Wisconsin Hells #2: The Devil You Know

 I can't believe I actually found time to do a part two! In the past week my dog and fiance have both suffered horrible illnesses AND my AC went out during a heat wave. This was edited in a state of ninety-degree delirium while my house was being used as a sick ward. If anything about it sucks too bad blame the petroleum industry.
        On a more specific note: happy with how it turned out. I think my vignette-led approach to writing is slowly giving way to the kind of abrupt promptness you find in the monthly comic books and sitcom/dramedies that inspired this series. I like to think my tendency to chew a bit of scenery gives the whole thing room to breathe, but your mileage will inevitably vary. While we're on the comic book line of thought, ah, I promise I won't ever do a cliffhanger as abrupt as this again. I think it rocks, it's my favorite part of the issue, but future stories will attempt to be more self-contained and fully-featured. But once again, in the sense of old comics: you can pick up any random story and enjoy it while also benefitting from reading the whole run.
        Also, I'm sure this is gonna be obvious to most of my friends (ie 90% of my readers) but Sarah is very much inspired by myself, circa 19-21 years old. Playing the responsible older sister while actually being the least responsible asshole in the room, yeah, that's me. I like to think I've changed. My writing certainly has.

        It was that kind of night again, the first May humidity turning bitter against April’s last breeze. A girl in a holey sweater sat watching an old air conditioner breathe its last while her sister Harry grabbed smokes. Assuming the guy who didn’t card was on tonight. Might be his day off, who can be fucked to remember? She shoved her roach into the grate on top of the unit, letting ashes fall and rise in time with the fan. Oh, what the hell, they were gonna leave this place soon anyhow. Her fingers slipped and the joint dropped to the base of the unit. Some ancient electrical component sparked briefly.

        Inside the gas station, Harry was trying to get this guy Brad on her side. “I’ll give ya some pot. Good shit. The devil’s personal lettuce.” She's gonna be using that line forever.

“Nah, I don’t smoke.” Brad, a real tall bastard, was hunched over with his elbows on the desk. His posture, hair and beard suggested a man who’d at least tried pot before.

She was a little taken aback. “Damn, really? Why the hell not?”

“I doubt you’d understand.” He tried his best to sound mysterious.

“Well now I gotta know.” She leaned in.

“I dunno, man, I- you wouldn’t get it.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to have this conversation with a high schooler.”

“Fuck you, I’m almost nineteen.” She grumbled. “And I dropped out. Not like you could make my life any worse by talking about shit I already use. Might even break a habit if your story is harrowing enough.”

He unfurled to his full height, filling the room like the World Trade Centers might have filled a small shed. “Well, like, I wanna believe in the existence of the soul, right? I want to believe I mean more than just chemicals and nerves, and what are drugs if not the ultimate refutation of my chosen reality?”

“Sure.” She said.

“Letting something into my life that can change who I am with nothing but chemicals would eradicate my entire perspective on God and free will. They scare the shit out of me.”

“Mhm.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d been right about souls until recently. Outside, Sarah'd started a small fire in an upturned ashtray. She squatted in front of it, theatrically rubbing her hands together like it was still a dozen below. Brad looked everywhere but at her.

He sighed. “I just heard we have a surprise piss test coming up. ”

“So should I ask again in July?”

Satan tossed another pan of burnt eggs. He muttered a cacophony of words meant for frequencies mortal men can’t hear, ultraviolet words with ultraviolent definitions.

Abaddon shouldered through the kitchen door. “Fuck’s sake, get over yourself!” It looked at the stovetop. “Turn the heat down. Medium. Maybe low. I don’t care. Just stop wasting fuckin’ eggs, I can hardly afford ‘em.”

“In times past we stole them. Every weekend. From angels.”

“You know we can’t do that here.”

“You of all beings should understand that we could. Chickens and their keepers are hardly a threat next to what we have faced together.”

“How many times am I gonna have to explain cops to you?”

“I reiterate, men with guns are far from the harshest foe the two of us have dispatched.”

