The Man-made Lightning Strike

by Drowsy_Salamander

Summary:

Vincent was confident in saying that he got dealt a bad hand. It wasn't fair that he died so young, died by a freak accident that didn't mean anything! He never got a chance in life and Hell had tried hard to make sure he never got a chance in death. But Vincent has now got a good thing going on as an information broker and was determined. He'd get up there. He'd be an Overlord.

But, as in all worlds, Vincent's plans all come to a screeching halt as soon as he hears that Alastor is back in Pentagram City after a seven year absence. He's tied himself to Princess Charlie Morningstar's redemption project and is being even more elusive than usual. The natural thing for Vincent to do is to join the Hazbin Hotel to try and needle information out of his friend and while he's there, Vincent will naturally take advantage of every opportunity presented to him.

This is Hell after all and Vincent is not here for redemption.

...
Tags will be updated as the fic updates

Notes:

The fact that there are children in Hell and that I'd been thinking a lot about Vox's backstory came together to make this. This fic will be one part character study of Vox, one part examination of how children live in Hell, and one part retelling of canon with the major divergence of Vox... kind of not being around.

Chapter 1: Prologue

There is a rather famous photograph known as The Man-made Lightning Strike. It was taken by photographer Richard Devise and it catapulted him to notoriety, allowing him to continue his photography business even after the stock market crashed two years after the famous photo was taken. It was initially printed in the Philadelphia Inquirer but Devise was approached directly by the New York Times where it spread internationally. Later, it was displayed in the Julien Levy gallery and Time magazine included it in its list of the 100 most influential photographs of the 20^th century.

The Man-made Lightning Strike captures a teenage boy’s death. It was a pure accident. A fluke of timing. Richard Devise had wanted a picture of the Philadelphia city goers and the running boy had been an intriguing figure, carrying a travelling case but wearing no coat or hat despite the harsh, strong wind. When he went to take the picture, Devise could not have known that the power line overhead would fall and one end of it would hit the boy just as the photograph was taken.

The still electrified power line brushes the back of the boy’s neck in the captured moment of death. The boy’s face is mostly in shadow but what is visible is a highly ambiguous expression.

The photo generated controversy, many found its subject matter morbid and criticised Devise for profiting off a child’s death. Others politicised it as an example of the dangers of careless technology. Later regulation for the improvement of safety procedures for power lines in Philadelphia cannot directly be attributed to The Man-made Lightning Strike, but it is a significant moment in cultural histories of technological acceptance. The photo was later used by people campaigning against the use of the electric chair, although not with great success as proponents of the electric chair were swift to point out the false equivalence between an execution method that was broadly considered humane, and a tragic death caused by accident.

Later investigation into The Man-made Lightning Strike have concerned themselves with the subject. A 1937 retrospective on the photograph by a Philadelphia Inquirer journalist uncovered that the boy, who was unidentified at his death with no family coming forward to claim the body, was named Wincenty Witek and was born in Pennsylvania to two working Polish immigrants. It was unclear if he was fifteen or sixteen at the time of his death as his birth certificate had been lost. Wincenty died mere hours after his father’s funeral, outliving the man by only five days. His widowed mother, Beata Witek, died in 1929 in unclear circumstances. There is debate amongst scholars about whether she took her own life or was in an unfortunate accident.

The Man-made Lightning Strike does not have the grip on the popular culture it had when it was first released but it remains a referenced image by filmmakers and avant-garde Instagram users the world over. In modern times, the photo has come to represent the tragedy of a life cut short and the fragility of mortality. Wincenty looks like he is in such a hurry, running through the street like that. The photograph seems to pose the question ‘what would he have been if he’d had the chance for a full life?’

What indeed.

Chapter 2: Chapter One

The first major decision Charlie had to make was where to announce the Happy Hotel.

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Considering things, the first major decision perhaps was picking the site for the hotel or choosing to approach a bedraggled, unconscious Angel Dust on the sidewalk. Although, if you were being really thorough, then the first major decision Charlie had to make was in deciding to go forwards with the project at all. Maybe it was deciding to take a proactive role and trying to fix the suffering of her people despite the sheer apathy her father displayed towards the whole problem!

The Happy Hotel had a lot of ‘first steps’.

It was scary actually putting together a project like this, something so wild and ambitious that Charlie knew would meet scepticism over scepticism but she knew it could work! She knew she could save her people from the cruelty of Heaven. Her dad hadn’t had anything to say about how the Exterminations could be forced to stop so it was up to Charlie to prove to Heaven that there was a way of managing Hell’s overpopulation problem without hurting anyone.

Charlie had felt something inside her soul dying for the past seven years with every ringing of the Extermination Bell. No one seemed like they were going to do anything. Sinners and Hellborn existed separately from each other so no Hellborn authority would lift a finger for her people. Overlords wielded power only within the Pride Ring and had no means to negotiate with Heaven. As for Charlie’s parents, well…

So, it was up to her!

Charlie would rise to this moment, she would help her people and prove herself through the Happy Hotel. The hotel was so important. It was the most important thing she had ever done in her life and was likely to remain that way. She had to get it right, had to make sure that the Happy Hotel swung out onto the scene with momentum! Charlie needed to make sure people were interested in redemption.

No pressure.

It had been less daunting when it had only been a dream in her head. Charlie had been so nervous when she confided in Vaggie but Vaggie—sweet, perfect Vaggie—had cupped her face with a hand and said it sounded wonderful. It had been a relief to not have her idea immediately laughed at but instead be met with interest. Vaggie’s faith in her really made Charlie feel like she would succeed! All the way through acquiring the Hotel building and acquiring her first guest, Vaggie had been by her side and Charlie’s confidence had boomed.

But now, it was threatening to deflate again under the nerves.

Charlie fiddled with the cuff of her shirt as she walked through the Entertainment District with Vaggie, occasionally ducking under artillery.

The Entertainment District was an eternal warzone. It wasn’t as lethal as the Badlands or the Downside District both of which were perpetual combat areas. The Entertainment District was closer to trench warfare—if trench warfare had involved trying to win customers’ attention in concert with trying to shell your opponents to smithereens.

A hundred different factions were in hot competition to corner the entertainment market. Business was cutthroat and involved many literal cut throats as corporate raids were liable to include machine guns before forensic accountants.

As a consequence, Hell’s media environment was highly decentralised and liable to be completely reshaped over the course of an eventful afternoon. Charlie couldn’t count the number of times a TV show she’d liked had abruptly ended because the company creating it had been massacred by a competitor.

It made choosing how to get her message out to Hell difficult.

Charlie eventually had decided on the Internet as a platform. The TV groups were generally older but counterintuitively were more unstable. The added decades allowed grudges to become entrenched and out of control. By contrast, while there were thousands of tech startups creating platforms and hardware, there was a clear leader in the realm of social media.

It had taken a lot of begging for Velvette to agree to interview her about the Happy Hotel but it had happened! It was happening! Charlie was actually going to be announcing the hotel for all of Hell to see.

A half an hour livestreamed interview on Sinstagram. The interview would be edited into a neat video to then be promoted by Velvette’s burgeoning empire. Velvette would be the one doing the interviewing and those videos tended to go viral as they involved unusual… people and ideas. But the company Velvette normally kept didn’t matter! What mattered was that this was a guaranteed way to get Charlie’s message out there.

Anyway, Charlie shouldn’t be so judgemental towards people she had never met.

But actually, being here, in the Entertainment District with Vaggie was a surreal and exciting experience. Charlie looked over her shoulder at Vaggie as they entered the Velveteen Borough—a two block area dominated by Velvette’s signature purples and pinks and composed solely of her employees and businesses— and beamed at her girlfriend. Vaggie gave her an encouraging smile in return, holding her hand.

“You’re going to do great, babe,” Vaggie said, squeezing her hand.

Charlie smiled at her. “I hope so. I really, really hope so.”

“Well, you—”

“Oh! Oh!” Charlie interrupted Vaggie. “This is it! This is Velvette’s creator house!” She bounced on her feet, taking in the whole building. This was it. This was her moment.

“I still think that name sounds weird,” Vaggie muttered and looked up at the severe building, made entirely of reflective glass and metal with vertical neon lights running up and down the sides. It looked fashionably armoured.

“Let’s go, Vaggie!” Charlie rushed inside in excitement, pulling Vaggie behind her only to come to a quick stop after passing the threshold and before confronted with the absolute mania inside.

It was bright; neons and white floors and gold accenting everywhere. The building wasn’t that big but it was packed to capacity with people rushing around. There was a queue of sinners waiting for the reception, all dressed to the nines, ready to beg for a chance to pitch themselves to Velvette. Employees on missions moved through the space like military strike teams in between other sinners having complete emotional breakdowns. A woman in an 80s power suit stalked by Charlie, speaking harshly into an earpiece “I literally do not care if there’s a supply chain issue, we need those chips today. You know what’ll happen if you violate our contract… Uh huh, I don’t see how an imp mining union is my problem.” Another woman pushed by Charlie, running for the glass doors, face dripping with tears. The elevator dinged open and a man was hauled out by a pair of security guards. “Why didn’t I get the job?” the man howled as he was carried out of the building by the guards like a sack of potatoes. “I worked for Google! I’m good at what I do! Was it because I touched Velvette’s hair? I just wanted to know if it felt like doll hair, honest!”

