Abandon All Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here

And now I'm back. I admit, eight days isn't as quick as I'd like, but still, it's definitely my best performance in quite some time. So I won't worry too much about that.

Anyway, I think I shall keep this introduction brief. Not much has happened in my life as of late, or at least nothing that's really worth telling you all about (if anyone even reads this, that is). The upshot is that I don't have to spend another few paragraphs whining about how little writing time I manage to give myself, and can just get on and give you another story.

The following is the second from my "present collection". I won't give any hints about what to expect, save for this: the title of the post is not a statement of intent. If you know what that means, you're already half-way there; if not, don't worry about it, 'cause the story will explain in time.

Well, I think that's all from me. On with the story...

The Walls Of Jericho

A man may have a hundred children and live a long life; but however many his days may be, if he does not get satisfaction from the good things of life and in the end receives no burial, then I maintain that the still-born child is in better case than he.

- Ecclesiastes 4:3

When David Willis had left for work on this Thursday morning, there was no thunder in the heavens. There were no clouds of locusts on the horizon. There were no rats swarming the streets. The waters had not turned red with blood. There were no omens of any description, good, ill or otherwise, nothing at all to suggest that this Thursday was any different from the countless others before it. There wasn’t even a mildly eerie rainstorm, the sun instead being up, out and shining away in the cloudless skies, like the irritatingly cheerful fucker it was.

The only problem with his morning was that the bus had been late: combined with roadworks on Gregorian Road, this meant he didn’t arrive at Barratech Boxes, Inc. until 8:28am, seven minutes after he’d planned. But still, he’d tried to make up for the lost time, and by 9:34am, he’d already viewed and responded to his e-mails (all four of them), as well as started work on the day’s dispatch reports. Only an hour and six minutes at work, and he was doing well already.

Barratech Boxes, as the name indicated, manufactured boxes, of all sizes, shapes, materials and designs. This was a fairly important, albeit unsung, service, so there were always enough customers to make sure no one ever worried about job security. As a result, David had comfortably spent his thirteen years of service with the company in the same post, that of Distribution Services Authenticator. Each time a box was put together and then placed in a truck, it would be logged onto the central computer system, and each time a full truck was sent off, a report of all those logs was sent up to David’s cubicle. Essentially, his job was to compare these reports to the orders sent in by their customers, to ensure that the boxes sent off were the ones that should have been sent off: usually they were, but when they weren’t, he would have to notify both his manager and the factory floor, and make sure the correct truck was sent with a written apology attached. This only happened once every few months, but with an average of six trucks leaving every hour, there was still always a steady flow of reports to keep him busy.

On the whole, David enjoyed his work. He liked numbers and patterns and lists: he liked their simplicity, their orderliness, their innate sense of balance. He liked that warm feeling he got when the reports matched up, when the universe continued to run to its steady beat. And even when they didn’t match up, when the resulting merry circus kicked off, he still liked the process of putting it all back into balance. Sometimes, when it got to around 5pm, he would find himself clock-watching, but then he would just get another report and put the feeling behind him. Ultimately, he was good at his work, and it allowed him a simple, quiet lifestyle, the kind he felt best suited him. Yes, he enjoyed it.

At the moment, he was working on a report for Niceday, an office supplies wholesaler: amusingly, they operated a depot on the same commercial estate where Barratech lived, only three units down. Their order was for ten thousand of the 75cm cardboard cuboids, all with the Niceday logo and slogan printed on the side. So far, everything matched up, but it would take another few minutes of checking to be absolutely sure.

“David?”

The voice startled him, not least because the person who spoke was only a few feet away. He hadn’t realised he’d become that absorbed in his work.

David put down his pen, and span his chair round to face the newcomer. It was Louise, the manager’s PA, a woman in her mid-twenties who, to David’s eyes at least, was not entirely unattractive. Of course, that shouldn’t make a difference in the business world, but somehow, it did. He liked that she always kept her appearance simple and modest, with her plain black trouser suit, and her blonde hair tied into a single ponytail, and he liked that, despite her role, she never took part in the petty gossip that fuelled the office lunch breaks. Though he had no intentions of ever saying it aloud – he was old enough to be her father, for Christ’s sake – he could always find time for whatever she needed.

“Hi, Louise.” he said with a light smile. “How can I help?”

“Miranda wants to see you in her office. As soon as possible.”

“Really?. Do you know what for?”

Louise shrugged. “Not a clue.”

“Oh. I guess I’d better head over. Thanks, Louise.”

“No problem.”

Louise gave a quick smile and walked away. David stood up, slid his chair under the desk and left his cubicle. Miranda’s office was on the floor above this room, about five minute’s trek from the lifts.

