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Description
Four years ago, Alexis Rook made a very bad decision. She hadn't made many better ones since.

She leaned on the edge of her hotel room's balcony, swirling a can of beer with one last putrid swig left in it. The underworld city of Nothing stretched out before her, a glorified garbage dump of neon and bad news. She sniffed her beer, a close relative of piss and vomit, tossed it to the city where it belonged.

Four years ago, Alex was thirteen. She and Jamie, her eleven year old brother, were lost, starving, desperate in a wasteland with no way to get home to their own city. It was then they met Death, a god with a promise: that if they won his game, he would give them the means to return home. Where they belonged.

Her gaze lingered on Nothing for a moment, unfocused eyes blurring it into an unrecognizable mess as her stomach rumbled in protest of the beer she put in it. She didn't belong here. People dragged themselves around under the crushing weight of iron chains; they spent all their time gambling, drinking, other acts Alex had no interest in learning about. She sighed and put a hand through messily cut, short black hair, turned around to slump down to the balcony floor.

They didn't win Death's game. No one won Death's game. Everything fucked up and everyone went home. Everyone but Alex and Jamie, two little punks with too many hopes. Death's promise was left unfulfilled, and the biggest punk was left alone. Her brother. . .

She pulled the clumsily sewn on blue hood of her black jacket over her head. She didn't belong in Nothing, but without Jamie, she didn't belong at home either. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad, your son got killed and it's my fault. That'd go over great. She reached for another can, Beerzebub, it was called, when someone knocked on her door. She put a hand on the baseball bat leaning on the wall next to her, but let go when a feeble voice called,

"Alex?" It was Bernard, a pipsqueak demon who let Alex squat in the hotel's vacant rooms. He rapped on the door again. "We need to talk, I'm afraid it's important!"

The teen moved her beer between her hands, grimacing at its warmth. She didn't feel like talking with the runt. "Whatever," she replied, and grabbed her bat to help herself off the floor.

Bernard opened the door, and Alex tossed her beer up into the air. With one fluid motion she struck the full can with her bat, rocketing it across the room with a hissing trail of foam. Bernard shrieked as the can slammed against the door, closing it in the demon's face. Warm beer exploded across the walls before the can clinked harmlessly to the ground.

Alex smirked and held her bat to her shoulder. She walked across the room, put her hand on the doorknob. "Remember my one rule?"

Bernard whimpered unintelligibly from outside.

Alex rolled her eyes. "I open the door," she said, and put her words into action. Bernard was cowering on the other side of the hall in his red bellhop suit. His crimson eyes were wide and bulging, his black pointed tail wrapped tightly around his waist. Alex sighed and turned her back to him.

"S-Sorry," he eked out through his whimpering. He sniffed and stepped carefully into the room on bare cloven hooves, pulling nervously at his tail. "B-But what I have to say is rather im-important. . ."

"Spit it out," Alex said, taking a seat on the foot of her bed. The room was simple: a cube with soiled brown carpet, holey walls of tarnished red paint, a TV with rabbit ears perched on a drawerless dresser, and the ever-present scent of spent cigarettes clouding the air. The teen slanted her lips and drummed on the pack of smokes in her pocket thoughtfully, decided to wait for Bernie's news before lighting up.

"Well," the demon started, "Bogs says we're gonna be getting a, uh. . ." He gulped. "A shit-ton of business soon, so I think, well, you know. . ."

Alex had pulled out a cigarette and lighter at the mention of Bogs, the fat sack of trash in a suit that owned the hotel. She lit it and imagined the massive demon munching on a cigar, drenching entire rooms with its stink. She took a drag, breathed it out with her gaze set on the fiery horizon beyond the balcony. "You want me gone," she finished for the lesser demon.

Bernard jumped and shook his head. "No, no, no, I don't want you out, but chances are the rooms are gonna be full and, well, you know-"

"Yes," Alex spat, "I know, okay?" She glared at Bernie, nearly crushed her cigarette in her fingers before she calmed herself forcefully with a slow breath. "Goddamn," she muttered, and took another hit. This was why she didn't want to talk to the runt.

They remained in silence for a moment, Alex smoking, Bernard fidgeting around on his hooves. When the teen flicked her spent smoke away she stood up and waved a dismissive hand at the demon. "I'll be out tonight," she said, standing up. "Don't worry your ass over it."