Charlie swallowed.

She felt Vaggie take her hand. The reassurance let her square her shoulders and remember her mission. The Hotel was so important. She couldn’t let herself be offput by a slightly busy environment.

However, before Charlie had a chance to put this mustered courage into action, a sinner rushed up to them. “Hey, are you the princess?”

“Yep, that’s me,” Charlie said. “I’m Charlie, hell—oh, woah!” She hadn’t meant to squawk but the young woman had taken her assent and grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her through the throng.

“Charlie!” Vaggie called, reaching for her. Charlie managed to grab Vaggie hand before they were separated. They were both bodily pulled through the reception, through several doors, up a flight of stairs, through another set of doors and into an elevator.

“Ride that up to the fifth floor and wait outside the studio for someone to take you. Have a great day!” And the sinner was gone in a flash.

Charlie and Vaggie blinked a few times. Vaggie said slowly, “Do you think her spots were cheetah spots or am I just making assumptions?”

Charlie laughed. “They do all seem very… engaged here!”

“Engaged, sure. I’d say deranged personally but…”

“Vaggie,” Charlie snorted, trying for stern and failing miserably. It was poor form to insult people who were hosting her for an interview and Charlie didn’t like the idea of being pass-remarkable about sinners. They were her people after all, and she was always trying to be understanding and empathetic. But Charlie couldn’t deny that sometimes it was nice just to have a little laugh however guilty it made her feel.

Vaggie smiled at her and the elevator doors opened to another lobby dominated by an imposing set of door with an imposing ‘Do Not Enter Unless Authorised’ sign.

“I guess we just wait here then. I can’t believe this is really happening.” Charlie felt like she was in a dream. Her excitement and anxiety were one entity, thrown together in a blender to make her want to burst into song and dance.

Vaggie took her hand. “You’re going to do great, babe.”

“I wrote down my talking points,” Charlie told Vaggie, holding up her page of notes. “I highlighted the best parts!”

Vaggie took the page and looked over it. “All of this is highlighted.”

“Because it’s all important!” Charlie beamed at her girlfriend. Vaggie gave her that bemused, fond expression that did all kinds of things to Charlie. “Is this a drawing?” she pointed at the bottom of the page.

“Yes!” Charlie surged over to Vaggie to point at the drawing herself. “That’s the happy ending! Everyone smiling and happy in Heaven.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Vaggie said. “Just please follow the talking points we went over. And—And do not sing!”

“Alright fine,” Charlie said, then grinned and continued in a dire British accent “I’ll just have to rely on my impeccable improv skills.”

“So, you’re the princess then?”

Charlie gave a shriek of surprise and Vaggie jumped as Velvette spoke behind her. Charlie whirled around to see the sinner standing beside the open door to the studio, giving her an unimpressed look.

Oh God, Velvette had absolutely heard the bad British accent. Was she offended? Was it offensive to do British accents? Had she already made herself look unprofessional?

Charlie took a quick, deep breath—that ended up sounding like a gasp—to recalibrate herself. She could salvage this! She needed to make a good impression so the interview would go well so sinners would be convinced to give the Happy Hotel a chance so she could prove redemption was possible so she could live up to her mother’s dream. Easy!

“That’s right. That’s me! Charlie Morningstar,” Charlie said, landing somewhere between manic and a four-year-old on a sugar rush. “It’s so good to meet you, Velvette. Thank you so much for agreeing to have me on your show!”

“Right,” Velvette said, unimpressed. “You only sent me fourteen emails about it.”

“Well, I mean, fourteen isn’t really that many—”

“In addition to the seven DMs on Hellbook, four messages on Sinsgal, five comments on my Sinstagram page, and eighteen customer submissions directly to my website.” Velvette looked at Charlie flatly. “You’re pretty fucking desperate, you know that, yeah?”

“I mean… It’s important…”

“I know you’ve been crawling up the arsehole of every person in the district who has even half a studio. So, you’ve clearly got something you’re just gagging to say.” Velvette flicked her curls over her shoulder. “Colour me fucking intrigued to see what gets Hell’s nepo baby so up in my business.”

Charlie’s shoulders fell and she fought to stop her smile from falling as well.

“Hey,” Vaggie said, stepping forward. “Why even agree to have us if you’re just going to insult Charlie?”

“I insult everyone I have on, babe. You’re not special,” Velvette scoffed. “Now, listen up. I’ll start the interview and introduce us, I’ll set the tone then I hand it over for you to read out your prepared little thing—” Velvette looked disdainfully at the paper in Charlie’s hand, eyes lingering on the drawing at the bottom, “—then we do a little q and a, you say your final piece and I close the show. You get it?”

“Uh, do I get to see what the interview questions are before we start?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Velvette said, flatly. “It ain’t gonna be scripted. We need some, you know, fluidity. Spontaneity. You’ll look shite if you seem like you’ve rehearsed answers for this. Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all!” Charlie said. “I like spontaneity! Um, how do you feel about singing?”

Velvette stared at her for a second then laughed. “Sure, fuck it. Yeah, you can sing. Please do actually.”

“Charlie—” Vaggie started to say but was cut off by Velvette.

“Right, I’m gonna do my touch ups. You sit yourself in the studio and do any last-minute breathing exercises or whatever the fuck.”

Velvette had a way of speaking where she never gave instructions, she said statements with a level of finality that it was impossible for the world not to reshape itself to reflect whatever she’d just said. After making her declaration, Velvette stalked off, heels clicking like a metronome.

Charlie and Vaggie were already walking towards the studio before Charlie even realised she was obeying her. Charlie felt the urge laugh. She was so full of energy, at that bubbly point where she was full of electricity. This was so important. She was doing it. She was really doing it!

The studio was more elaborate than what Charlie had been expecting. It looked closer to a television filmset than the informal set up she’d seen in Velvette’s videos. It had always looked so much more… homey or authentic on screen. In reality, off camera, there were lighting arrays and microphones and cables and a clear division between the area to be filmed and the area where the filming was done. The most surreal thing were the two camcorders set out on tripods. They looked like something Charlie could buy in any tech store. They weren’t fancy or high-end or expensive looking. They looked… normal. It was a strong contrast to the expense of the rest of the equipment.

The set (because that’s what it was, right?) was a circular, deep brown table with a pair of golden chairs opposite each other. In front of each seat was a microphone that Charlie would hazard was very expensive but she truly did not know. The fake wall behind the table was deep purple with pink fairy lights, bookshelves, picture frames, and a large neon ‘Velvette’ in a curly font. The overall impression was a mix of someone’s cosy sitting room and a chic journalist’s office.

Charlie looked over at Vaggie who was taking in the whole place. She seemed nervous which Charlie got! She was also nervous and she was certain at least part of Vaggie’s nerves were for Charlie which she thought was very sweet but she was sure that this would go well. Because it had to go well. So, it would! Yeah…

The ever-present fear at in her mind, pushed underneath a tarp of optimistic, enthusiasm threatened to bubble over the corners. Charlie’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. She could not let everyone down. She could not fail because then—

“Hey, Vaggie,” Charlie said, brightly turning to Vaggie with a sly smile.

“Yeah, Charlie?” Vaggie replied, turning to her away from the bright set.

“Velvette wants me to sing,” Charlie said in a singsong voice.

“Yeah, I know she does but I don’t think you should,” Vaggie said.

“Why not?” Charlie said, stopping short in surprise at the seriousness of Vaggie’s response. It had just been a light-hearted reference to Vaggie’s reluctance to allowing Charlie to sing—which she didn’t really understand, singing was such a pure expression of emotion and the perfect way for the citizens of Hell to understand her sincerity and devotion to the project of redemption—but Vaggie seemed so uncomfortable with the idea.

“I don’t trust her,” Vaggie said. “She clearly doesn’t want to do this out of any interest in redemption. She doesn’t respect you. She just wants some entertainment and I… I want to make sure this goes well for you.”

Charlie stared at Vaggie. Velvette was rude, there was no denying that but really, most sinners were. If you couldn’t handle some jabs, some insults, then there was no surviving Hell. Charlie really hadn’t liked being called a ‘nepo baby’ but she knew that was how some people viewed her. Princess Charlie Morningstar, delicate and useless child. If Charlie wanted that perception to ever change, she had to do something herself. Which she was. Right now, in fact.

Velvette was kind of hostile, yes, but Charlie knew she could win her and Hell over. It would be her own words and ideas streamed live—there was no way for this to go wrong!