That he was being summoned by Miranda was a little worrying. She was the CEO of Barratech, and a woman he only met a few times a year, at Christmas parties and whatnot: he usually dealt with Michael, the head of “support staff” like David. Despite having to meet with someone so far up the tree, he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong for quite some time, so this probably wouldn’t be bad news. But all the same, he couldn’t shake a strong feeling of unease. It was a vague and unhelpful feeling, directed only at a sense that running away, right now, would be a wonderful idea.

He just put it down to the typical human dread of uncertainty. The lack of ill omens didn’t help: if he had known what he was walking into on this sunny Thursday morning, then he wouldn’t have even stayed long enough to grab his coat.

* * * * *

As things turned out, it wasn’t just Miranda who wanted to see him. There was also Michael, and Lewis, the reclusive head of Human Resources. Miranda’s office was large and clean, big enough to hold a boardroom table in its centre, with enough room to comfortably fit several filing cabinets, and a desk by the full-length blinded windows. It was decorated in uniform grey paint and grey carpet, its only decoration being a landscape painting of medieval Jerusalem.

Miranda, Michael and Lewis were all sat in a row on one side of the boardroom table, a number of papers spread in front of them. For half a second of absolute panic, David thought he’d been sent back in time to his first interview. But then he got a grip on himself, and was merely confused as to what in the hell was going on.

More worrying still, the three managers were looking a little nervous themselves. And when managers got bad news, they tended to spread it around.

“Good morning, David.” Miranda said, calm voice clearly faked. “Please, sit down. There’s nothing to worry about. We just have a job for you.”

That couldn’t be good. Either way, David thought it best to not ask questions. He sat down on the nearest chair, the opposite side of the table from his three superiors.

Miranda cleared her throat. “Right then. I guess I should ask the obvious question first. Are you a religious man, David?”

David blinked. What did that have to do with anything?

“Not especially, no.”

Miranda nodded. “Okay. Well, that should make things easier for you.” She didn’t elaborate, and David didn’t feel brave enough to ask her to.

“Umm…” she continued, “as you know, David, Barratech Boxes is a subsidiary of Exocel Acquisitions.”

David nodded, if only because it seemed appropriate. He did know, but it wasn’t a piece of information he needed to use every day.

“They currently own seventeen separate businesses, including ourselves.” Miranda went on. “Over the last six months, they have been negotiating to buy an eighteenth. Last night, they informed us that it has been successful. They now, umm…own 63% of Hell.”

“Oh, okay.” David said, more intelligent responses taking cover somewhere in the back of his brain.

Miranda briefly glanced at Michael, perhaps in pleading. Either way, he subsequently clasped his hands together, as was his wont, and took over the briefing.

“Exocel are concerned,” he said tonelessly, “that Hell is not sufficiently geared towards making a profit, and would like someone to visit them and suggest ways to remedy the situation. As Barratech is, apparently, umm…the site with easiest transportation to Hell, the, umm…responsibility of doing so, has fallen to us.”

Instantly, David could see just where this was going.

“I’m assuming that you want me to take care of it.”

Lewis was the one who answered the question. “Yes.” he said, clearing his throat. “We know this isn’t your usual area of expertise, but this is a very important assignment, and we need someone we can trust. Someone who wouldn’t, umm…get any funny ideas.”

If was being completely honest with himself, David had been assuming this to be some kind of elaborate prank against him. But Barratech Boxes wasn’t known for its practical jokes, and besides, something about these three suggested they were being genuine. For one thing, neither Miranda, Michael or Lewis ever said “umm.”

So, whilst this was still a completely bizarre assignment, he was willing to take it on. At the very least, an excursion would do him good.

“Okay.” he said, after a brief lull in the conversation. “When do you want me to leave?”

“As Exocel explained it to us,” Michael said, “time is a relative concept in Hell. So feel free to leave whenever you’re ready. Just go to the lift at the end of the corridor, and go to floor six-hundred and sixty-six. It should be a fairly simple journey.”

“And we would appreciate it, David,” Lewis suddenly chipped in, “if you kept all of this to yourself. Otherwise, things could, umm…get out of hand.”

David nodded. The need for secrecy made a kind of sense: after all, this was completely bizarre.

He was also beginning to understand why his employers were so nervous. It wasn’t so much that Hell really existed, and had been bought out by their company’s owners – though that was still fairly troublesome – so much that the responsibility for its success had suddenly been thrust onto their shoulders. Barratech Boxes had always been left to just do its own thing, so having others rely on them so heavily was an unwelcome novelty. David would doubtless feel the pressure himself before long, but he was happy to wait for everything to sink in first.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep quiet.” he said. “I guess I’d better head on down there.”

He stood up slowly. He waned to make a move sharpish, but it would be rude to just run.

“Thank you, David.” Miranda said, just before he turned for the door. “Your efforts will not go unappreciated.”