Bernard nodded, still pawing his tail. "Sorry," he said. "I-I'll let you know when things get less, uh, crowded, okay?"

Alex nodded. She had been living in various rooms of the hotel for the better part of her four years in Nothing. All of them had been similar, the only difference being how filthy the last asshole occupant had left it. No matter what, a room there was always better than finding a place to sleep in a rotten nook of Nothing's abundance of alleyways. The teen learned that the hard way.

". . . at, uh, my place." Bernard had apparently still been talking. "It'd be better than, you know, sleeping in the streets, or whatever."

"I'll be fine," she said, cringing at the thought of the demon's offer. "Just, go, all right? I've got shit to do."

"Okay, okay," the demon said with his hands held up in surrender. He took a few steps toward the door, stopped when a lightbulb went off in his head. "I'd be sleeping on the floor, you know. Not like we'd be doing. . ."

Alex turned to the demon and glared. "Go," she repeated, tightening the grip on her bat. It wasn't like Bernie to be persistent. She didn't like it.

He stood still in front of the doorway for a moment. Alex could feel gears turning in the demon's mind. She raised her bat up slowly and spread her feet apart, ready to strike in an instant.

"You know," he started, his voice icily steady, "it ain't exactly easy keepin' a mortal down here." He gave a phlegmy chuckle as smoke began to rise from his clothing. The red bellhop suit disintegrated in flames, and was replaced by a black suit several times larger than Bernie. Corpulent flesh filled the new clothes, jiggling like water in a balloon as greater horns grew from the demon's head with sickening cracks of bone. More guttural chuckles were joined with the rancid stench of a newly lit cigar wafting its way through the room.

Alex gulped. Her bat felt like a feather in her hands. She had only learned one thing about demons during her stay in Nothing: they were bad news, the worst news, and Bogs was the headliner. He had been playing her all along. "Why-" she started, but stopped when she took in a mouthful of the smoke swimming through the room. She coughed and backed up closer to the balcony with an arm held over her mouth.

"Why what?" the demon asked. He lumbered himself around to face Alex, greeted her with a yellow-toothed smile. His cigar smoldered angrily from the side of his mouth. "Why pretend I was a snivelin' little shit? Why bother lettin' you stay here?" Smoke billowed from his salivating maw with every word.

Alex glanced around the room. She'd have to get Bogs out of the way of the door to escape; the balcony would be a last resort. Her knapsack was zipped up and sitting beside her bed, ready to go. Most of her belongings were in it, with only a few of her toiletries left in the bathroom, not that she'd be missing her grody, half-used tube of Hellgate toothpaste. Shockingly, the Underworld wasn't known for its quality healthcare products.

She coughed into her arm once and looked back to the fat demon. "No," she said as loudly as she could. "I meant why are you so goddamn fat, you rotten pile of shit?"

Bogs' smile deteriorated into a caustic scowl. "Enjoy your words for now, maggot," he seethed, "'cause soon all I'm gonna be hearin' are your screams."

He lurched toward Alex, slowly at first, but after his first step he moved like a train. The teen leapt to the side, avoided his greedy, grubby hands and scooped up her knapsack. She heard the demon crash into something and looked back to see he had broken through the balcony's wall, straight down into the glowing abyss of Nothing.

She slung her knapsack over her shoulder and smirked. "Dumbass," she muttered, and began walking toward the door when she heard something from outside. A rhythmic wooshing that got louder with every repetition.

"Word of advice, kid," the voice of Bogs rumbled over the noise. Alex turned around to see a plume of smoke rising from below the balcony. One huge woosh later the demon reappeared, a pair of fiery black wings now protruding from his back. His body hung off of them like a trash bag ready to burst. Alex held her breath.

"Run."

She darted into the hallway as the demon burst back into the building. The floor rumbled beneath her from the force of Bogs' flight, which tore the room asunder and annihilated the doorway when he slammed through it. She didn't bother glancing behind her as she pushed through the doorway to the staircase and began running down them, taking two or three steps at a time.

The hotel had thirteen floors and Bernie, or Bogs, whatever, had placed her on the eleventh a few days ago. He had insisted all the other floors would be too dangerous for her to stay on then. What a load of shit.

When she reached the peak of the seventh floor she paused to catch her breath. Her feet ached from slapping against the concrete stairs in her worn down sneakers. She hadn't heard any sign of Bogs since she started her descent, which worried her. That fat fuck wouldn't give up the chase so easily.