Vaggie reached over and straightened Charlie’s bowtie. “Your ideas are amazing. You are amazing. I don’t want someone to try to humiliate you.”

Charlie took one of Vaggie’s hands still on her bowtie. “That’s really sweet of you Vaggie.”

Vaggie smiled at her but still looked downcast. “Just… just stick to the talking points and don’t let her bait you.”

“I won’t,” Charlie promised.

“And don’t sing,” Vaggie added. Charlie rolled her eyes. She would try not to sing… unless the right moment presented itself.

“Which one of you is today’s guest?” A sinner fiddling with the lighting asked them.

“That’s me.” Charlie raised a hand instinctively.

“Right. Chair on the left is yours. Ms Grey Hair, if you’re not a part of today’s stream don’t even think about stepping over that line.” The sinner nodded at a white line painted on the ground.

“Oh, uh, right,” Vaggie said. “I’ll just… stay over here then.”

The sinner shrugged. “Don’t care.”

“Oi, do I pay you all to stand around gawking,” Velvette barked entering the studio. “Get in your fucking positions people. That includes you, princess.”

Charlie jumped at those words as Velvette’s employees sprinted to their jobs. Vaggie gave a final encouraging smile that Charlie returned before taking her seat behind a microphone.

Velvette fluffed her hair a final time before sitting down on her seat. She eyed Charlie up and down. “You gonna read straight off the page?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

Charlie looked down at her talking points. “Y-yes. Is that an issue?”

“Nah, not an issue. Just makes you look amateur.” Before Charlie had time to really process that and decide if she wanted to change her approach, Velvette turned to the camcorder on their left. “Right, let’s get this show on the fucking road!”

There wasn’t a countdown or any cue that Charlie was aware of to signal that they were streaming but Velvette was suddenly beaming at the camera.

“Hello, my lovelies! Welcome to another episode of Tea With Vee. I hope we’re all feeling a bit cosier now that this year’s Extermination is over. Yes, lots are dead but you’re not. Best to celebrate it. It’s a fun time of year, lots of new opportunities opening up, a chance for new resolutions and new beginnings. To talk about all of that shite, we have a special guest today. Local Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar.” Velvette gave Charlie an expectant look which she realised was her cue. She schooled her face into her best camera-ready expression.

“Oh, yes! That’s me. Although, I prefer to go by Charlie, um…”

“Very down to Earth of you.” Velvette nodded. “Anyway, Charlie, you have a project you want to promote, right? Do you want to tell us all about it?”

“Right, yes, I do want to tell Hell about it,” Charlie said, trying to find her footing. Her hand found her page of notes and she looked up, off camera to see Vaggie nodding at her encouragingly. “Right. Well, as most of you know I was born here in Hell and growing up, I always tried to see the good in everything around me. Hell is my home and you are my people. Like, um, like Velvette said we just went through another Extermination and it breaks my heart to see so many of my people slaughtered every year. No one is even given a chance!” Charlie stood up, the passion of her words driving her to need to move.

“I hear you, girl,” Velvette said, “but stay in your seat. You’re gonna muck up the recording.”

“Oh, right.” Charlie sat back down, embarrassment threatening to undercut her drive but she had to continue. “Well, the point is, I can’t stand idly by while the place I love is subjected to such meaningless violence! So, I’m going to do something about it because there must be a more humane way, an alternative way to save sinner’s souls. Through redemption!”

“Redemption?” Velvette prompted.

“Yes! Redemption. I’m opening a hotel to rehabilitate sinners. The first of its kind!”

The silence that followed this was cavernous. Velvette was actually gaping at her. The sinner who had been tweaking the lights burst in laughter only to stop when Vaggie decked him. Everyone was staring at Charlie in glee, disbelief or gleeful disbelief.

Her mother would never have garnered this reaction.

“I just thought,” Charlie gabbled, “because I mean, hotels are places you check into temporarily because you’re going to be moving on to somewhere new, somewhere better. I mean, I really believe that through redemption, people can go to Heaven and—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Velvette interrupted her, flapping a hand. “Back up. There’s too much fucking here.”

“Oh, do you have some questions?” Charlie felt the cracking of the cocoon in her chest containing a butterfly of hope.

“Yeah. Fucking many of them too,” Velvette said. “Okay, just, like, to begin with. You have a problem with the Exterminations.”

“Of course I do!” Charlie exclaimed. “It’s horrible. I want to help save my people from them.”

“Love that, sure,” Velvette said. “But why is ‘redemption’ the solution to this?”

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked. “If a soul is in Heaven then it’s not Hell. That’ll solve the overpopulation crisis.”

“But what’s the overpopulation crisis?” Velvette asked. “We’ve all heard that bullshit excuse be trotted out but it’s obviously a load of bollocks. Hell operates for millennia just fine but then one day Heaven decides there are so many of us down here that they need to kill us on a fucking yearly basis? And it’s that Heaven that you want to ‘redeem’ people to enter? The one that kills us like dogs?”

“Well, I—”

“You’re the princess of Hell!” Velvette said. “The best you can do is beg at Heaven’s gates to let in just some of us sinners. Why not anything else?”

“Because I believe this could really work!”

“So, you’re suggesting we try grovelling to Heaven before trying, oh, I don’t know, fighting back? You’re the princess! Fucking marshal an army. Tell Heaven no. Keep the exorcists out.” If Velvette were princess of Hell, her eyes seemed to say, she would have already declared war.

Hopeless frustration burned through Charlie’s chest. She didn’t want a war with Heaven. She wanted Heaven to stop the Exterminations more than anything but they couldn’t directly fight back. The Exorcists were impervious to all damage. It would be a slaughter. Charlie wasn’t going to lead her people into an unwinnable war as a first resort. She didn’t like violence; there had to be another way. Redemption was a possibility no one had yet considered and what if that was the missing piece? It could be the thing to halt Heaven’s genocide and solve Hell’s overpopulation problem all in one fell swoop.

Charlie wished her mother was still around. She never would have allowed for the Exterminations to happen. She still couldn’t believe her father did.

Charlie glanced over at Vaggie for support but saw her girlfriend was involved in a remarkably silent brawl with the lighting tech.

“We can’t fight the Exorcists,” Charlie said. “People have tried and it’s ended… really badly. I just—I think that redemption is option no one has tried yet and it could save sinners!”

“But only the sinners you choose, right? The ones you choose for your hotel.”

“I’m not choosing anyone!” Charlie said, aghast. It was a horrible accusation. She wasn’t going to pick people out of a crowd for redemption; play favourites or deny anyone the opportunity to improve. That wasn’t what the Happy Hotel was about at all. “I believe everyone is capable of redemption!”

“Everyone, really?” Velvette asked, unimpressed.

“Every sinner deserves the chance to try to change,” Charlie said. “It’s not fair to deny anyone that chance.”

“Do you really mean that, anyone?”

“Yes,” Charlie implored Velvette to understand her sincerity. “I really, really mean that.”

“So, if I go down to Katie Killjoy’s studio and nab Jeffry Dahmer for you, you’d be a-okay with letting him into your little summer camp?”

Charlie fought off the scowl that was brewing. Velvette was deliberately trying to make her look like a hypocrite. “If he was interested in joining the Happy Hotel, I would welcome him and allow him to stay and atone for his sins.”

Charlie glanced over to Vaggie. She gave Charlie a supportive thumbs up before going back to threatening the lighting tech. Charlie looked back at Velvette’s unimpressed face. “I feel like you aren’t really understanding me. Every single one of you has something good inside of you. I think, I can explain better.”

And then Charlie leapt onto the table and started singing about the Happy Hotel. The microphone went flying. The freedom of just expressing everything in music was unparalleled. At one point, Charlie started tapdancing. She finished her song triumphantly, both arms raised over head, chest moving up down from the exertion.

“Does that help?” Charlie asked Velvette, smiling.

Velvette stared at her, gobsmacked and Charlie felt a surge of triumph for putting that expression on Velvette’s face.

“You actually sang,” Velvette said. “Holy shit.”

Then the studio erupted into laughter, including the sinner still wrestling with Vaggie. Embarrassment crawled up Charlie’s spine. Her arms reflexively tucked into her sides and she slid off the desk, back to her chair.

“Someone fetch me a bloody mic replacement,” Velvette commanded. As one of her employees retrieved Charlie’s microphone from where it had brained a cameraman, Velvette looked back at Charlie and then laughed again, the laughter coming out of her like a geyser.

“Okay, okay, okay, princess,” Velvette said in between laughs, “you’ve clearly gone in for some fucking Kool-aid. Good for you! But there’s still a bloody great hole in the middle of this whole thing.”

Velvette’s employee replaced the microphone in front of Charlie, buffing it quickly before sprinting off camera.

“What do you mean?” Charlie braced for whatever new line of attack Velvette was clearly preparing.