* * * * *

According to the clock hung above David’s computer, it was now 10:21am. He pulled out his briefcase from under the desk, and packed the few things he reckoned he’d need: A4 lined pad, pens and pencils, pocket calculator, plastic wallet with some Barratech promo documents (for inspiration), Tupperware box with two home-made cheese and pickle sandwiches (for lunch). He considered picking up his coat as well, but Hell would probably be quite warm, so he instead took his phone, wallet and house keys out of the pockets and put them in the briefcase as well.

He shut the briefcase, picked it up and had a final look around the cubicle. It was a cosy little thing, eight feet by eight feet, its walls a dark blue fur. Most of the other thirty-nine cubicles in the room had calendars, funny pictures/sayings, photos of the partner and kids or similar decorations, but David kept his plain and tidy: if he’d had a family, then doubtless there would be photos, but as it was, the clock was his only adornment. He also liked to keep his desk scrupulously clean, all absolutely non-essential items confined to either the drawers, the In tray or the Out tray. His colleagues often considered him scarily neat, but David had simply maintained his corner of the universe in the way he liked it.

“You off somewhere, David?” The voice was from the cubicle to his left: indeed, Jeff’s smiling face was peering over the wall. Jeff smiled a lot, which some people felt odd for a guy who had to review customer complaints for a living, but as far as David was concerned, any job was enjoyable to the right mind.

“Yeah. Apparently there’s some contractors I need to meet. I don’t know why, but I’ll be told on the way. Should be interesting.”

Though David disliked lies, he’d always been able to tell them fairly convincingly. He’d been practising that one in particular since he left Michael’s office, so he was able to keep a straight face.

Jeff shrugged, then smiled. “Well…enjoy.”

“I’m sure I will. See you later.”

Jeff smiled again, and dropped back into his cubicle. David walked towards the door at the end of the room, where the lift waiting for him in the corridor beyond. As he reached the door, he turned back to face the mass of cubicles. The room was large, over a hundred feet long, but for the briefest moment, it became even larger. For half a second, the identikit cubicles, the harsh strip lighting, the white walls spotted with ridiculous motivational posters, all seemed to stretch for an infinity that was truly appalling to the soul. But then he blinked, and the room was back to normal.

He turned back and went through the door. The corridor stretched off to the left and right: the lift was to the left, at the far end. He walked over to the lift, his shoes squeaking on the plastic floor, and pressed the Call button. The doors opened instantly, the first time in months they’d managed to do so, and he stepped inside.

Just as Michael said, there was a button marked “666”, right between “G” and “< >”. It definitely wasn’t there when he used the lift this morning, and in a moment’s clarity, he knew that it wouldn’t be there when the next person came along. Though not reassured by this, he had a job to do, and so he calmly pressed the button. The doors closed, and he felt the lift begin to descend.

As David had said, he wasn’t a religious man. He considered himself to be an agnostic, more or less: he didn’t know whether or not God existed, and the question also wasn’t of much concern to him. From what he’d experienced of the world – which, admittedly, wasn’t a whole lot – even if God did exist, then He didn’t much care for the well-being of His creation, which made any ideas of worshipping Him pretty much moot. But all the same, now that Hell seemed to really exist after all, he had to conclude that so did Heaven and God. He wasn’t sure what he felt about that, if he felt anything at all. On the other hand, he understood that others would have less unconcerned responses, which certainly explained Miranda’s opening question.

It was also becoming apparent to him that, even if he had a more useful temperament than others, he was still completely the wrong man for the job. He was a professional double-checker, not an ideas fountain: how could he help craft a successful business, especially one with the kind of profit margin that was so clearly expected? But still, he was here now, and at the very least, he would just have to explain his situation to…well, Satan, he supposed, and hope that he could pull something out of the hat. That prospect alarmed him a little more than he was expecting.

Whilst he waited, and tried to think of ideas that weren’t forthcoming, David double-checked his appearance in the lift’s shiny metal walls. They weren’t designed as mirrors, of course, so his reflection was distorted and only borderline recognisable, but the wavy image starting back at him seemed to be looking okay. The black jacket and black trousers were unstained and uncreased; the white shirt was clean, with only a few inevitable creases; the red tie was straight, its knot the right size and in the right place; the black shoes were polished, dry and unsoiled; the short black hair was washed and unruffled, the small, metal-framed black glasses level on his face. He was not a vain man, but all the same, he took pride in looking presentable: a decent first impression was crucial to all dealings, and a smart appearance was crucial to all first impressions.

His watch said that it was now 10:29am, so he’d been in the lift for just over a minute. Considering his destination, this didn’t surprise him much. All the same, this was when the lift finally began to slow down, that weird rising sensation telling him that he was almost at his destination. After a few seconds, the lift stopped altogether, and the doors opened.