“We’re mortal now. And we don’t have any documentation. I’m not going to Guantanamo Bay for eggs.”

“Who needs identification? My name strikes fear into the hearts of all men.”

“Your name is a corny horror movie cliché. If you told anyone who you were they'd think you were huffing paint.”

He stopped to let an idea form. “Unless they were of our ilk. We can identify one another without so much as a word. Our abilities may be stunted individually, but we could organize and mobilize the forces of Hell under the very noses of mortal man. Crush this agnostic land under our feet. Take control! Force them to know us as the devils we are!”

“There's nine billion humans. Even factoring in other religions, and assuming everyone is willing to go to war, we're a fraction of a fraction of a percent.”

“One man has changed history before. It wouldn’t even be the first time that man was me.”

“Can you shut up about the fucking Reagan years?”

“I was actually thinking of Clinton this time.”

“What’s the difference?”

“As Clinton I was able to push NAFTA through, which Reagan-”

“That was rhetorical. Like your commitment to that new job.”

“I will be there.”

“Shift starts in an hour and you still haven’t bought clothes. I lent you twenty bucks, man.”

“I acquired clothes yesterday!”

“They’re in the laundry.”

“Take them out!”

“They're wet.”

“I will go to work. And through my service at the Astral Abattoir I will prove to you that there is still something ethereal left in this realm. That we can reclaim our powers, or claim new ones, and take control of these pitiful creatures. We can create a new Hell on Earth, Abby!”

“They don’t need any help on that front.”

“But is it Hell without me?”

An hour’s walk from the gas station, in a wealthy suburb with hippie-dippy street names (there’s a corner where Whip-Poor-Will intersects with Whippoor-Will!), those two girls had burnt their last cig down to the filter. Sarah said, “man, fuck Brad.”

Harry chucked a rock at a stop sign. “He didn't seem so bad. Just doin’ his job.”

“What if he snitches? You wanna wind up in the joint a day before skippin’ town?” Sarah caught the rock, tossed it again. The sign turned cockeyed. “Shit, hit a screw!”

“Hell yeah. Lemme try-” her rock went wide and smashed up an F-150's rearview mirror. “Fuck yeah!”

Sarah was silent a moment. She looked to the truck, back to Harry. “You can’t keep acting like this. Fuck, this was supposed to be your new leaf. What the fuck is Fido gonna do when we run outta decent small towns?”

“She'll be dead by then.”

“Shut up.”

“It's not like you're trying that hard to get a job.”

“I gave up again, on account of my only references are a NEET and a dumbass.”

“I never asked you to stay with us.”

“Don't gotta remind me I did this to myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah it is.”

“Fuck off.”

“Be honest with me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“‘S fine. Let's just shut up. I know how I wanna skip town. New idea I had, seems fun.”

“Mm?”

“Y’ever steal a boat?”

Fido rolled onto her stomach, half-awake while Seth MacFarlane went through the motions on TV. This is the one where the token Horny Guy gets into sexual scenarios whilst, in a beloved B-plot, the token Horny Guy gets into amusing sexual scenarios. She's made a wreck out of a dainty vintage coffee table procured from some sweet old woman on Facebook. A valley of ashes and burn marks join rose-shaped insets in decorating the surface. Lying atop it, with no plates, are an undercooked grilled cheese and a bag of Andy Capp's. The shitty Fire Fries, cause the gas station was out of Hot Fries. Allegedly. She was pretty sure Harry took the last bag for herself.

Her eyes perked up at a skittering in the tree line. Because of course those idiots picked the apartment closest to the trees in a town known for witches, werewolves and “old Indian spirits” only the white people believed in. She peeled herself from a crumbling leather love seat, stumbled to her feet. Fuck, she slept with her ankle at a weird angle. She limped over to the window and grabbed at a curtain. Pulled it aside gently, careful to remain undetectable behind its soft, comforting mass. The landlord, fuck him, had good taste in curtains.

It was just the neighborhood fox. By some metrics she supposed the fox was its own sort of “old Indian spirit”, or at least a harbinger. They, at least, were still out there. Weak, but present in the land itself. Operating on residual power gathered in the event faith ever ran down to the quick. Why hadn't anyone else thought of that?