Velvette snapped her fingers and a purple hologram with a video feed appeared between them. The video started playing clips from earlier in the interview, Charlie’s own words repeated back for everyone to rehear.

“I really believe that through redemption, people can go to Heaven and…Because I believe this could really work!”

“‘Believe’,” Velvette echoed. “You believe that redemption is possible. You believe that a sinner could get into Heaven. You don’t have any kind of proof, do you, princess?”

“I mean, no. It is untested—”

“So, why should anyone try it out?” Velvette asked. “I mean, you want people to come to your hotel and get ‘rehabilitated’ with no bleeding evidence that they’ll be rewarded for it?”

“Becoming a better person isn’t about getting a reward for it.”

“No? We should be become better people just because? Charlie, I thought this about saving people from Extermination. Ain’t that the reward you’re promising?”

“That is the goal,” Charlie said, trying to find the difference. It was all so blurred now! She wanted to save her people from the Exterminations and that required becoming better people but sinners wouldn’t actually be rehabilitating truly if they were doing it for only selfish reasons. There needed to be something more, she knew it! But she didn’t know how to say that.

“…and at the end of the day,” Velvette was saying, having continued to speak. “This is Hell. Who the fuck wants to become a better person in Hell just because?”

It was a rhetorical question but Charlie seized on it. “Actually, we already have a guest!

Velvette blinked. “Shit. Really?”

“Seems people are more interested in redemption than you expected.” Charlie tried not to be smug but it was so satisfying catching Velvette off-guard. “That’s right! His name is Angel Dust.”

“Yeah? Tell us about him, your first guest.” Velvette looked down at her phone, which had just lit up with a notification.

“He really believes in our cause and he’s shown incredible progress,” Charlie threw back. “He’s been behaved, clean, and out of trouble for two weeks now!”

“And what are you defining as ‘out of trouble’?” Velvette asked languidly, still scrolling on her phone.

“He’s gotten into no fights, caused no property damage, not hurt anybody.” Charlie folded her arms triumphantly. “He wants to improve himself.”

“Wow, sounds great,” Velvette said. “Just to double-check, it’s this Angel Dust, right?”

She flicked a hand a picture of Angel Dust from one of his movies floated between them, angled so the cameras could see it clearly too. Angel was winking lavishly in the picture and there was something shiny dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Er, yeah, that’s him.” Was Velvette about to make fun of Angel for being a… an actor in videos of an adult nature? Charlie would defend him. Angel was proud of his work even if Charlie really wished he would stop showing her it.

“Oh, cool. Just wanted to make sure.” Velvette gave Charlie a nasty grin. “Cos I just found a comment from one of our lovely watchers and wanted to double-check it all. Seems like Angie has broken his streak.”

“Wha—”

The image of Angel Dust was replaced with live footage from a shaking phone that nonetheless clearly showed Angel Dust and another sinner throwing bombs in what was unmistakably a turf war.

“Thanks for the info, Vee.” Velvette blew a kiss at the camera.

“Oh shit,” Charlie said very quietly while Angel Dust whipped out a tommy gun and maniacally laughed while mowing down egg creatures.

“Seems like our rehabilitating sinner Angel Dust has just joined in the turf war happening between Cherri Bomb and some nobody. Looks like he didn’t believe in your mission, after all.” Velvette gave Charlie an exaggerated look of sadness while laughter bubbled underneath it.

“Stop showing this!” Charlie cried. “Put it away.” She tried to slash through the live feed but her hand just passed through it like it was a hologram and the video kept relentlessly playing.

“Put what away, princess? The truth? Wow, didn’t realise you hated the free press as well as your people!”

Charlie stomach dropped. She felt her eyes burn. “Hate my people? I don’t hate my people!”

“Really?” Velvette leant forwards. “Because it sure fucking seems that way from over here. I mean, you want to drag people along, make them change everything about themselves for no real reason, just because you say they should. And you say they should just so you can present them to Heaven like a shiny toy. You want sinners to change to be angels! You say you love Hell but really, you wish Hell was Heaven.”

“No, I don’t! I don’t!” Charlie was on her feet again. She wasn’t sure if she was going to cry or smash the table. “I love my people; I would do anything for them.”

“Except accept us as we are.” Velvette gave her a cool look. “Let’s face it, Princess Morningstar, you’ll never understand us because you’re not one of us.”

Charlie found herself at a loss for words. She opened and closed her mouth several times as her vocal cords failed her. She didn’t know what to say.

Velvette turned to the camera and gave it a winning a smile. “Princess Morningstar, everybody! Check out the Happy Hotel if you too want to dressed up into being Heaven’s bitch.”

And the stream ended before Charlie could get another word in.

…

It was later.

Charlie sat despondent on a couch in the dilapidated Happy Hotel. Nearby, Vaggie and Angel Dust were relitigating their argument over Angel’s lack of care for the Hotel’s reputation. Charlie didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t matter. Angel Dust had free will, he could choose to get into fights. She didn’t want to control him or any other sinner. She just wished he’d wanted to stick by the hotel’s rules. But Angel Dust was right in what he’d said when he’d blown up at Vaggie in the beginning of their argument, the hotel really did look pathetic now.

Charlie stared at the streamers and balloons she’d decorated the lobby with in a fit of excitement that morning. Against the crumbling paintwork and water-stained carpets, the decorations seemed childish.

Nobody had come to the Happy Hotel. Of course, no one had. Nobody would ever come. Velvette had systematically torn down her dream at every step of the interview, first the idea of redemption itself, then the potential clientele, and then Charlie’s very motivations.

It had left her rattled. She loved her people, she loved Hell. Charlie knew this. But somehow it had all gotten turned around and she felt wrong for wanting sinners to improve—as though she was imposing some kind of foreign morality onto them. It wasn’t wrong of her to encourage people to be kinder, more genuine, better. It couldn’t be.

It didn’t matter that Angel Dust had disregarded everything the hotel stood for. The announcement was always doomed to failure.

Charlie opened her phone again despite Vaggie’s past warnings against doing that. The first thing she saw was a meme of her photoshopped to be eating a bowl of cornflakes with the caption ‘Welcome Back John Harvey Kellogg’. The next was a post saying, ‘Puritanism tries out the hip new strategy of recruiting the devil’s daughter to punish sinners with shitty musical theater’. The next one forewent the attempts at comedy and just called her a cunt and hoped she’d be raped.

Charlie put the phone down.

She was a joke. Everyone saw her as an uptight prude who wanted sinners to not swear or have sex or do drugs and, okay, one of those were true but Charlie really didn’t have a problem with swearing or sex! But no. She, and the hotel, were loser moralists who hated sinners and everything they stood for. Charlie wanted to cry.

She picked up her phone again and thought about calling her mom. Charlie missed her so much. She would know just the right thing to lift Charlie’s spirits, find the angle that Charlie was missing that would allow her to swing the interview to her advantage. Where was she? Why wouldn’t she answer any of Charlie’s calls? Was it something Charlie had done?

Charlie should be able to fix this and yet she felt totally helpless. She couldn’t even get Angel Dust and Veggie to stop sniping at each other.

“—don’t get why it’s such a big deal!” Angel Dust said flippantly. “I do this shit all the time.”

“Not while you’re in the Hotel, you’re not supposed to!” Vaggie snapped back.

“So, if my boss tells me we’re doing a raid, you want me to—what—say no? Ask him just oh so nicely, can I be excused for the day?” Angel Dust laughed.

“This wasn’t because of your boss! This was something you did for fun.” Vaggie sounded like she wanted to rip her hair out. Charlie felt she really ought to comfort her but right now, she was too upset to think of moving off the couch.

“Yeah, it was pretty fun,” Angel Dust said.

Vaggie let out a wordless expression of pure frustration and rage. Charlie sank lower on her couch.

“Look, I was helping out my girl. That’s practically selfless!”

“Wanton violence is not a virtue!” Vaggie snarled.

“What? Never?” Angel Dust asked sarcastically.

Vaggie paused, collecting herself. She seemed really upset. “No. It’s not,” she said quietly.

Angel Dust looked taken aback by Vaggie’s reaction but before the argument could continue, there was a knock on the front door.

All the three of them turned to stare at it.

Charlie burst to her feet. Someone was at the Hotel. Someone had come to the Hotel even after seeing the interview! Maybe things were salvageable. She rushed to the front door, hope bubbling inside her as she opened the door and—

“Hel—”

Charlie shut the door again, paused for a second to try to recalibrate her brain then opened the door again.

“—lo”

She closed the door again. What the fuck? Nobody had seen him for years and now he was just outside her door.

“Vaggie…” Charlie said, nervously turning around to look at Vaggie and Angel Dust’s confused expressions. “The Radio Demon is at the door.”

“What?”

“What do I do?” Charlie asked in despair.

“Well don’t let him in.”