David found himself at the edge of a small cave, no larger than fifty feet, its walls a red that looked similar to sandstone. It was largely featureless, only a few small stalactites hanging from the ceiling, and the ground covered in a flat layer of red sand. A tunnel at the far end curved down and off to the right, presumably leading to Hell itself.

The cave’s only occupant was a single man, stood facing him a few feet away. He was clearly a man, and clearly humanoid, but it was also obvious that he did not belong to any of the species walking around upstairs. He was immensely pale, almost chalk-coloured, about seven feet in height and, whilst not muscular, was still clearly familiar with the notion of exercise. He wore what was best described as a grey jumpsuit, though he went barefoot, both his toe- and fingernails equipped with short black spikes, and his shoulder-length, faintly greasy black hair was tied back into a ponytail. However, his two most notable features were also his most unusual: yellow eyes, with black eyeballs and vertical slits like a cat, and a pair of black feathery wings, currently folded up but still a good foot taller than he was.

Despite his extraordinary appearance, the man was definitely, in his own way, very good-looking. David was not pre-disposed to finding his fellow men attractive, but nevertheless, the thought struck him that this man, whatever he would turn out to be, wouldn’t look out of place in a Renaissance painting. His first impressions immediately ran to “angel”, but that didn’t seem entirely right, if only because you weren’t supposed to find them in Hell. But whilst he could be seen as sinister, calling him a demon also felt equally improbable.

David stepped out of the lift, its doors quickly closing behind him. The man smiled, revealing two rows of spiked, blindingly white teeth.

“Hi.” the man said. “You must be David Willis. I’ve been expecting you.”

David wasn’t sure if it was only the setting that made that line so intimidating: the man’s low voice, almost like an animal’s purr, probably didn’t help. Nevertheless, he had a job to do. He stuck out his hand, and the man shook it, his grasp firm and warm.

“Yes, that’s me. And you are…”

The man smiled again. “I’m Satan.”

The handshake ended, but Satan carried on talking. “I imagine I’m not what you expected. Don’t worry about that. Hell’s a one-way trip, so when it comes to describing me and my enterprise, people usually just make shit up. But considering the reputation they’ve given, I’m hardly going to complain, am I?”

Despite his momentary sense of unease, meeting Satan himself in the flesh didn’t alarm David as much as he might have thought. Maybe that was because, up and until an hour ago, he’d never expected him to exist.

“Anyway, that’s enough about me.” Satan continued. “I hear you’re the one who’s going to turn this place into a respectable business.”

“Er…yes.”

Satan gave another smile. “Good. I’ve always wanted to get involved in corporate affairs. It looks like so much fun.”

“I’m not that far up the tree, but…yes, I suppose it is.” David had always thought of his job as “interesting” rather than “fun”, but either way, he definitely held his words to be true.

“Good, good. Well, I guess you’ll be wanting to see the shop floor. Get a first-hand look at what you’re working on.”

Truth be told, David didn’t have a clue what he wanted. His only plan was to just follow the tide of fate until a better idea turned up. But Satan’s suggestion would do for now.

“Er…that would help, yes.”

“Great. It’s not far from here, so just follow me.”

Satan turned and started walking towards the tunnel. David, as requested, followed a few paces behind. The sand crunched beneath his feet, and it was only now, after a full conversation, that he realised the cave didn’t echo. But this was the least unusual thing about the scene, so he put it aside.

The two of the them headed down the tunnel, which, after a few hundred metres or so, curved off to the left and started to level out. It widened slightly, and they soon arrived at a set of high wooden doors, curved up to a tip in a very Gothic style. Above the doors, in a flowing script written in some kind of metal, were the following words:

Abandon All Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here

Satan looked up the inscription and laughed. “It’s from Dante. I’ve always wished that I’d thought of it myself.”

David allowed himself a smile. Dante would probably appreciate the tribute.

Satan stepped forward and pushed open the doors, their protracted creaking ominous and yet somehow predictable.

“Welcome to Hell.” he said.

David found himself confronted with another cave, only in this case, such a limited word failed to do it any sort of justice. The space was vast, almost impossibly vast, its walls so far away that they seemed to disappear into the horizon. Small batches of cloud (or large ones: the space made scaling difficult) drifted in slow patterns, both above and below the wide ledge in which he now stood, some of them turned a moody grey and raining forlornly on the ground far below. The cave’s bottom, viewed from the vertigo-inducing distance of tall buildings, was a near-infinite honeycomb of pits, their size probably large but still too far away to properly judge. Each pit seemed to have different contents, fire or mud or snakes or something else equally unpleasant, lit by red lamps that dotted the ridges between them: with the amount of pits, the lamps produced a glow that lit up the cave itself, turning the clouds weird shades as they circled. An army of beings in similar appearance to Satan, obviously demons of varying types, patrolled the space in ones and twos, some crawling, some walking, some flying.

