passion. I’m Blitzø, the ‘o’ is silent.”

We shook hands before he adopted a confused look, “What ‘o’?”

“Aw, thanks. Now what’s the t-sis?”

“The ‘t’?”

“Yeah, why are we killing this guy? I mean what did he do to you?”

Client took on a dramatic pose, expositing about him and his business partner inventing a machine to reverse the aging process. It going wrong, him dying from rapid aging, partner surviving. Just the only thing that seemed off about it…

“That’s not really evil,” I pointed out.

“It’s evil towards me. Now get your crimson asses up above and send that heartless, no good son of a bitch to Hell, where he belongs!” Client demanded.

Being the charitable imp I am, I felt the need to point something out, “Y-you do know Poopty…”

“Loopty,” oh shit, that’s the kinda growl that Jacques has before the violence comes out.

“Of course, of course. If we do kill him though… and he ends up down here, you will be stuck with him. For-ever.”

“Oh trust me,” he purred, moments before a series of mechanical arms popped out of his back, each one with a different weapon on it. “I’m counting on it.”

“That’s kinda hot,” Moxxie groaned from where Jacques had helped him out from under the rubble.

[hr][/hr]

Where: Mansion of Lyle Lipton, 50 miles outside Miami, Florida, Earth

Who: Lyle Lipton

There was no point in going on. The machine didn’t work, not the way it was supposed to. It seems that age only flows one way. Try to make something older, and it worked all too well. Try to make something younger, and nothing happens.

Besides, my best friend was gone: Loopty was dead and there was no bringing him back. I don’t know if there’s an afterlife, but if my old Sunday school teacher was even partially right, there’s no doubt of where he ended up. Only one way to find out.

I’d tied my IV line into a noose, and was dropping it around my head when there was a flash of light and the line vanished. When the spots cleared from my eyes, in the room with me were…

“Oh Lord, I’m being haunted by ugly orphan children now!”

“We’re not orphans Mr. Lyle,” the yellow one on the right said, its voice full of the kind of fake sweetness I dealt with from dozens of women who thought that by putting on make up and loosening their shirts I’d do more than enjoy a night of sex with them.

The one in the middle continued, “We’re…”

Well, it started to continue from the yellow one, but its words trailed off as a black shadow stretched across the walls of my bedroom, before dozens of eyes of every size opened up throughout the black mass. The three orphan children screamed and hugged each other as a dark, ominous voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

“Cherubim. I want to play a game,” the voice called out, like the voice of the damned.

“I’VE SEEN THIS MOVIE, I AM NOT CUTTING OFF MY WINGS TO ESCAPE SOME INSANE TRAP!!!” the baby-faced one screamed at the top of its lungs, looking like it was about to cry.

“…what?”

“Dammit Jacques, let us in!” a voice called from outside.

“Sorry, Boss.”

“AND CUT WITH THE DRAMATIC ATMOSPHERE!”

The eyes coving the walls, ceiling, and floor closed as the shadows pulled back, coalescing into a figure that looked like an emaciated werewolf with horns inspired by tree branches. From the door leading outside, three short, horned, red skinned figures entered.

“Cherubs, I would like to play a game,” the horned werewolf said, standing in front of the three stinking orphan children.

The three ugly orphans ignored the werewolf, flying around him before the purple one spoke up, “We’re here to convince you not to kill yourself sir. To give you a blessing on behalf of those in Heaven benefited by your amazing technological advances.”

“Lyle Lipton,” the red one with crooked horns began, “it is our humble opinion that you should continue the process to commit die.”

“I mean what do you expect to do with all this money now that you’re so old, and gross?” the female red one asked.

“I would like to play a game,” the werewolf reiterated, moving to stand in front of the purple one.

“Dammit, Jacques. Focus, we have a job to do here!” the red one with long curled horns snapped before the yellow one answered the earlier red one’s question.

“He can spread his wealth to the people of the world, and do so much good with it, and be so fulfilled!”

Giving away my money, the money I’d worked my ass off with Loopty to earn, to random people I don’t know or like? Blegh, “No.”

“He can pay for new schools and hospitals,” the purple one ‘suggested’, for fuck’s sake I said I hated children earlier, why would I pay for schools?

“Why won’t you let me die?” I asked in pure misery. My joints hurt, I can’t control my bladder or my bowels, I can’t even get out of bed. Even Hell would be preferable to this miserable existence.

“Game?” the werewolf asked, like a broken record. Despite his terrifying introduction, I was starting to wonder if the werewolf was a retard.

By this point everyone was ignoring the werewolf, and the curled horned one leaned against my hospital bed before speaking up, “Sounds like you need help offing yourself, bud. Moxxie, whadda we got for this fella?”

The crooked horned one reached into his jacket and started pulling out weapons and listed them off as he pulled them out, “I have some assault weapons, crossbow, hunting bow, tommy gun, old-fashioned shotgun, revolvers in three colors, chainsaws, katanas…”

The purple one spoke up, but I wasn’t paying attention. I’d taken the AK rifle and put the barrel in my mouth. Aim for the brain for a quick death, I wanted my death to be over in an instant, not drawn out. So as close to an execution shot as I could manage on my own. But before I could pull the trigger the purple one pulled it out of my hands, “There’s still plenty of reasons to live, Mr. Lyle.”

“Yeah right, smells like he aint been outta bed in months,” the female red one said before taking a whiff.

“The accident was earlier today,” the werewolf said with a confused tilt to his head as the red female threw up from the smell of me in this hospital bed. Still the werewolf proved he had a one track mind by turning to the baby-faced one and asking, “Game?”

The baby-faced on ignored the werewolf, though its eyebrow was twitching in annoyance as it spoke, “Life can be beautiful at any age.”

“And we’ll show him!” the yellow one said in false excitement, before all three of the ugly ones cheered.

“NO!” the two male red ones shouted, moments before my mansion vanished, and we were somewhere else.