The door went THUNK.

The fox ran off.

THUNK.

An owl swooped down, grabbing whatever the fox had been stalking.

THUNKTHUNKTHUNK.

“Fuckin’ shit, I'm coming! Gimme a minute!” She ran to the door, pulling on a shirt, spraying some air freshener haphazardly in the direction of her ashtray and chucking an empty box of Oreos in the trash along the way. All that and they'll still call her a slacker.

She checked the peephole - yep, Sarah and Harry. A heavy nicotine/weed smog wafted in behind them. Fido cracked a window. She checked the clock above it. Just barely three. “Home early tonight. Y'okay?”

“Asshole at the gas station wouldn't put out.” Harry grumbled.

“She couldn't get cigs off him. Found a couple on some rich dude's porch.” Sarah smiled. “My idea.”

“He had cameras! After that lecture you gave me-”

“We went in through the window.”

“Still. What if your dumb ass had forgotten and we walked out the front door?”

“Shut up.”

“Nice to see you too.” Fido groaned. “You go job hunting today, or did you just run around bumming smokes?”

Sarah said, “as if you're busting your ass.”

“Fuck you, I trade crypto.” Fido waved an arm at her laptop. She stumbled back to the couch.

“I know. That's how we lost our house.” Sarah stepped toward her. Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

Fido's eye twitched. “And now it's the only reason we have a house. Get over yourself.”

“Yeah, how ‘bout we talk about the boat thing?” Harry said. “‘s the whole reason we came home so early to begin with.”

“Fido's already mad.” Sarah shook her head. She stewed for a second. “We're gonna steal a boat and go to Wisconsin Dells.”

“What's in Wisconsin Dells that we don't have here?” Fido said.

“Satan.” Harry smiled wide.

Fido pursed her lips. “The Satan? Of Hell? That's bad news.”

“Hm?” Harry asked.

“Right, Sarah never told you-” Fido began.

“You two never tell me shit.” Harry interrupted.

Sarah said, “in this case, for good reason. It's the exact kinda horseshit you overreact to.”

Harry looked to Fido. She continued. “There's a theory goin’ around with the Greeks right now… since the Abrahamics are the last guys left, we're thinkin’ when their big man joins us that's gonna be it. We’ll die for good once these bodies give out.”

Harry said nothing. Sarah knew at a glance her silence was filled with unstated overreaction. She said, “we can mull it over on the boat. Landlord drops by at 7, let's be gone before then.”

“Y'ready for the big day?” Chuck grinned down at Satan. He'd made a stop at a thrift store on the way and now wore a pin-striped polo and a bolo tie. He had it tucked into a pair of khakis, doing his gut no favors. Chuck said, “I like the pinstripes. We should getcha a trilby.”

Bob snuck a peak from the desk. “The trilby is played out. Has weird associations these days. What he needs is something flashy. Exotic. Not in a racist way. Think maybe a fez?”

“Naw. Fezzes're just as played-out, Bobby! I'm tellin’ you, he'd knock classic Americana outta the park!”

“I like this hat.” Satan smiled at an Astral Abattoir-branded bucket hat. The underside was robin's-egg blue with bigfoot and fur-bearing trout silhouettes. On the front, between ASTRAL and ABATTOIR, was another fur-bearing trout. A little patch of fuzzy “fur” was stitched into it.

“Awh, good taste! One'a my prides and joys, there. Twenty bucks.”

“As I said yesterday, I lack money.”

“Naw, no sweat off yer back. I'll garnish your wages fer the day. Easy peasy.”

Satan set the hat down. “Much obliged, but I refuse your offer. I need money as soon as it can reach me. No, one day I will buy this hat for myself, along with a week's groceries and half the rent. I will have earned it.”

“I hate to bear ya some bad news, but, ah, five dollars an hour don’t getcha as far as it used to,” Chuck frowned.

Ah yes, inflation: another concept that had seemed funnier from the safety of Hell. Bob said, “well, it’s not like he’s wasting a fortune on suits.”