David was not a man accustomed to dealing with immensity. He put his hand over his mouth, unable to do anything except stare in shock and awe. Through this mental stillness, the fact slowly entered his brain that Hell was weirdly quiet: there was the spatter of rain, the occasional chatter of demons filtering up, but none of the moaning and screaming that he would have perhaps expected. But then again, what part of his day so far wasn’t odd?

Satan turned to face him. “Also not what you expected, I see. We’ve tried a variety of layouts over the eons, but this one seems to be the best. Like with most things, the simplest solution is just to borrow from the Greeks.”

He gestured for David to come closer to the edge. He did so, gingerly: he didn’t usually get vertigo, but this place didn’t seem to care.

“We carry out our job on an entirely subjective basis.” Satan explained. “Each pit is for a single person, and the punishment they receive is tailored to fit their particular sins and weaknesses. It heightens the unpleasantness, and this being Hell, that’s precisely what you want.”

He pointed to three pits in turn. The distance made it hard for David to tell which exact ones were being pointed at, but he wasn’t going to ask.

“See that guy there? He’s George Hamilton, and in 1836, he murdered his wife and kids for fun. He’s not big on nature, so after the British hung him, we made sure he was stuck in a forest that wants to kill him. Over there is Jerry Cordin, who thought he was a 38^th-century Casanova. We thought he was a prick, so now he has a harem of extra-freaky space mutants. And that unlucky soul is Ani Milozni, who got her kicks from torturing Teutonic Knights with carnivorous bugs. So guess what we’re now doing to her.”

Satan paused briefly. “It probably strikes you as very quiet. It does me, I know. We used to have all the wailing and grinding of teeth, but frankly, it gets on your nerves after a while. So we just them all scream to themselves these days.

“It’s a well-run enterprise, in all. Of course, we don’t count much on customer satisfaction, but my men are loyal and work hard, and we find ways to keep ourselves amused. We enjoy it here.”

David just nodded. It certainly all seemed very Hell-ish, despite, or rather because of, Satan’s pride. And now that the shock was starting to be less paralysing, he was also beginning to have a few ideas for the business. There was definitely potential here, though he’d have to wait and see if his contributions would help.

Satan seemed to pick up on his optimism. He pointed off to the right, where an archway could just about be seen near the cave’s floor. A wide pathway curved down across the wall, linking the ledge with that spot.

“My office is just down there.” he said. “I’ll give you a proper tour of the shop floor later, but for now, I suggest we talk business. I imagine you’ve got lots to say.”

* * * * *

Satan’s office was spacious and tidy, its only furnishings being a large desk, three comfy chairs and two aging filing cabinets. It had been carved out of bedrock, much like the rest of Hell, yet the sandstone walls had been smoothed enough to hang a painting, an unspecified tropical beach at night. The only other items were a computer sat on the desk, a Dilbert desk calendar next to it, and a goldfish bowl on one of the cabinets, its sole fish occupant swimming in deranged circles around a small and obviously plastic ruined castle.

Satan was sat on the chair behind the desk, his wings hooked over its back. He leaned back and cracked his knuckles.

“So, what do you suggest?” he said. “How can Hell elevate itself into the business world?”

David thought for a few moments. He knew what he wanted to say, but still wasn’t entirely sure how. He was also beginning to realise the full nature of his responsibility: he was already aware that this assignment was of vital importance to Barratech Boxes, not to mention Exocel, but it was only now becoming clear to him how necessary it was that he be impressive here. If Satan thought his suggestions rubbish and chose another business partner, then his career would be over before he even left this office. Of course, Satan seemed fairly easy-going thus far, but the pressure did not give him much reassurance.

But then, in that merciful way we often think of things when worried, a thought came to him.

“Well…to be able to turn a profit, you need something to sell.” He paused for a second, then frowned. “That sounded a little more obvious than I thought it would.”

Satan just shrugged. “All ideas are welcome, David. And besides, that doesn’t explain what we can sell.”

“That’s why you use what I like to call “Hell money”. When people are alive, they stock up on special currency. That, or their families can donate it after their death, or a combination of both. Either way, once someone has died and come here, they can use the currency they have to buy a less unpleasant experience. They can reduce their punishment, get things that make themselves more comfortable, or if they’ve got enough currency, they can escape Hell altogether. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Satan laughed. “I think that’s inspired, David. We’ll have to run up a catalogue of things to sell, of course, but Lilith’s always been good at that sort of thing. I’m not sure if she wants to speak to me right now, though…” he smiled, perhaps nervously. “…Though that’s a story for another time.”

David didn’t respond. He’d never imagined Satan to have relationship problems, but then again, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“You ever been married, David?” Satan asked with a smile.

“Err…no. No I haven’t.”

“Technically speaking, neither have I. But I’ve come close enough, and take it from me, whoever thought up the idea should have a prime spot on the shop floor.”

David just nodded.