The sudden terror at the Radio Demon’s arrival at least managed to eclipse the disappointment of it not being a client. Unless… Well, who was to say he couldn’t be a potential client. Charlie had meant what she’d said about being willing to allow anyone seeking redemption into the Happy Hotel. An Overlord would be a challenge but that didn’t mean Charlie wouldn’t be willing.

Besides, the Radio Demon had been missing for years. Who was to say what he had experienced or what his motivations were? Maybe that time away from Pentagram City had been some kind of reflection over his actions!

Or maybe he was here to kill them all for a lark as a way of announcing his return.

Charlie opened the door a third time and got a proper look at the demon. He was tall, dressed all in red with the grey skin of a corpse starting to decay. Of course, the most prominent feature was his nearly luminescent yellow smile.

“May I speak now?” he asked politely.

“You may,” Charlie said with more confidence than she was actually feeling.

Alastor beamed and began, “Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart. Quite a pleasure. Excuse my sudden visit but I saw your fiasco on that newfangled kind of picture show that Overlord wannabe is so fond of splashing everywhere and I just couldn’t resist. What a performance! Why I haven’t been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929. So many orphans!”

Somehow over the course of his words Alastor had managed to end up inside the Hotel, casually wandering about as though he was about to give Charlie a tour of her own building. Once he’d started speaking, it was as though there was no force in the universe that could make him stop. Charlie hadn’t a hope in Hell of getting a word in edgewise but that was seemingly no problem. Alastor didn’t require such mortal needs as another participant in order to have a conversation. Instead, he steamrolled right over Charlie through sheer force of personality and ability to monologue.

“Hey, stop right there!” Vaggie surged forward with her angelic spear to meet Alastor. “I know your game and I won’t let you hurt anyone here in this Hotel.”

“Oh dear.” Alastor gently tipped Vaggie’s spear to the side with one finger. “If I wanted to hurt anyone here, I would have done so already.”

“Do you want to be redeemed?” Charlie asked, her hope spilling out of her.

Alastor laughed heartily. “Oh dear me, no. Absolutely not. I think this idea of redemption is a complete folly and will crash and burn. But have no fear, I am here to help!”

Charlie and Vaggie stared at him but, much like Velvette, Alastor spoke with a certainty to manifest his words into reality and they didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter.

Over the course of an hour, Alastor happily demonstrated that help by providing two new staff members for the hotel, refurbishing the lobby, and violently crushing a snake sinner who attacked the Hotel in a blimp. Alastor’s smile looked the sincerest it had ever been in that moment and Charlie felt a shiver go up her spine at the thought of what kind of help she had accepted into her Happy Hotel.

Chapter 3: Chapter Two

Summary:

Vincent conducts his usual business only to receive some unexpected news

Notes:

I want to say clearly, now, that paedophilia is not going to be a theme or focus in this fic. It may get referenced but there is never going to be any child predation portrayed here. Vincent has a crush on Alastor but nothing will ever come of that and there will be no romantic or sexual interactions between underage characters and adults. The danger of it will be mentioned and I will content warn when that happens in a chapter.

Content warnings: underage drinking, references to paedophilia

Depending on who defined it, it was early in the morning or late at night. The distinction made very little difference in Hell given how loose most sinners’ concept of day and night were. Some rigorously kept to what could be considered ‘business hours’ but there were equally many sinners whose lives were so disordered that sleep happened whenever (if ever) or who operated on an entirely nocturnal schedule. The only real difference between day and night, in Vincent’s opinion, were the kind of businesses that would be open.

The lateness of the hour seemed to have increased the line of sinners waiting to enter Opium. Around Vincent, the sinners in the line to enter the club chittered and giggled, most of them already so high they could probably see Heaven. The air around them buzzed. The whole street was full of people having either the time of their lives or experiencing the worst night of their life. The clubs and bars had streams of people entering and leaving and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes was so strong it was almost visible.

Vincent checked his phone, reading through his messages. Velvette’s interview of the princess had made the splash she’d been hoping for and social media was still buzzing with it several hours later. Velvette must be delighted.

Vincent tapped his foot in impatience as Tiffany Titfucker blatantly skipped the line, leaning down to the bouncers so her famous tits rose up to their faces. Naturally she was let straight into the club, lucky her with her VIP status. Vincent grimaced. He hated waiting.

Although, waiting wasn’t the worst thing in the world, Vincent acknowledged as he watched a sinner at the top of the line get thrown bodily to the curb by the bouncers. Vincent perked his ears to hear the sinner’s protestations that he ought to be let inside, he had business with the boss. Clearly, he had run afoul of the boss if he was no longer allowed inside the club.

“Get outta here, Yusuf,” one of the bouncers barked. “You know Mr. Valentino will shoot ya if you bother him.”

“But if I could just explain—” the pitiful Yusuf protested.

The bouncer shook her head. “I’m doing ya a favour. Now scram before I have to beat your ass or tell the boss.”

Yusuf slunk off, mumbling that he was good for the money. Vincent watched him carefully as he walked past. He didn’t have any outward signifiers of being owned by any Overlord but the glitzy golden rings spoke to once having had good money even if the rest of the appearance did not. He was likely a minor gang leader who’d reneged on some deal with Valentino.

Vincent made a note of it, cross referencing against his database. Yusuf did indeed seem to match a profile. Vincent updated it. The line moved forwards.

The two bouncers were arguing quietly between themselves about whether to tell Valentino about Yusuf’s little appearance. They seemed to decide to not mention it to him. Vincent looked at them carefully, sorting through his memory. He was fairly certain the woman was Zhang and the man was Darling.

He reached the top of the line.

Darling looked down at Vincent, one eyebrow raised. “You seriously think you can get into a place like this? Stick to cans behind the pub. Now scram.”

Vincent rolled his eyes. It was always a fifty-fifty chance this would happen. By this point, it had faded into the larger passive annoyance Vincent was nearly constantly experiencing rather than setting his blood boiling. Still annoying, though. “That’s a rude welcome. Especially for someone on your list.”

Darling glared at him. “Laddie, I don’t know what you think you’re trying—”

Vincent reached over him and plucked the list of approved guests (not quite VIPs) from him and pointed. “There I am. Vincent.”

Darling snatched the list from Vincent and checked it. Vincent waited patiently, smug smile moving up his face. The nice thing about Valentino’s places was that the names were always accompanied by pictures. Perks of Valentino’s terrible eyesight. Darling glared at the page and then at Vincent as though Vincent had managed to slip a forgery in somehow.

“Now, are you going to let me in or will I have to tell your boss that you kept me out because you decided that underage drinking is where you draw the line?” Vincent loved watching Darling’s eye twitch.

“What’s the hold up over there?” Zhang asked, joining the conversation.

“Nothing at all,” Vincent said. “Your colleague was just about to let me in.”

“Zhang, come on, look at this,” Darling muttered. “There’s no way—”

“Nah, I know Vinny. He does business with the boss.” Zhang looked him up and down briefly. “Just let him in, fuck’s sake.”

She moved the velvet rope blocking the entrance to Opium and Vincent happily glided forwards, giving Darling the most condescending nod he was capable of as he stepped inside. Darling looked much more uncomfortable than he had a minute ago and Vincent was happy to let him sweat, imagining what Vincent could say to Valentino.

He clearly wasn’t the most observant man if he wasn’t even aware that Valentino wasn’t in Opium tonight. Valentino was on the other side of his territory engaged in a gun fight last Vincent had been updated. Vincent expected Valentino to not leave the front for at least a week.

Valentino liked to expand his territory immediately after an Extermination. It was the season for aggressive plays, after all. Many turf war fighters and gang leaders were seriously weakened by the Exterminations, losing souls and manpower they couldn’t afford to lose. Valentino was always keen to remind all of Hell that he was an Overlord and his enemies were not, no matter how much pressure they put on his territory’s boundaries.

Vincent would have to go meet him at his battleground soon to tell him about Yusuf’s attempt to repay his debt and his bouncers’ willingness to cover for him. That kind of information wouldn’t keep, so it was better to sell it quickly. Vincent grimaced at the idea.

Vincent did not enjoy shootouts the way Valentino did, a fact Valentino was aware of. He was always trying to find ways to get Vincent ‘out of his comfort zone’ and into a fight because Valentino was a bastard whose sense of humour was entirely based on other people’s discomfort. The last time Vincent had spoken to Valentino while he was in the middle of a campaign, Valentino had literally thrown him over a bombed-out car and into the fray. Vincent had had to flee into the powerlines to escape with his life, something Valentino found riotously funny.

Dickhead.

On the other had, watching Vincent squirm while he tried to convince Valentino not to drop a machine gun or some shit on him and toss him in front of a bunch of loan sharks would improve Valentino’s mood which would be good for Vincent’s negotiating standpoint. Valentino liked entertainment with his business dealings.