With a deep breath she picked up her pace again, but barely made it down half a flight when the stairs shook beneath her. She held onto the railing to steady herself. From behind the walls she heard violent crashing that grew louder by the second. When she realized the crashing was headed toward her, it was too late to take a step.

The wall exploded beside her as Bogs rammed through it. She felt his slimy hands grab her by her torso, wrapping her up in a suffocating bear hug. She flailed around wildly, smacking any part of him she could reach with her bat, but his grip remained firm.

It was an odorous eternity before Bogs held her away from his hellish girth, allowing her to breathe. She took in big breaths that were interrupted by violent coughs that racked her lungs. The demon's cigar was still producing its plague. Her vision was blurred by tears, and after blinking them away she saw they were floating in the air in front of the hotel. One chunky hand was enough to hold her up. The greasy touch of his fingers made her want to puke.

"I was told to keep you here," Bogs said over the occasional woosh of his wings. They were on a slow descent toward the ground. "Hell, I was paid to keep you here, but you know what, you little shit?"

Alex narrowed her eyes at him, built up some saliva in her mouth before hocking it at his face. She didn't know what he was talking about, but whoever wanted to keep her safe by leaving her in Bogs' hotel wasn't the smartest person.

He wiped the spit off of his face with his free hand and scowled. He struck Alex across the face savagely. "You're not worth it," he growled.

Anger flared in Alex's gut and she immediately struck back with her bat, but Bogs caught it in his pudgy hand. He plucked it from her grip with ease, examined it with amused interest.

"A Detroit Driver," he remarked, reading the red letters printed along the bat's metal surface. "Cute," he added, and dropped it from his hand.

They were close enough to the ground for Alex to hear it clatter against the concrete. The street in front of the hotel was empty, save for a few sloven, chain-covered drunks passed out in front of the bar across the way.

"Now I'm gonna give you a choice, runt," he said. "Either you come with me to live in more. . ." He paused for a second, licked at his lips with his grayish tongue. ". . . personal accommodations, or I drop you like your little toy."

Alex glanced down. It was a good fifteen foot drop; something she could possibly survive, which she figured Bogs knew. It was either she went with him like this, or with a few broken bones. She tightened her lips and answered with silence.

Bogs grinned. "That's what I like to hear," he said, and stopped flapping his wings. They dropped like lead, slammed into the sidewalk with enough force to crack it. He let go of Alex, who landed roughly on her feet and ended up stumbling onto her rear.

This was just another bad decision in the making. She pulled her hood back over her head and brought her knees up to her chest. She heard Bogs' deep chuckle, his tongue sliding over his lips again, both of which stopped at the sound of something clip-clopping from down the street. It reminded Alex of Bernie's cloven feet.

She turned her head to see a carriage drawn by a pair of black horses. Chunks of their flesh were missing, revealing white bones and decayed, sinewy muscles inside. She heard Bogs gulp audibly beside her as the transport came to a stop in front of them. Its door opened seemingly by itself, revealing a lush, red velvet interior with a single man seated inside.

He was a thin, somewhat frail man clad in an immaculately groomed black suit. Dark hair was kept slicked back with a prominent widow's peak and a tight braid long enough to coil up next to him on his seat. Unsettlingly icy blue eyes glanced at Alex, making her clutch her jacket closer to her, before they moved up to Bogs.

The fat demon had begun sweating, and, much to Alex's disgusted surprise, shrinking. His cigar turned to blackened ash that sprinkled away into obscurity along with his horns, which burned away steadily until they were impotent nubs. Soon enough the miniscule form of Bernie stood cowering in front of Alex and the stranger, clutching the massive folds of Bogs' suit close to him.

"Well then," the man in the carriage said. He stepped out gracefully and stooped to pick up something off the ground. "I believe," he said, tapping Alex on the shoulder, "this is yours."

She looked to him and saw her bat held out to her handle first. She hesitated before accepting it back with a shaky hand.

He nodded. "We have much to discuss, Alexis," he continued, "but I believe you owe this. . . cretin a well-deserved goodbye, wouldn't you agree?"