“So,” Satan continued, “what other ideas do you have?”

David was glad to get back on track. “Personally, I think a new layout would be useful.”

Satan raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Err…yes. To encourage people to spend their Hell money a little quicker, I think you should try and conform more to people’s expectations of this place. Give yourselves a more traditional look. Throw people in lakes of boiling fire, get your demons to stab them with pitchforks, all that kind of thing. I hope you get what I’m after here.”

“Yes, I do. ‘Realise the nightmare’, that seems to be your point.”

David nodded. “That’s it, yes. The key rule of business is to always give your customers what they expect. What they expect here is unpleasantness, and usually a very specific kind. You give them that, and they’ll respond to the other services you offer. I mean, you already run a very impressive operation, don’t get me wrong about that, but, you know…”

“Things can always get worse, yes.” Satan paused, then grinned. “‘Always give your customers what they expect’. I’ll have to remember that. Thank you, David.”

“My pleasure.”

“I must say, it’s quite odd to say ‘customers’. I’ve never thought of them that way before. But I guess they are now, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

David suddenly had another idea, one he was amazed had taken him this long. “I suggest you also extend the range of sins available. The more customers you can get through your doors, the better. Of course, it’s up to you what sins you create, but personally, I’ve always had a big problem with people who eat peppers.”

Satan laughed, far more uproariously than David had been hoping. “Good thinking, David. I can’t stand peppers either. But still, what is or isn’t a sin is more a prerogative of Dad upstairs, but I’ll put a word in. These days, he usually agrees to my requests.”

“Well, that’ll be helpful.”

David, for maybe the first time in a long while, was beginning to feel quite pleased with himself. His ideas, odd and last-minute they may have been, were actually being well-received. He’d never had to propose business ideas before, and especially not under these circumstances, and he was doing far better than he’d dared to hope. Satan actually seemed quite excited by it all.

Of course, that was when another realisation caught up with him. He was about to voice it when he started hearing a soft banging sound from the direction of the filing cabinets. He looked over to see the goldfish repeatedly head-butting the wall of its bowl, a fish’s usual vacant stare replaced with a frenzied, bug-eyed look. David had to suppress an uncharacteristic urge to laugh.

Satan looked over his shoulder to follow David’s gaze, then quickly looked back. “Don’t worry about that.” he said. “That’s just Darwin. He does things like that all the time.”

He paused, then shrugged. “I know what you’re thinking. Have no fear, evolution is real. But rules are rules, and you don’t wage war on religious doctrine without paying the price. Besides, I imagine he sees the funny side.”

David didn’t say anything. He didn’t see Darwin laughing at all: in fact, he felt an unpleasant moment of empathy with the man. But he tried to put the feeling aside. He still had a job to finish.

“So, Satan…” Actually saying the name aloud made David pause, but he made himself continue anyway. “…What do you think of my proposals so far? I appreciate that they’ll be quite complicated to carry out, but if I have a little more time, I’m sure I can come up with something more sensible.”

Satan waved his hand, as if to swat away David’s concern. “Don’t worry about that, David. I know you haven’t had much time. And anyway, Hell does not run according to your laws of physics. We can do whatever we wish to this place. We could even make it dance on the head of a pin, if we could ever find a point in doing so.” He smiled briefly. “Excuse the pun.

“Still, I think your proposals so far are brilliant. As far as I’m concerned, any step in the direction of the corporate world is one worth making. We’ll certainly make the changes you suggested, and then we’ll see what you come up with next. I’m sure it’ll be exciting. If you like, you can stick around and see the results.”

.“Umm…yeah, sure. I’ll try not to get in the way.” David noted that time down here was relative, so it wouldn’t hurt him to stay…well, as long as he wanted. He just wasn’t sure how long that would be.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t.”

Satan turned to his computer and tapped at the keyboard a few times. He then leaned towards the microphone attached to the monitor, and cleared his throat.

“Could Kokomo and Aforgomon come to my office, please? There are some things we need to discuss.”

Satan turned back to David and grinned. “I always try to stay on first-name terms with everyone. It makes life run so much easier, I think.”

* * * * *

David looked at his watch. Its hands pointed at 1:46pm: this didn’t give any clues as to the time of day, if indeed there even was one, but it did tell him that, subjectively at least, it had been an hour and a half since Satan and the other demons had done their restructuring work. Truth be told, though, “work” was perhaps the wrong word: they had used only a few word and gestures, and then the physical space of Hell had gradually re-ordered itself. It was a very odd thing to witness, a process best described as watching two scenes fade into each other in a film, only in three vivid dimensions. It was largely impossible to say when exactly the old Hell had changed into this new one, but nonetheless, the change had definitely happened.