It was busy in Opium, it always was. This wasn’t one of Valentino’s show clubs, it was more straightforward, a series of bars and dancefloors. It was a recruiting location for Valentino as far as Vincent could tell but one where the sex happened back home rather than on premises. The club’s whole aura was that of classiness and luxury. It was hip and modern and the place young, new sinners flocked to—in the hopes that being around stars would allow some of their success to rub off on them.

Vincent navigated the crowd with ease, ducking and slipping past people. They were caught up in their own dramas that they barely noticed him. It would be so easy to steal their wallets and phones. Half of them were hanging out of the sinners’ pockets. You’d think that people would be more careful in Hell but somehow carelessness was eternal. They were lucky Vincent was above pickpocketing these days even if it would serve them right and teach them a valuable lesson. It wouldn’t be worth it, anyway. It would be stupid to burn his bridges with Valentino by stealing in one of his clubs.

Besides, Vincent wasn’t going to allow himself to get distracted. He was on a mission.

Vincent found his target at an elevated seating area, lounging luxuriously on a purple couch in front of a low table covered in empty glasses and surrounded by adoring fans.

Velvette was sipping a neon pink cocktail when she spotted Vincent. She laughed, throwing her head back before gesturing him forwards with her free hand.

“Oh, look who it is! Thought I’d see your mug about, Vee. Budge up, you lot.” She waved a hand at the sinners surrounding her until a suitable space had been cleared for Vincent to sit down. “D’you want a drink?”

“You’re feeling generous tonight.” Vincent grinned at her, sitting down.

Velvette gestured broadly before imperiously snapping her fingers at a waiter. “What can I say? I’m just perfect. Vee, what do you want?”

Vincent turned to the waiter Velvette had summoned. “I’ll have a whiskey ginger.”

“And I’ll take a Picante. Anyone else want anything? It’s on me!” The hangers-on around Velvette began eagerly placing their orders and Vincent sat back in interest.

Velvette really was in a good mood. While she would often act nice in public, especially to fans or sinners she wanted to recruit, it wouldn’t normally extend to actual generosity. Velvette was stingy with her money which was irritating because Vincent was also stingy with his money. She really was delighted with how her interview went.

She looked incredible. Velvette always looked incredible, of course. That was her brand. But tonight, she did seem to have gone for an attention-grabbing look that spoke of triumph. Her hair was up in a pair of buns each with her signature while swirl and she wore a white, lowcut, strapless dress with a million chokers and necklaces and heels so high that just looking at them made Vincent feel unsteady on his feet.

 He commented, “You seem to be celebrating.”

“Fucking right I am,” Velvette said, victoriously.

Vincent smiled at her. “What could it possibly be?”

“None of that coy shit. It’s not as cute as you think it is.” Velvette waved a hand in his face. “I know you were watching the stream. You saw all of it.”

“Guilty,” Vincent chuckled. He had watched Velvette’s stream from the beginning. He didn’t always, sometimes he had someone keep an eye on it when he was busy, but an interview with the Princess of Hell had been too intriguing to delegate and Vincent was very glad he hadn’t.

When Charlie Morningstar had mentioned that Angel Dust was her guest, Vincent had immediately searched through all the footage he could find of current turf wars. Given Angel Dust was employed by Valentino, there had been good odds that Angel Dust had been drafted into Valentino’s current territory war.  His guess had been half-right and the fact that the Happy Hotel’s guest was voluntarily participating in a fight was an even better outcome.

Vincent had flicked the information onto Velvette, knowing that she’d be able to spin it into something scandalous and would pay him back for the help. Velvette was one of his favourite clients for a reason.

“I appreciated the shoutout,” he said.

Velvette laughed. “Well, you had helped me out. It was fucking glorious watching Princess Charlie learn about Angel Dust right in front of me! Oh fuck! I thought she was going to cry. It was amazing.”

“You’d think she’d have a better poker face,” Vincent said.

It had been outstanding just how easily flustered Charlie Morningstar was in that interview. Every emotion had run across her face like a runaway horse. She’d been completely out of control. How in Hell did royalty end up so clueless? Vincent couldn’t imagine it. Everything he’d ever heard about royalty in life suggested they were trained from birth to be stoic little statues whose only jobs were to smile at crowds or declare war on Russia. People raised for power from birth were supposed to know better than to be such a mess.

Velvette downed her drink and slammed it on the table in delight, knocking some of the other glasses off the table in the process. “That was the fucking thing! She just said fucking whatever. Kept spilling. Didn’t have a thought in that prissy blonde head. I mean, who the fuck goes into an interview with no strategy?”

Half of Velvette’s stream guests seemed to fit that description but Vincent kept that thought to himself. “I couldn’t believe she sang.”

Velvette clapped her hands. “I know. I fucking know! It’s too good to be true. I didn’t think she would.”

“Wait.” Vincent held up a hand in disbelief. “Did you know she was going to—”

“She asked me about it! I thought she was just making a fucking stupid joke but no! She’s sincere.” Sincere was definitely the nice word for Charlie Morningstar, Vincent privately thought.

The waiter arrived back at the table with a crammed tray. Velvette, naturally, was given her cocktail first but Vincent was pleased to be handed his drink second. He could feel the gazes of the sinners around him and Velvette; eyes fixed on him in jealousy. They were all wondering who he was that he could monopolise Velvette’s time.

Vincent took a gulp of his whiskey ginger and smirked. Fans and admirers were nothing to Velvette except a resource. They gave her attention and love that she used to fuel her empire. Vincent was her colleague. He actually was someone.

Vincent saw the flash of a phone camera out of the corner of his eye and leant towards Velvette, possessively. If people wanted to watch, they’d see that he and Velvette were close.

Velvette grinned at Vincent. He wasn’t sure if she was aware of his manoeuvring. She was quite drunk. “Oh Vee, I wish you could’ve seen the princess’s notes.”

“Were they written in crayon?” Vincent asked sardonically.

“Better! They were fucking illustrated. Little fucking coloured drawing of sinners in heaven with puppies and kitten and rainbows and shite.” Velvette and Vincent made eye contact and it was all over—the two broke into hysterical, ugly laughter.

Charlie Morningstar was an adult, Vincent was certain. She was almost two centuries old, she wanted to own and run a business, she was in a long-term relationship. Vincent was certain she was an adult and yet…

How did someone get to that age so naïve? She must have been sheltered her entire life, kept in a happy, soft bubble of luxury and love. She must have grown up with two loving parents who protected her and gave her anything she wanted. Royalty truly must live in an entirely different world—one apparently filled with nice people. It was easy to nice when anything you could ever want was given to you.

“This is the princess of Hell?” Vincent asked rhetorically.

This seemed to be something Velvette had been waiting for as she threw her hands in the air—sloshing a lot of her drink on one of her fans—and cried “Thank you. Exactly! It’s fucking ridiculous that someone like that has so much—is so—like why does she have any power? She sure as fuck doesn’t deserve it.”

“Is she even powerful?” Vincent asked. If he was powerful, he wouldn’t have just let someone tear into him the way Velvette had. He would put a stop to it immediately and let that be a lesson to anyone who would try and challenge him in the future.

“She is,” Velvette said, emphatically. “And that’s the fucking thing. I had the bloody spawn of the devil himself in my hand. I made her cry and she did nothing to me! I have never felt fucking better. Who needs coke? I should cork this feeling!”

Velvette happily sagged against her couch, languid like a roman emperor awaiting his attendants. Or like Valentino when he was at work.

Vincent considered Velvette’s words. Winning a public fight with Charlie Morningstar, even if was purely verbal, was noteworthy. Velvette was in constant competition with every other social media influencer outside of her studio, every other independent celebrity, every other sinner trying to corner a market in the Entertainment District. Velvette was one of the more successful budding entertainment powers but she was still just one of many. An opportunity to punch above her weight class and humiliate someone more powerful bought her legitimacy.

Charlie Morningstar was supposedly extremely powerful and she had just folded under Velvette. That kind of victory would set Velvette apart from the other ambitious, bickering Overlord-hopefuls in media. If Velvette played her cards right, it would be another step on her journey to conquering the Entertainment District.

While it would be better for Velvette to win a victory against an Overlord, she would certainly lose any fight she picked with one. Even against a weaker Overlord like Maestro or Madame Abeille, Velvette would be wiped off the map along with any hopes of becoming an Overlord.

Vincent raised his ginger whiskey. “A toast then. To your success.”

Velvette raised her own glass. “A toast to me. And to you too.”

They clinked their glasses together and both drank. Vincent eagerly downed his alcohol.

“I’m glad you… you, uh, appreciated the help.” Too late, Vincent remembered that drinking spirits so quickly was always a mistake. It looked so cool but it made his head spin. He’d managed to improve his alcohol tolerance over the near century he’d spent in Hell but it was still low by most sinners’ standards. “How much, would you say you…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Vee,” Velvette said. “I’ll pay you back. No bloody negotiations now, I’m too… whatever… right now. Here”—she raised a hand to him— “I’ll owe you a favour of equ—of equal helpfulness in exchange for the information you gave me earlier today.”