Chuck grumbled something under his breath. “I just hope you fellas know I’d be payin’ ya more if I could. Ain’t fair, how this world is run. Curiosity an’ innocence died a long time ago. When I was a kid, boy, I swear the good Lord had a strong wind blowin’ in his sails. These days the Devil’s the one gettin’ blown. Oh, if I ever got to look that filthy red sonuvagun in the eyes I’d clobber ‘im! I’d do worse’n that, even! I'd wring the sucker out ta dry! Jus’ like ol’ Ronnie did ta Gorbachev!”

Satan concealed a smile behind a cough.

Just two hours on the clock had him questioning why he was getting paid even five dollars to do this. Wandering around the museum, making the admission fee hourly. Only two visitors came through, an elderly gentleman and his grandson. The boy was just young enough to feel something genuine looking at taxidermied beast-men. Satan envied that youth, born as he was an angel amidst primordial sludge. He could recall clearly a time wherein man's reach extended no further than a continent, when the stars might as well have been holes in the lid to a great woven basket. Forever has he lived surrounded by unattainable innocence. He smiled, watching the child marvel at a cactus-headed monkey. In no time at all he would be another Eve, a being torn from naivete. Another thing of sex and violence, as all men must be. From Hell it had seemed a better idea.

Two hours passed before any other guests showed: teen girls, a short one in a torn-up red hoodie and a tall one in an orange button-up. “No fucking way.” The girl in red grinned. “Harry, that's the guy.”

Sarah, standing on Harry's shoulders, shouted “nope!” again. They were looking for a boat with its key left in the ignition. Sarah'd said it was “surprisingly common”. A goddamn hour ago.

“So we callin’ it a bust yet?” Fido asked as she helped Sarah down.

“Hell no. Got a whole street of boats to choose from.” She gestured down the road.

“And you're sure the fucking four-wheeler can carry a boat?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. I did this last week. I mean, it's one thing if we're takin’ it down the highway. But the boat landing is at the end of the lane. Little stroll won't hurt her.” Sarah grunted, climbing into another boat. “We got one! But I think we could find one closer to the water.”

“Got your mom closer to the water.” Harry sneered.

“We’re sisters.”

“We’re Greek.”

“Just take this one!” Fido barked. “I can see the fucking boat landing from here.”

“Yeah, and it’s all downhill.” Harry agreed.

“Sure.”

“Fucking finally.” Fido muttered. She ambled her way back to the four-wheeler, a rusty old thing with a trailer hitch inexpertly welded to the rear. Not exactly an impressive piece of work, but for a time it was her and Sarah's baby. It kept them close when Sarah wanted nothing to do with her. And then they finished it. And now they were abandoning it.

She backed it up, Sarah guiding the hitch into place by hand. The whole time her body was too close to the back of the vehicle, wedged awkwardly between it and the boat. Her hoodie tore against some rust on the ball joint, just a little.

Harry boosted her into the boat and she got to work checking out their new digs. Compartments along the sides came stocked with fishing equipment, swim goggles, towels and, score, warm beer! They loaded up all their wordly possessions, two small totes and a couple cans of gas. The four-wheeler sputtered to life, pulling their glitter-spangled trophy kill down the road at about a mile an hour.

The tensions that arise from forced contact with your siblings in the midst of committing a crime dissipated the moment they got the thing on the water. The engine came to life without protest and just like that they were gone. Darkness on the water was as total as they dared imagine; even a hundred feet from the shore was a whole parallel world. The shoreline shone like a rim of stars. Some stood strong and still, others slid along distant highways. Red bulbs atop legions of turbines flickered like the last embers of a forest on fire. All this light pollution left the sky as smudgy gray infinity, a vast dirty mirror. Something big jumped in their wake. Like the stars above, the ripples of the splash disappeared in man-made turbulence.