The teen blinked, felt the weight of the bat in her hand. Bogs, now Bernie, let out a high pitched squeal of terror. She stood up and walked over to the whimpering demon, looked up at his towering hotel as she went. She remembered all the lumpy mattresses, the bug infested baths and sinks, the awful sounds from occupied rooms she had endured for countless nights, all leading to this.

She pulled her hood off to look her assailant in the eye. "Goodbye," she said, and made the first good decision she had in years. And oh, it felt good.

Bernie's skull cracked against the Driver's metal, sending his tiny body skidding bloodily along the sidewalk. The demon came to a halt and writhed in pain briefly before lying still.

"Excellent," the man said. "Now if you would. . ."

"No," Alex said, her body tingling with adrenaline. "First you spit out how the fuck you know my name." She turned to face the suited stranger, rested the end of her bloodied bat to the sidewalk with a hollow tnk.

The man's eye twitched, but he remained composed. "I know a great many things, child," he said forcibly, "and it would benefit you to hold your tongue when I am speaking. Or did you forget that I just saved you from that horrid little imp?"

Alex narrowed her eyes and readjusted the loop of her knapsack. She took note of the horns subtly poking through the man's hair, the tail gently swishing behind his back. "You did," she said, "but you're just an imp yourself. Why should I trust you?"

A bead of sweat dropped from Alex's short hair when she noticed Nothing had suddenly become far hotter. The rubber grip of her bat scalded her hand and she dropped it, cursing under her breath. She then heard the stranger exhale a deep breath, and the temperature returned to normal.

"Because," he said, reslicking a loosened lock of dark hair, "I'm here to offer you something, or rather," he paused and stepped back into the carriage. He reached beneath his seat, pulled out a shiny black briefcase and set it in his lap. He opened it up gingerly and looked to Alex from above its opened cover with a mischievous smirk. He placed the briefcase on the carriage's floor and turned it to face the teen. "Someone," he finished.

Alex picked up her bat and stepped over to the briefcase. Inside of it was a battered black pistol, its once-polished steel marred by scratches and gashes. Etched upon the barrel, still recognizable through all the damage, were three words: we'll be fine.

"Jamie," she whispered. It was her brother's gun, what he used to protect them when Alex couldn't do it herself. She picked up the mangled firearm, suppressed the lump in her throat and the tears in her eyes. "This isn't anything," she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "He's gone."

The man crossed his legs. "Perhaps," he lilted, "or maybe you just don't have the means to find him."

She looked to the man's cold blue eyes and narrowed her own. "Don't feed me bullshit," she snapped. "I've been given it before, and do you know what it got me?" Images of Death raced through her mind. "This," she said, spreading her arms out wide in a gesture toward Nothing. "So fuck you."

The man's eye twitched again. "You speak of Death," he said calmly, "whom I happen to be the employer of."

Alex scoffed. "Well you sure know how to pick 'em. Did you give him a raise when he took my brother? Throw a party when his game turned to shit?" She placed Jamie's gun in her jacket pocket and shoved the man's briefcase back toward him. "Tell me when you fire his ass," she said, turning away. "I'll be there to tell him goodbye."

"As much as I'd love to, I'm not going to fire him any time soon," the man said, "but I am looking for new employees."

Alex pursed her lips, but kept her back to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Said employees," he continued, "would work with Death, and thusly be equal with Death. The power to reap souls, to determine someone's end, to undo. . ." The man paused, making the teen turn around furiously.

"Undo what?" she demanded, slamming her bat against the carriage's side. "Tell me!"

The man gestured politely toward the seat in front of him. "I'd be glad to, however," he said, "I have a number of potential employees who also want the job."

Alex hesitated before climbing into the carriage. The door closed behind her. She took the seat in front of the man and tried not to look too comfortable on its plush cushions. "So what," she said, "I have to do better than them?"

The man smiled. "Correct."

"So it's another game." She thumped her bat against the floor as the horses began moving outside.

"Of sorts, yes," he answered, picking up his briefcase from the floor, "only this time you have nothing to lose." He snapped the case shut and placed it beside his feet. "And everything to gain."

She pulled out Jamie's gun again and ran her fingers along its edges. Equal with Death, she thought, imagining herself standing just as tall as the lying god. She then imagined Death shrinking just as Bogs had, and kept herself from smiling. She didn't trust this new man, probably a god himself, but that was fine. If she won this game, he wouldn't be trusting her either.

"I'm in," she said, and counted it as her second good decision in four years.