“Deal!” Vincent took her hand. Their hands glowed purple and blue. She really was one of his favourite clients. He could rely on her to pay him back. As long as he was useful, Velvette would always make space for him. “Here’s to our continued—fucking, uh, relationship. In business.”

Velvette laughed at him. “I know what you meant, Vee. Relax. Let’s get another round actually!”

Vincent stayed for another two hours. He got a detailed play-by-play from Velvette of her victory over Charlie Morningstar, starting from the first email she’d received to Morningstar dejectedly leaving Velvette’s creator house with her girlfriend, Vaggie. Odd name. Vincent, as subtly as he could, grilled Velvette for personal details on the princess and her girlfriend. Velvette hadn’t provided him anything that would be worth selling but it was enough to begin building a profile of the two women.

Outside of that, he continued to ingratiate himself with Velvette. A good working relationship required upkeep and Vincent definitely believed Velvette would one day be a major player even if she never made it to Overlordhood. It would be so nice to have an Overlord he could rely on again.

Vincent tried to put that thought out of his head. That strain of thought always came up when he drank. He needed to ignore it.

Vincent switched to water as soon as Velvette wasn’t watching and was almost sobered up by the time he left Opium. Velvette had taken a selfie with him to commemorate the occasion and promised to tag him in on Sinstagram. Vincent didn’t remind her that his Sinstagram account was anonymous and strictly for lurking.

It was still hot outside of the club despite the late hour. Vincent debated asking any of the other sinners hanging about for a cigarette but decided against it. He didn’t need somebody to decide he looked like a soft touch. Vincent did carry a knife to dissuade such things but you couldn’t trust sinners in Hell to not be stupid.

Vincent walked through Valentino’s territory, thinking to himself. It was mostly filled with clubs and bars and sex shows. It wasn’t the safest area to be but Vincent was long used to the rhythms of Pentagram city and Valentino’s turf was fully electrified. If Vincent really needed a quick escape, he could just connect to the powerlines and be away in a flash.

Anyway, Vincent liked to avoid using the wiring for travel. It was an unpleasant sensation and doing it too much could leave him with a migraine—

(Vincent connected to the electrical grid through his powerline. The electricity would run up it until hitting his neck, allowing him to turn into pure electricity. That moment of connection always came with a shock that Vincent hated.)

—and walking helped him organise his thoughts.

It also gave him the opportunity to keep an eye out for anything interesting. As Vincent moved through Valentino’s territory, he watched three separate fights break out and collected further evidence of a mafia don’s affair with a for-hire hitman. That dossier was almost ready to go to market in Vincent’s opinion, the only thing he was debating was whether to sell it to the don’s number two who was biting at the bit to overthrow her boss or to the don’s temperamental husband.

Vincent paused his musings at the sound of whimpering coming from an alley. Vincent casually peered inside to see a sinner having a breakdown.

He had the unnaturally skinny look that suggested he was some kind of insect demon. His hands were pressed over his eyes and he was hyperventilating. He was wearing a gilet which, if Vincent’s keen eyes weren’t mistaking him, had a Human logo on it, and white trainers smeared with fresh blood. Wearing white shoe ware was a novice mistake in Hell.

Unless the person in question hadn’t been dressing for Hell.

A freshly fallen sinner then; probably within the past few hours judging by how clean the clothes still were. That and the panic attack.

“Hey there,” Vincent called down the alley, pitching his voice just a bit higher. “Are you alright?”

The sinner lowered his hands away from his face, still gasping for air uncontrollably, and looked at Vincent with wild eyes.

“Do you need help?” Vincent asked, taking a cautious few steps closer. The light from a billboard fell on him, letting the cricket see him better.

“W-who—stay back!” The sinner managed when Vincent took another step closer. He had a West Coast accent.

“Okay, okay.” Vincent took a step back and raised his hands up, nonthreateningly. “I’m over here. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The sinner seemed to be getting control of himself in the face of this new person which emboldened Vincent to press on. “My name’s Vincent. Are you okay?” His face was all concern.

“M-Matthew.”

“Are you lost, Matthew?” Vincent asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“I—I don’t know,” he stuttered out. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Oh,” Vincent said. “Did you only just get down here?”

Matthew nodded. Now that Vincent was closer, he pegged him for being in his mid-thirties. “Oh,” Vincent repeated, letting the silence drag out.

Matthew obediently filled it. “Am I dead? Did that really happen? And this is—this is—”

“Yeah,” Vincent said. “This is Hell.”

Matthew lunged forwards and for a second Vincent’s eyes widened in fear as he thought he’d drastically miscalculated but then Matthew was just gripping Vincent’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t be here! I don’t deserve to be here.”

“That’s what we all say,” Vincent muttered.

“No, you don’t understand. I was making the world a better place. I was—I was going to invest—you don’t get it. The future generations I would be able to help! Mathematically—It was the most rational way to help people. I’m a good person, Vincent, I’m a good person!”

Vincent patted Matthew on the arm, looking down at his hands. Definitely a smart watch and not a scratch on it. “I hear you, Matthew.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Matthew repeated, trembling. “I—I’m an altruist. Effective… altruist…”

“It’s not a fair system,” Vincent said. “It’s Hell.”

“It’s Hell…” Matthew seemed to realise he was gripping Vincent tightly and let go, looking ashamed. He crumpled against the alley wall. Vincent shook out his arms, careful not to disturb the fugue Matthew had fallen into with his movement.

Being sent to Hell did involve a bit of a worldview shattering. Vincent only knew one person who had handled it well and hadn’t needed to whimper in an alley for a few hours. Matthew looked like the kind of person who might need a few days to sort himself out into anything approaching competence. The people who thought they were good people always did. Vincent decided to hammer the point home.

“We don’t know how it’s chosen who goes up or who goes down,” Vincent said. “But you’re stuck here now. Forever.”

Matthew mouthed the word. “I can’t be here. I have important things I need to do! My company—my legacy—my—”

“You’ll never get those back,” Vincent said, as kindly as he could manage. “You’re dead.”

Matthew stared at him, tears in his eyes. “Oh god…”

Vincent let him snuffle for a few minutes, even looking away to allow him some privacy. Once Matthew composed himself somewhat, Vincent spoke again. “What was your company?”

“What?”

“Your company,” Vincent repeated. “You seem really proud of it. Was it where you got that money you were going to use to help people?”

Matthew seized on the topic like a drowning man thrown a life ring. “Y-yeah. That’s right. It was—blockchain holding. Like a bank. But not a bank because I fucking hate banks. But it was so good! I’m a genius, all my employees said so and once I had enough profit, I’d be able to save the world. I just—I just had to keep reinvesting until the moment was—until I had enough—long term harm reduction, do you understand? Short term problems don’t matter, we have to do longtermism and I was going to save so-so fucking many future generations.”

The god complex on this one. “I can see the logic. Were you involved in the software?”

“What?”

“I mean were you a big ideas guy or were you working from the ground up. You know, coding?”

“B-Both. I’m a visionary. You ask anyone, that’s what they’ll say… And I—I mean obviously I knew how to operate the system.”

“Great!” Vincent said. Computer programmers on new technology were a hot commodity even he’d worked on something as ridiculous as a ‘bank that wasn’t actually a bank’.  Vincent began running through his mental list of sinners working with technology. Velvette was naturally at the top of the list. Good working relationships should always be maintained. “Did you work anywhere else before your company?”

Matthew stared at him in confusion with tears still running down his face. “The fuck is this? A job interview?”

Vincent waved a hand. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just interested in new technology.”

Matthew seemed a bit mollified by that and looked closer at Vincent. “Are you… human too?”

Vincent smiled at him. “Yeah, before I died. Everyone down here was.”

“S-so the demons I saw eating a person were—”

“Exactly.”

Matthew’s mouth made a perfect ‘O’ shape. A new horror was dawning behind his eyes as it occurred to him all the possible people who could be in Hell. Poor, twiggy Matthew who had surely grown up in a three-storey house with two cars, attended college and had enough money that people called him a ‘visionary’. He’d probably never even been in a fight.

“It can be really dangerous out there,” Vincent told him. “Everyone’s in factions and if you’re by yourself, you’ll get picked off by someone else.”

“Why the fuck isn’t there some kind of primer on this stuff?” Matthew asked. “Where’s the fucking onboarding process? I want to make a complaint.”

Vincent couldn’t stop himself from laughing this time. “To who?”

“I don’t know! God?”

Vincent grinned. That was really cute. “Matthew, there’s no one out there. There’s just us.”

“Just… us…”

“Yeah. We’re all thrown in together. No higher authority. Nothing. Just us and the worst people in the history of humanity.” No need to introduce the idea of Exterminations at this point. Matthew had almost a year to learn about that particular joy of Hell.