For the subsequent ninety minutes, David had been sat alone in Satan’s office, trying to come up with more business ideas. He knew that the best way to do this was to actually spend time on the shop floor, but the demons were still trying to get used to their new working methods, and he didn’t want to get under their feet. So he stayed in the office, relying on his own admittedly limited imagination. However, he’d yet to have any decent brainwaves, partly for that reason, but mostly just because Darwin’s incessant head-banging was getting on his nerves: as Satan explained it, he enjoyed having the biologist in his office, and was reluctant to throw him into the new Hell. At the moment, David didn’t really appreciate the sentiment.

Finally, his patience ran out. With a protracted growl, he tore off the paper he was using from its pad, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at a bin in the corner of the room. It missed spectacularly, and so with a louder growl, he picked up his A4 pad and chucked it into his open briefcase. It landed on the rim with a thunk, and rested half-out of the case. He shoved the pad the rest of the way in, slammed down the case’s lid, and stood up so quickly that the wheeled chair coasted back across the floor. He then picked up the case and marched towards the door.

His sudden display of temper had alarmed him. He hadn’t done anything like that in years: at least two, if his memory served him correctly. Maybe getting outside would be the wise idea after all.

Just as he reached the door, David paused for a few seconds and tried to calm himself down. He largely failed, but still, he moved very carefully when he opened the door and stepped out into the new Hell.

The cave was still as big as before, still so immense that it threatened to turn your mind into whimpering mush, but nearly everything else had changed. Instead of the near-infinite pits, there was instead a single vast lake, filled with a boiling red liquid that David assumed to be blood, its surface dotted with flickering yellow flames. The lake contained a huge mass of naked people, a number beyond human counting, so tightly packed they almost obscured the waters in which they were imprisoned. They thrashed and screamed and groaned nigh-on continuously, their agony dividing them between trying to escape their boiling tomb, and simply tearing at each other with a mad frenzy. The demons had changed too: they no longer had their distorted angelic appearance, but had become something of far greater resemblance to their name, ten-foot, red-skinned beings with fur, horns and cloven hooves. They patrolled the lakeside, or hovered over the surface, in groups of two or three, occasionally stabbing people at random with their three-pronged pitchforks.

David turned to the right and started waking around the lake, keeping his distance from the demons and their patrols. He didn’t intend on walking very far: he reckoned a full circumference would take several days, and he had things to be doing in that time. And besides, all the wails and screams, a hurricane of splashing and shouting like the evil twin of a public swimming pool, were already beginning to increase his general annoyance. He’d advised Satan that returning all the noise would increase the hellish atmosphere, and it had promptly done so. He could see why Hell had been kept quiet in the first place.

Aside from his irritation with all the noise, David was feeling quite pleased with himself. He had only been in Hell for three hours – indeed, he had only been aware of its very existence for four hours – and he had already succeeded its entire layout and structure. If he was to be completely honest with himself, he had always been fairly low down the tree at Barratech, and he was unused to having influence over his company’s workings, especially not to this degree. Of course, Hell wasn’t his company, but he still felt a distinct pride at playing such a key role in its new developments. Not everyone could claim to influencing Satan, after all.

David had been walking for a few minutes when he saw something in the lake…or, rather, he saw someone. He stopped, then walked a little closer. He looked closely, straining his eyes, trying to find the brief glimmer of the face he’d seen. He’d almost accepted it as an illusion when, in the corner of his eye, he spotted them again. Yes. She looked very different from when he saw her last, but all the same, that was definitely her alright.

Louise.

He walked towards a pair of nearby demons, who were idly waving their pitchforks at some brawling people. They stopped and turned to face him as he approached, then gave a joint respectful nod. David felt his courage increase with their deferential gesture.

“Can you get her out of the lake?” he said, pointing over at Louise. “I know her from upstairs.”

The two demons nodded again. “Of course, sir.”

They headed over to Louise, their large and robust forms giving them an unusual bounding walk, and after a moment’s pause, reached out and grabbed her flailing arms. They pulled her out of the lake, and left her panting and shaking on the red stone floor. The two demons silently went back to their patrol as David ran over.

Louise looked up at him with an unsteady gaze, almost as if she held him to be an illusion. “David.” she said, her voice croaky and toneless, yet easily audible over the cacophony from the lake. “What are you doing here?”

“Exocel bought this place out. Michael got me down here to work as a consultant.” Under the circumstances, David thought he could comfortably tell Louise the truth.

Louise just laughed, if the jagged and bitter sound could be classed as such.

“I suppose I should ask you the same question.” David said.

Before answering, Louise gingerly pulled herself up into a sitting position, wincing each time she put pressure on the ground. David had always considered seeing Louise naked to be fairly high on his “unrealistic wishes” list, but now he was actually confronted with it, he suddenly felt like changing his priorities. Her time in the lake, however long that was, had covered her in burns, welts, bruises and scars, an overlapping web of injuries that gave her a closer resemblance to Frankenstein’s Monster than a recognisable human being. She was, frankly, repulsive to look at, and David knew that it was his responsibility.