Description
Four years ago, Alexis Rook made a very bad decision. She hadn't made many better ones since.

She leaned on the edge of her hotel room's balcony, swirling a can of beer with one last putrid swig left in it. The underworld city of Nothing stretched out before her, a glorified garbage dump of neon and bad news. She sniffed her beer, a close relative of piss and vomit, tossed it to the city where it belonged.

Four years ago, Alex was thirteen. She and Jamie, her eleven year old brother, were lost, starving, desperate in a wasteland with no way to get home to their own city. It was then they met Death, a god with a promise: that if they won his game, he would give them the means to return home. Where they belonged.

Her gaze lingered on Nothing for a moment, unfocused eyes blurring it into an unrecognizable mess as her stomach rumbled in protest of the beer she put in it. She didn't belong here. People dragged themselves around under the crushing weight of iron chains; they spent all their time gambling, drinking, other acts Alex had no interest in learning about. She sighed and put a hand through messily cut, short black hair, turned around to slump down to the balcony floor.

They didn't win Death's game. No one won Death's game. Everything fucked up and everyone went home. Everyone but Alex and Jamie, two little punks with too many hopes. Death's promise was left unfulfilled, and the biggest punk was left alone. Her brother. . .

She pulled the clumsily sewn on blue hood of her black jacket over her head. She didn't belong in Nothing, but without Jamie, she didn't belong at home either. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad, your son got killed and it's my fault. That'd go over great. She reached for another can, Beerzebub, it was called, when someone knocked on her door. She put a hand on the baseball bat leaning on the wall next to her, but let go when a feeble voice called,

"Alex?" It was Bernard, a pipsqueak demon who let Alex squat in the hotel's vacant rooms. He rapped on the door again. "We need to talk, I'm afraid it's important!"

The teen moved her beer between her hands, grimacing at its warmth. She didn't feel like talking with the runt. "Whatever," she replied, and grabbed her bat to help herself off the floor.

Bernard opened the door, and Alex tossed her beer up into the air. With one fluid motion she struck the full can with her bat, rocketing it across the room with a hissing trail of foam. Bernard shrieked as the can slammed against the door, closing it in the demon's face. Warm beer exploded across the walls before the can clinked harmlessly to the ground.

Alex smirked and held her bat to her shoulder. She walked across the room, put her hand on the doorknob. "Remember my one rule?"

Bernard whimpered unintelligibly from outside.

Alex rolled her eyes. "I open the door," she said, and put her words into action. Bernard was cowering on the other side of the hall in his red bellhop suit. His crimson eyes were wide and bulging, his black pointed tail wrapped tightly around his waist. Alex sighed and turned her back to him.

"S-Sorry," he eked out through his whimpering. He sniffed and stepped carefully into the room on bare cloven hooves, pulling nervously at his tail. "B-But what I have to say is rather im-important. . ."

"Spit it out," Alex said, taking a seat on the foot of her bed. The room was simple: a cube with soiled brown carpet, holey walls of tarnished red paint, a TV with rabbit ears perched on a drawerless dresser, and the ever-present scent of spent cigarettes clouding the air. The teen slanted her lips and drummed on the pack of smokes in her pocket thoughtfully, decided to wait for Bernie's news before lighting up.

"Well," the demon started, "Bogs says we're gonna be getting a, uh. . ." He gulped. "A shit-ton of business soon, so I think, well, you know. . ."

Alex had pulled out a cigarette and lighter at the mention of Bogs, the fat sack of trash in a suit that owned the hotel. She lit it and imagined the massive demon munching on a cigar, drenching entire rooms with its stink. She took a drag, breathed it out with her gaze set on the fiery horizon beyond the balcony. "You want me gone," she finished for the lesser demon.

Bernard jumped and shook his head. "No, no, no, I don't want you out, but chances are the rooms are gonna be full and, well, you know-"

"Yes," Alex spat, "I know, okay?" She glared at Bernie, nearly crushed her cigarette in her fingers before she calmed herself forcefully with a slow breath. "Goddamn," she muttered, and took another hit. This was why she didn't want to talk to the runt.

They remained in silence for a moment, Alex smoking, Bernard fidgeting around on his hooves. When the teen flicked her spent smoke away she stood up and waved a dismissive hand at the demon. "I'll be out tonight," she said, standing up. "Don't worry your ass over it."