Sarah knew what she was doing. At least she knew more of what was going on than usual. She wasn't at all wrong about boats - to the surprise of the others, they're easier to drive than cars. Just a girl, a throttle and a wheel. Easy as it gets. She even knew where she was going. South on Winnebago til she reached the Fox, and the river will take us most of the remaining distance. Some land they'd have to walk between the Fox and Dells. She hoped the girls wouldn’t get too mad about that.

The girls got too mad about that. A couple days of fighting ensued, then an evening of silence. Finally, acceptance as they reached this most momentous of cities; truly nothing compared. A coiling nest of false idols, a resort on flat land purporting itself to be Mount Olympus, signposted their arrival. They sat together at the peak of a less than mighty hill, laughing at the terror roller coasters inflicted on these people. Cans of beer lay empty around them.

“Fucking idiots.” Harry snorted. “That one is crying!”
“Does he know he didn't have to do this? They're totally voluntary!” Sarah giggled.

“Not always. You gotta go on one to be President.” Fido said.

“Bullshit!” Harry said.

“No, I’m serious! Cause the president runs the military. So he’s gotta know how the fighter pilots feel takin’ all those G’s. I saw a video where a coupla presidents explained it. Go look up ‘Trump Finds Clinton's G-Spot’.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

The girls caught a fat whiff of chlorine as the wind shifted. Fido grinned, another fun fact entering her mind. “Water only smells like that when you piss in it, ya know.”

“That one is actually true.” Sarah laughed. “Really puts the piss in Mount Olympus.”

“Hey-o!” Fido laughed.

Harry said, “if you say so.”

The narrator worried in silence about the legal ramifications of that joke.

They still had a little buzz on when they reached a building Fido’d charmingly identified as Uncle Chuck’s Fuck and Suck. The little building, a wood splinter caught in the flesh of an unassuming block, caught their eyes for one simple reason: a three-headed dog gargoyle. “That’s us!” Sarah pointed and leapt.

She entered first, followed shortly by Harry. Fido sat on the stoop, smoking. Some cacophony of noises emanating from Sarah’s mouth, and the unenthused response of an old man, drew her in.

“I am not Satan!” Satan shouted. “I’m Steve.”

A man in a wrinkled suit-jacket emerged from behind his desk. “Girls, what on God’s green Earth makes you think this wretch is Satan? Would Satan ever deface himself with a beer gut? I mean, come on, the Devil wears Prada, not whatever the hell that is.”

“Compelling.” Sarah said.

“How much to tour this dump?” Fido asked.

Bob said, “five big ones.”

“Per person.” Satan added.

“Yeah, we've, uh, got that.” Sarah sat counting change for a minute.

Satan said, “tour's self-guided, unless you want me around.” They all shook their heads. “I will be around if you have questions.”

“Gotcha. Just don’t follow us, Steve.” Harry said, and they were off. Passing through an unassuming door to the left of the register they felt the air shift. Imperceptably… not hotter or colder, really. Definitely it was temperature that had changed, their bodies were reacting to it as a temperature. It was almost like the temperature had shifted on a third axis.

Sarah said, “hey, hold on. This one room is like, way wider than the building, right?”

“Look down the doorway at the end.” Fido pointed. “You tilt your head at the right angle you can see a fuckin’ mile.”

Harry said, “this is grand design 101.”

“Humans are barely up to basic-ass design 103.” Sarah replied.

Harry was examining a taxidermy case. “You're really not kidding. Look at these things!”

“How are you gonna diss my main man Spider-Sisyphus?” Fido giggled. “Holy fuck, that's- that's actually what he's called! This place is fucking great.”

“Nah, you ain't seen nothin’ yet.” Sarah gestured at a wall of blurry Bigfoot photos. “Behold, the cave paintings of the modern troglodyte!”

Harry wandered into the next room and shouted “no fucking way!” The girls came running. “You thought the photos of Bigfoot were bad? Look at this shit.” And shit it was. Visible stitching, mismatched fur, the barely-altered head of a gorilla above a 34D chest. If there were a word for the opposite of a magnum opus, and if any given head of Cerberus knew that word, it would have been uttered by now.