Matthew was trembling again. “I’m going to die. I shouldn’t be here. I’m a good person.”

“Listen, it’ll be okay, Matthew,” Vincent said reassuringly. “It’s not easy but you made your own company! You fought really hard and were a big success. You’re a fighter, aren’t you?”

Matthew nodded to himself, gaining some colour back in his cheeks at Vincent’s words. “Yeah. Yeah. I did manage to—I did fight to the top.”

“See,” Vincent said. “You’ll manage to succeed here too. Trust me.”

Matthew nodded again and looked up at Vincent. “You’re a real nice kid, Vincent.”

Vincent’s smile went tight at the corners. “The first day in Hell sucks. I like to give a helping hand.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Vincent said. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

Matthew looked around the alley. Further down, there was a heap of used needles. Slightly hysterically, he said, “Y-yeah, I guess I do. I’m homeless now. Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to ever happen to me.”

“I’ve got a place you can stay,” Vincent said. “For as long as you need and hey, you said you worked with computers. I actually know a lot of people who work in Hell’s tech industry. I could introduce you!”

“Really? That’d be… shit, that’d be fantastic.” Hope was returning to Matthew’s eyes. “What, um, what’s the catch?”

“Well,” Vincent said, “we’d need to make an agreement. It’s just that… I don’t know you and I have to make sure that you’re not…” Vincent trailed off meaningfully, looking bashfully at Matthew’s crotch and then back to his face.

“What? Fuck, fuck no. I am not a pedo or something,” Matthew reassured Vincent, panic both at the accusation and the potential loss of a room and future employment. “Really, you can trust me.”

“I mean, I hope so,” Vincent said. “But it’s just… Could you agree that you’ll do what I say? In exchange, I’ll give you a room to stay in and help you sell yourself to the people I know in tech. They’re doing really interesting new work and I’m sure you’d be an asset! Really make a difference.”

Was Vincent laying it on a bit thick? Perhaps but he didn’t like letting opportunities slip through his fingers and Matthew looked desperate enough to not think through what he was agreeing to. You had to strike quickly when opportunity presented itself.

Vincent reached a hand down to the sinner to pull him up. “Is it a deal?”

“Sure.” Matthew took his hand, sealing the deal.

Bright blue light shone from their hands and Vincent felt the deal settle around his throat, a far looser noose than the tight cord wrapped around Matthew’s neck.

“Great!” Vincent bounced back on the balls of his feet. “I’ll make enquiries tomorrow about who will be interested in you. I’m sure there’ll be loads of people interested in your skills.”

“What was that?” Matthew’s eyes were wide with alarm. He rubbed at his neck, feeling the metaphysical binding.

“A deal. They’re a bit more literal here,” Vincent said. He took out his phone and texted Enoch. He would be able to get Matthew back to the compound without any fuss. “My friend’s going to pick you up. You’ll do whatever he tells you to do.”

The order sank into Matthew and Vincent watched as he realised that disobedience was physically impossible. He was starting to look scared. Vincent drank in the expression before giving the necessary reassurances. “Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe. And once I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal, that’ll be the end of it. Trust me.”

“O-okay,” Matthew stammered. He was emotionally wrung out and he clearly just wanted to take Vincent at his word because he was so exhausted by everything that had happened to him that day. Dying was hefty work.

“Just wait here for my friend to arrive. He’ll look after you,” Vincent said encouragingly and went to leave the alley.

“Wait, you’re just going?” Matthew cried. “Stop!”

He grabbed Vincent’s arm and pulled him back. The force of Matthew’s grip yanked Vincent off him feet and, for a second, Vincent was suspended in midair. Vincent was so much smaller than Matthew. “Let go of me!” Vincent spat, his voice becoming distorted.

Matthew let go of him as though he was burned. They stared at each other. Matthew looked horrified. He looked down at his hand, the realisation that he’d obeyed Vincent’s command involuntarily settling in.

Vincent tried to smile but he doubted he succeeded very well. “I have business I need to attend to,” he said in what was meant to be an airy, unaffected voice but instead came out brittle. “It’s a busy night for me. Fucking goodbye.”

Vincent very deliberately strode out of the alley before Matthew could do something stupid like try to apologise. Vincent tried not to seem like he was in a hurry to leave.

It was stupid of him to have gotten caught off guard by someone as pathetic as Matthew. What could Matthew have even done to Vincent? He might have been bigger, older, perhaps stronger, but he was a wreck. Vincent had a damned angelic knife in his boot. He could teleport. Vincent would have been fine!

He just hadn’t expected it. Stupid, really. Matthew had proven at the beginning of their conversation that he had no problem with grabbing Vincent; Vincent should have seen that move coming. He shouldn’t be bothered by it.

It added a sour note to what had been a successful night until then.

Vincent touched his arm and then felt like a complete moron. He’d gotten what he’d wanted. Enoch could interrogate Matthew further about his exact skillset, demeanour, how he died, all of that good stuff that prospective soul-owners loved to know about contractees.

Vincent stopped on the sidewalk and lent against the wall. He ran a hand down his face. His heart was working stupidly fast. Old people were supposed to get heart palpitations. It was stupid to get them. He’d probably just inhaled something at Opium. Vincent focused on the street in front of him, focusing on the buildings.

The wall he was leaning against was of a warehouse a small-time yakuza group put a lot of effort into making appear abandoned. In actuality, they’d been using it to store stock for nearly three years now. Across the street was a Dutch coffeehouse that doubled as a front for gun running. The building beside it had been anonymously owned by an assassin but was now lying barren after they’d been killed by Carmilla Carmine over stolen angelic weaponry—weaponry that was sourced from said coffeehouse. Vincent should just tell Carmine about it, she was such an unwilling customer but it could be an easy freebie to convince her to actually work with Vincent. If not, he could always sell it onto Madame Abeille so she could seize the stolen Carmine weapons. But the Madame barely liked Vincent more than Carmine did—

Vincent wanted a cigarette so badly.

Vincent touched his arm again. He should probably call it a night at this point. The light of dawn was beginning to crack. He could just go back to the compound, rally the troops, hear his reports, assess all the new information and plan… plan something.

He also needed to work out his approach to… the head. Vincent had locked it in a safe under his bed and sworn his source to safety. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. The information was valuable, incredibly so, but it was so valuable it was almost corrosive. It was a situation that needed to be handled with care—otherwise Vincent might end up in the crosshairs of someone very dangerous or even Heaven itself.

It was a good thing that Vincent could never be content not reaching for ever greater challenges.

Vincent opened his phone. Enoch had texted him that he’d collected Matthew and brought him back to the compound. Good. He could leave the rest of that in Enoch’s hands. He was reliable.

Velvette had ended up tagging him on Sinstagram. Begrudgingly, he commented on the picture. It would be a snub if he didn’t. Some other clients had responded to past enquiries or offers. Most of them didn’t care about snubbing him.

There were updates from a variety of his sources but most interestingly was the overly excited message from the sinner he’d had trailing Angel Dust.

The steampunk snake zeppelin guy showed uo at the place AD went ot. Its says it’s a hotel. Snake guy attacked the hotel to kill AD I think. So hes either mad about how the turf ifighting went against AD and Cherri Bomb or he has a thing against AD specifically. Or valentino? Could be trying to get at Valentino through killing AD?

Attack went really badly. Snake guy had a fucking zepplin but it was just crushed by these like shadow tentacles. Don’t know who caused that but wasn’t AD. There were a couple people with AD. Deffo one of them

Attached was a video.

A shiver ran up Vincent’s back. It couldn’t be… Maybe there was another sinner with shadow powers. Maybe Charlie Morningstar could do that. But maybe… Just maybe…

Vincent opened the video with a gently trembling finger.

The video quality was awful. His source was too far away from the Happy Hotel and had zoomed in the camera as much as possible to compensate for the distance, leading to the image being terrible but it was good enough to see a sinner Vincent recognised as one of Madame Abeille’s souls get thrown from a zeppelin. The zeppelin itself was crushed by a host of black tentacles that rose from the ground and cast eerie, green light around the scene. It was very distinctive magic. Vincent felt giddy.

He replayed the video several times, watching it hypnotised. If he zoomed in on it, he could see the smeared forms of several demons standing in front of the hotel. Angel Dust was identifiable by his tall height and distinctive creamy pink colours. One was probably Charlie Morningstar based on what was probably blonde hair and a red suit. One of the others was probably Charlie’s girlfriend but Vincent had no idea what she looked like.

One of the blurred demons was standing apart from the rest and even in the dismal recording, Vincent could see the yellow smile.

Notes:

In canon, we know Vox likes spirits but I imagine the younger Vincent doesn't actually like the taste of straight alcohol. He still wants to have an adult, cool drink though so whiskey and a mixer it is. Velvette has just always seemed like a cocktail person to me--as does Vaggie, if she'd ever drink.

Notes:

If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave your thoughts!