Bernard nodded, still pawing his tail. "Sorry," he said. "I-I'll let you know when things get less, uh, crowded, okay?"

Alex nodded. She had been living in various rooms of the hotel for the better part of her four years in Nothing. All of them had been similar, the only difference being how filthy the last asshole occupant had left it. No matter what, a room there was always better than finding a place to sleep in a rotten nook of Nothing's abundance of alleyways. The teen learned that the hard way.

". . . at, uh, my place." Bernard had apparently still been talking. "It'd be better than, you know, sleeping in the streets, or whatever."

"I'll be fine," she said, cringing at the thought of the demon's offer. "Just, go, all right? I've got shit to do."

"Okay, okay," the demon said with his hands held up in surrender. He took a few steps toward the door, stopped when a lightbulb went off in his head. "I'd be sleeping on the floor, you know. Not like we'd be doing. . ."

Alex turned to the demon and glared. "Go," she repeated, tightening the grip on her bat. It wasn't like Bernie to be persistent. She didn't like it.

He stood still in front of the doorway for a moment. Alex could feel gears turning in the demon's mind. She raised her bat up slowly and spread her feet apart, ready to strike in an instant.

"You know," he started, his voice icily steady, "it ain't exactly easy keepin' a mortal down here." He gave a phlegmy chuckle as smoke began to rise from his clothing. The red bellhop suit disintegrated in flames, and was replaced by a black suit several times larger than Bernie. Corpulent flesh filled the new clothes, jiggling like water in a balloon as greater horns grew from the demon's head with sickening cracks of bone. More guttural chuckles were joined with the rancid stench of a newly lit cigar wafting its way through the room.

Alex gulped. Her bat felt like a feather in her hands. She had only learned one thing about demons during her stay in Nothing: they were bad news, the worst news, and Bogs was the headliner. He had been playing her all along. "Why-" she started, but stopped when she took in a mouthful of the smoke swimming through the room. She coughed and backed up closer to the balcony with an arm held over her mouth.

"Why what?" the demon asked. He lumbered himself around to face Alex, greeted her with a yellow-toothed smile. His cigar smoldered angrily from the side of his mouth. "Why pretend I was a snivelin' little shit? Why bother lettin' you stay here?" Smoke billowed from his salivating maw with every word.

Alex glanced around the room. She'd have to get Bogs out of the way of the door to escape; the balcony would be a last resort. Her knapsack was zipped up and sitting beside her bed, ready to go. Most of her belongings were in it, with only a few of her toiletries left in the bathroom, not that she'd be missing her grody, half-used tube of Hellgate toothpaste. Shockingly, the Underworld wasn't known for its quality healthcare products.

She coughed into her arm once and looked back to the fat demon. "No," she said as loudly as she could. "I meant why are you so goddamn fat, you rotten pile of shit?"

Bogs' smile deteriorated into a caustic scowl. "Enjoy your words for now, maggot," he seethed, "'cause soon all I'm gonna be hearin' are your screams."

He lurched toward Alex, slowly at first, but after his first step he moved like a train. The teen leapt to the side, avoided his greedy, grubby hands and scooped up her knapsack. She heard the demon crash into something and looked back to see he had broken through the balcony's wall, straight down into the glowing abyss of Nothing.

She slung her knapsack over her shoulder and smirked. "Dumbass," she muttered, and began walking toward the door when she heard something from outside. A rhythmic wooshing that got louder with every repetition.

"Word of advice, kid," the voice of Bogs rumbled over the noise. Alex turned around to see a plume of smoke rising from below the balcony. One huge woosh later the demon reappeared, a pair of fiery black wings now protruding from his back. His body hung off of them like a trash bag ready to burst. Alex held her breath.

"Run."

She darted into the hallway as the demon burst back into the building. The floor rumbled beneath her from the force of Bogs' flight, which tore the room asunder and annihilated the doorway when he slammed through it. She didn't bother glancing behind her as she pushed through the doorway to the staircase and began running down them, taking two or three steps at a time.

The hotel had thirteen floors and Bernie, or Bogs, whatever, had placed her on the eleventh a few days ago. He had insisted all the other floors would be too dangerous for her to stay on then. What a load of shit.

When she reached the peak of the seventh floor she paused to catch her breath. Her feet ached from slapping against the concrete stairs in her worn down sneakers. She hadn't heard any sign of Bogs since she started her descent, which worried her. That fat fuck wouldn't give up the chase so easily.