A rusty, long-dormant understanding of Latin pinged in Harry's brain. She could, perhaps, call this thing the creator's Parvum Opus. It isn't quite accurate, she wasn't sure anyone had ever used that phrase before, but it would do the trick if she had the motivation. Instead she said, “how much cum d'ya think is stuck in its fur?”

“Why else would it be so white over here?” Fido chuckled.

Sarah's focus shifted to a photo behind the beast: a blurry image of a big-chested Bigfoot walking in the woods. “Fuckin’ look at that. Shit, he took this thing out with him. You think he called it his girlfriend? And like, made his buddies call it that?”

Satan appeared at the room’s precipice. Apparently the bastard was quiet as hell. “For your information, my employer is a devout Christian. He would never enter a physical relationship with a Sasquatch, a once very real Sasquatch, without first loving it.”

“You're working for a devout Christian?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“As above, so below.” Satan shrugged. “Speaking legally, God was my employer in Hell. Fear drove book sales.”

“And look how that turned out. Welcome to the real world, jackass.” Sarah offered a hand. Satan’s eyes refused to meet it. He shuffled back a half-step.

“I don't believe we've been properly introduced.” He looked Sarah dead in her eyes. She was taken aback by how unintimidating he was.

“Sarah Cerberus.” She offered a hand again. “And my sisters, Harry and Fido.”

“Oh, Cerberus! We never had a Cerberus in my underworld. You made me ever so jealous of Hades, during our brief window of co-existence." Satan smiled. “Tell me, how are the Furies these days?”

“Not a clue.” Sarah looked to Fido. “I think she met one.”

“Used to play Warframe with one of ‘em.” Fido shrugged. “She was a bitch.”

“Which of your peers do you keep in touch with?” Satan asked.

“None.” Sarah said. “We've been here for hundreds of years, man. We're all doing our own things.”

Satan pleaded, “surely you want more. A taste, a modicum, of what we had in the days of true and universal faith.”

“We were a fucking dog.” Fido groaned.

“Maybe you were fucking a dog. Fuckin’ degenerate.” Harry said.

“It's a lot easier for people like you to get nostalgic.” Sarah told him. “This might be a little shitty, yeah, but it's the closest thing to freedom we ever got.”

Satan shook his head. “More is possible. If we band together, if we fight as one, should even half of us work for a better world, we could- I could be the Devil once more. And you wouldn't have to be dogs, either. Freedom in this plane is possible. Surely there is, after all, a reason you three followed me here?”

Harry said, “we just needed a change of scenery, an’ talking to you put the idea in Sarah’s head. Also, you seemed fun to fuck with.”

She and Fido turned their attention back to the Abattoir. As Sarah turned to join them she said, “sorry, man.”

From somewhere behind her, Harry shouted, “check out this fur-bearing trout!”

Fido said, “I checked out your mom's fur-bearing trout.”

The parking lot asphalt might as well have been brimstone. Yi told Satan he was early picking Abby up, just to drive it in deeper; thirty more minutes in this heat. He ordered a plate of orange chicken on Mexican rice.

“This is better than I had anticipated.” He said with his mouth full.

“Everyone says that.” 

“Where did you get the inspiration to cook as you do?”

“I’m Chinese and I grew up around Mexicans. My parents didn’t like ‘em much, but when you’re a kid all you see is more poor kids who eat rice.”

“I see. On the whole, though, your people and theirs didn’t get along?”

“Understatement of the century right there. You have no idea. Not just ‘cause you're white. It's not as crazy in Wisconsin. There’s less of us. We stick together a little better. Still a lot of division, but I'm just Asian here. Doesn’t matter what part of Asia.”

“That sounds agreeable. As it happens I have been struggling with fault lines in my own… ah, community. It feels like our group has lost its purpose.”

“You don’t need a purpose, man. That’s not what you focus on. First step is convincing people that there needs to be a community in the first place. I actually just had this conversation with a guy who lives over in Oshkosh.”

“By… Menasha? I was out in that direction myself not long ago.”