With a deep breath she picked up her pace again, but barely made it down half a flight when the stairs shook beneath her. She held onto the railing to steady herself. From behind the walls she heard violent crashing that grew louder by the second. When she realized the crashing was headed toward her, it was too late to take a step.

The wall exploded beside her as Bogs rammed through it. She felt his slimy hands grab her by her torso, wrapping her up in a suffocating bear hug. She flailed around wildly, smacking any part of him she could reach with her bat, but his grip remained firm.

It was an odorous eternity before Bogs held her away from his hellish girth, allowing her to breathe. She took in big breaths that were interrupted by violent coughs that racked her lungs. The demon's cigar was still producing its plague. Her vision was blurred by tears, and after blinking them away she saw they were floating in the air in front of the hotel. One chunky hand was enough to hold her up. The greasy touch of his fingers made her want to puke.

"I was told to keep you here," Bogs said over the occasional woosh of his wings. They were on a slow descent toward the ground. "Hell, I was paid to keep you here, but you know what, you little shit?"

Alex narrowed her eyes at him, built up some saliva in her mouth before hocking it at his face. She didn't know what he was talking about, but whoever wanted to keep her safe by leaving her in Bogs' hotel wasn't the smartest person.

He wiped the spit off of his face with his free hand and scowled. He struck Alex across the face savagely. "You're not worth it," he growled.

Anger flared in Alex's gut and she immediately struck back with her bat, but Bogs caught it in his pudgy hand. He plucked it from her grip with ease, examined it with amused interest.

"A Detroit Driver," he remarked, reading the red letters printed along the bat's metal surface. "Cute," he added, and dropped it from his hand.

They were close enough to the ground for Alex to hear it clatter against the concrete. The street in front of the hotel was empty, save for a few sloven, chain-covered drunks passed out in front of the bar across the way.

"Now I'm gonna give you a choice, runt," he said. "Either you come with me to live in more. . ." He paused for a second, licked at his lips with his grayish tongue. ". . . personal accommodations, or I drop you like your little toy."

Alex glanced down. It was a good fifteen foot drop; something she could possibly survive, which she figured Bogs knew. It was either she went with him like this, or with a few broken bones. She tightened her lips and answered with silence.

Bogs grinned. "That's what I like to hear," he said, and stopped flapping his wings. They dropped like lead, slammed into the sidewalk with enough force to crack it. He let go of Alex, who landed roughly on her feet and ended up stumbling onto her rear.

This was just another bad decision in the making. She pulled her hood back over her head and brought her knees up to her chest. She heard Bogs' deep chuckle, his tongue sliding over his lips again, both of which stopped at the sound of something clip-clopping from down the street. It reminded Alex of Bernie's cloven feet.

She turned her head to see a carriage drawn by a pair of black horses. Chunks of their flesh were missing, revealing white bones and decayed, sinewy muscles inside. She heard Bogs gulp audibly beside her as the transport came to a stop in front of them. Its door opened seemingly by itself, revealing a lush, red velvet interior with a single man seated inside.

He was a thin, somewhat frail man clad in an immaculately groomed black suit. Dark hair was kept slicked back with a prominent widow's peak and a tight braid long enough to coil up next to him on his seat. Unsettlingly icy blue eyes glanced at Alex, making her clutch her jacket closer to her, before they moved up to Bogs.

The fat demon had begun sweating, and, much to Alex's disgusted surprise, shrinking. His cigar turned to blackened ash that sprinkled away into obscurity along with his horns, which burned away steadily until they were impotent nubs. Soon enough the miniscule form of Bernie stood cowering in front of Alex and the stranger, clutching the massive folds of Bogs' suit close to him.

"Well then," the man in the carriage said. He stepped out gracefully and stooped to pick up something off the ground. "I believe," he said, tapping Alex on the shoulder, "this is yours."

She looked to him and saw her bat held out to her handle first. She hesitated before accepting it back with a shaky hand.

He nodded. "We have much to discuss, Alexis," he continued, "but I believe you owe this. . . cretin a well-deserved goodbye, wouldn't you agree?"