“Yeah. There was this building over that way that I guess was important to the Hmong community. Government bought the land, their plans for it fell through, they were about to sell the land to Mickey Dee’s. Instead what happened is some crazy number of dudes came together and outbid the golden arches.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

 “Yeah, I can’t imagine how much money went into it. I gotta think something below-board was going on he didn’t tell me about. But results are results. Now about thirty of ‘em hang out every week in that building.”

“It sounds as if they started with a specific purpose in mind.”

“Dude, you’ve got it backwards. They got together to do one thing, I guess, but it was specific. It wasn't like, “making the world better” or something. They went through tough times and realized they're better off sticking together. That’s not purpose, it’s a bond. If your group can’t find that, maybe they’re right to pack it up.”

“I must admit that after today I feel more satisfied with affairs. Cerberus harangued me at work. I had some fun with that. Additionally, the man at the food truck offered surprisingly solid advice whilst I waited for you.’

“Glad to hear it. It's hard to be satisfied here. I try to look for the humor in mundanity. Today Todd stabbed himself showing off to a customer.”

“That reminds me, actually - I have been struggling with a degree of uncomfortable sympathy toward mortal men. In a spell of boredom, I found myself envying a child's innocence.”

“Empathy is a big part of the transition, yeah. It's your head preparing you for the whole rebirth cycle. Letting you know that'll be you some day. So like, it technically comes from a selfish place. Doesn't make you any less of a devil in my eyes.”

“I sure do appreciate it.” He sighed, fidgeting with his food and eyeing up Abaddon’s spare car keys.

Cerberus sat around the veranda of some hotel-cum-waterpark with lax security. Fido was close enough to the splash zone of a monolithic tube slide; she shook off the water every time someone landed. There was a reason she of all people inherited the dog name.

“Rent's a little more here.” Sarah turned to Harry. “What's the scheme?”

It had to be Harry, not just because she was the youngest and scrawniest. No, she'd volunteered: Sarah and Fido both had fake IDs, Sarah for the lease and Fido for day trading. Harry was a ghost, a complete nonentity in the eyes of the government. Also, she just liked doing this shit. “I'm thinkin’ gas station?” She grinned wide, bearing more teeth than a human should have.

Harry stood, silhouette anonymized beneath layers of clothes and carefully-packed fabric, looking down the road to that gas station with the big concrete Hodag out front. She picked up a piece of loose curb. Tossed it between her hands a few times. Ambled over to the back door.

A sticker above the knob said YOU WON'T LAST FIVE MINUTES above AI-generated porn. The knob didn't last five hits. Virtually nothing was standing between this ragged conqueror and the ultimate conquest of the modern age. With a precision she never displayed elsewhere in life she popped the safe and the registers, each going down in under a minute. The safe was some easily-picked bootleg shit and the manager’s register numbers were written down inside.

  The ATM was a little trickier, or at least less glamorous. She retrieved that chunk of sidewalk from the door and slammed it against the lock. THUNK. Nothin. THUNK. Little wiggle. THUNKTHUNKTHUNK. Shit, that’ll do it! Hey, whatever works. She tossed the cash in an inauspicious Amazon box. Threw some booze and cigarettes on top. Ran to the back room, tore open the computer the cameras were hooked up to. Smashed its hard drive to bits with the curb and tripped the breaker for good measure. She lifted a couple extraneous computer parts, wrapping them each in plastic ‘cause it was raining. Put them between the cash and the booze and made for the door.

It only took her fifteen minutes to pay the first month's deposit. Time to get outta here.

  A man stood in the doorway. Tall, lanky with a beer gut. She could make out pale skin and a broad forehead. “Satan?”

“The police are on their way.”

“Fuck yourself.”

“I cannot take what you and your sisters said lying down. We are still worthy of divinity.  If nobody will join me, I alone shall reclaim my mandate. You all shall fear me again.”

“You're so fucking stupid.”

“Far from it. Hours of my life went into this. I accounted for every detail.”

“You spent hours of your life stalking a teenage girl?”

“We both know what you truly are. No reason to hide it here.”

She saw flashes of blue behind him and bolted.