The teen blinked, felt the weight of the bat in her hand. Bogs, now Bernie, let out a high pitched squeal of terror. She stood up and walked over to the whimpering demon, looked up at his towering hotel as she went. She remembered all the lumpy mattresses, the bug infested baths and sinks, the awful sounds from occupied rooms she had endured for countless nights, all leading to this.

She pulled her hood off to look her assailant in the eye. "Goodbye," she said, and made the first good decision she had in years. And oh, it felt good.

Bernie's skull cracked against the Driver's metal, sending his tiny body skidding bloodily along the sidewalk. The demon came to a halt and writhed in pain briefly before lying still.

"Excellent," the man said. "Now if you would. . ."

"No," Alex said, her body tingling with adrenaline. "First you spit out how the fuck you know my name." She turned to face the suited stranger, rested the end of her bloodied bat to the sidewalk with a hollow tnk.

The man's eye twitched, but he remained composed. "I know a great many things, child," he said forcibly, "and it would benefit you to hold your tongue when I am speaking. Or did you forget that I just saved you from that horrid little imp?"

Alex narrowed her eyes and readjusted the loop of her knapsack. She took note of the horns subtly poking through the man's hair, the tail gently swishing behind his back. "You did," she said, "but you're just an imp yourself. Why should I trust you?"

A bead of sweat dropped from Alex's short hair when she noticed Nothing had suddenly become far hotter. The rubber grip of her bat scalded her hand and she dropped it, cursing under her breath. She then heard the stranger exhale a deep breath, and the temperature returned to normal.

"Because," he said, reslicking a loosened lock of dark hair, "I'm here to offer you something, or rather," he paused and stepped back into the carriage. He reached beneath his seat, pulled out a shiny black briefcase and set it in his lap. He opened it up gingerly and looked to Alex from above its opened cover with a mischievous smirk. He placed the briefcase on the carriage's floor and turned it to face the teen. "Someone," he finished.

Alex picked up her bat and stepped over to the briefcase. Inside of it was a battered black pistol, its once-polished steel marred by scratches and gashes. Etched upon the barrel, still recognizable through all the damage, were three words: we'll be fine.

"Jamie," she whispered. It was her brother's gun, what he used to protect them when Alex couldn't do it herself. She picked up the mangled firearm, suppressed the lump in her throat and the tears in her eyes. "This isn't anything," she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "He's gone."

The man crossed his legs. "Perhaps," he lilted, "or maybe you just don't have the means to find him."

She looked to the man's cold blue eyes and narrowed her own. "Don't feed me bullshit," she snapped. "I've been given it before, and do you know what it got me?" Images of Death raced through her mind. "This," she said, spreading her arms out wide in a gesture toward Nothing. "So fuck you."

The man's eye twitched again. "You speak of Death," he said calmly, "whom I happen to be the employer of."

Alex scoffed. "Well you sure know how to pick 'em. Did you give him a raise when he took my brother? Throw a party when his game turned to shit?" She placed Jamie's gun in her jacket pocket and shoved the man's briefcase back toward him. "Tell me when you fire his ass," she said, turning away. "I'll be there to tell him goodbye."

"As much as I'd love to, I'm not going to fire him any time soon," the man said, "but I am looking for new employees."

Alex pursed her lips, but kept her back to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Said employees," he continued, "would work with Death, and thusly be equal with Death. The power to reap souls, to determine someone's end, to undo. . ." The man paused, making the teen turn around furiously.

"Undo what?" she demanded, slamming her bat against the carriage's side. "Tell me!"

The man gestured politely toward the seat in front of him. "I'd be glad to, however," he said, "I have a number of potential employees who also want the job."

Alex hesitated before climbing into the carriage. The door closed behind her. She took the seat in front of the man and tried not to look too comfortable on its plush cushions. "So what," she said, "I have to do better than them?"

The man smiled. "Correct."

"So it's another game." She thumped her bat against the floor as the horses began moving outside.

"Of sorts, yes," he answered, picking up his briefcase from the floor, "only this time you have nothing to lose." He snapped the case shut and placed it beside his feet. "And everything to gain."

She pulled out Jamie's gun again and ran her fingers along its edges. Equal with Death, she thought, imagining herself standing just as tall as the lying god. She then imagined Death shrinking just as Bogs had, and kept herself from smiling. She didn't trust this new man, probably a god himself, but that was fine. If she won this game, he wouldn't be trusting her either.

"I'm in," she said, and counted it as her second good decision in four years.