“I’d gone round to Michael’s for the night, like I do each Friday. I choked to death on a pepper, of all things. And according to whichever demon threw me in here, eating peppers is now a sin worthy of Hell. Never mind that I was fucking my boss. It was peppers.”

David blinked a few times. “How long have you been here?” he said, before he had time to realise how retarded such a response was.

Louise gave him a sombre look, if only briefly. “Hell is eternal, David. I’ve always been here.”

She gave another almost-laugh, now with an alarmingly venomous edge. “I swear, if I ever meet the guy who came up with all this, I’m going to claw his fucking face off.”

David just shrugged. “Nothing to do with me, I’m afraid. I’ve only just got here. But I need to go. There’s people…well, demons, I need to see. But I’ll be coming back.”

Louise returned the shrug. “Right. Later.”

David turned and started to walk away. As he did, he heard Louise say, in a voice so emotional it barely sounded like the same person: “I don’t have any Hell Money. Get me the fuck out of here, David.”

He paused, and turned back. “I’ll do my best, Louise.”

He then headed off towards Satan’s office, back the way he came. As he walked, he suddenly realised that he had absolutely no intention of helping her. The knowledge did not make him feel good. It wasn’t simply that Louise had become deformed and hideous, and looking at her made him want to vomit. And it wasn’t even that she’d been busy sleeping with their boss, ending the already faint dreams he’d had for them both. No, they were both too easy. He wouldn’t help because he had a job to do, and rescuing Louise would interfere with that job. He knew that didn’t say much about him as a human being, but all the same, he had made his choice, and he would stick with it. Wherever the path led, he would follow, and he would accept whatever came at its end.

But still, he wasn’t sure if that was wise.

As he neared Satan’s office, he noticed that Kokomo and Aforgomon were stood outside, with a third man between them. He was a human, very much so, dressed in a suit not dissimilar to David’s own, but with unkempt blond hair coming down to his shoulders. He had clearly just come out of the lake, as he also had a large number of burns and scratches, and his left eye, either missing or damaged, was hidden behind a black eyepatch. These injuries, especially the eyepatch, combined with the “cat’s got the cream” grin to form a very unpleasant-looking man: not horrible, but evil, the kind of man any self-respecting father would keep his daughters well away from.

Aforgomon noticed David’s approach, and gave him a friendly wave. This looked almost humorous on such an obviously devilish creature…at least, it would if David had been in the mood to laugh.

“David!” Aforgomon said in a cheerful voice, then pointed at the evil-looking man. “This is George Hamilton. He’s been clever and stocked up loads of Hell Money, and he’s going all the way up to Heaven. We’re just seeing him off now.”

George laughed, with appropriate cruelty. “I love this new system of yours, David. You’re really quite the pioneer. In fact, if I wasn’t dead, I’d have to poach you for my own business.” He laughed again.

“Thank you.” David said evenly. He wasn’t sure if being complimented by this man was really a desirable thing.

And that’s when David did something that, on the whole, not many humans ever achieve: he had another epiphany, his second in as many minutes. Ultimately, the message burning itself across his brain was a simple one.

Screw the path. You need to get outside.

He turned to Aforgomon. “Listen, next time you seen Satan, can you tell him I’ve gone back upstairs? I’ll be back down, but I really need some fresh air.”

Aforgomon nodded and smiled. “Sure thing, David. I’ll see you later.”

* * * * *

David was stood back in front of the lift. A little disconcertingly, he could still hear the screams from the lake, even through the big wooden doors and half a mile of solid rock. But he tried to put that unease to one side: he’d be back in Barratech in only a few minutes, and he could put all this madness behind him. Of course, he’d probably have to dive back in once Miranda, Michael and Lewis learnt that he’d done a runner, but he would just have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

He pressed the Call button for the lift, which opened immediately. In some odd way he couldn’t quite identify, he couldn’t say he was surprised. He stepped inside, and pressed the G button. The doors closed, and he felt the lift carry him back up to fresh air and sanity.

In his minute’s wait, he tried to put his mind at ease by thinking about his evening. He didn’t have any plans, as he never did, but there was that Godfather DVD he’d bought the other day and still hadn’t watched. He’d have to do that tonight. He also decided that he’d cook a beef curry for dinner, because he hadn’t done one of those for a while. The steak needed using up, anyway. Yeah, that sounded like the makings of a fun evening.

He eventually felt the lift come to a stop, the change in velocity compressing his body in that usual weird way. The doors opened to reveal, not the lobby of Barratech Boxes, Inc., but the cave he had just left.

David frowned. What the hell was going on here?

He pushed the G button again, and the lift started another journey upwards. He tried to carry on planning his evening, but his thoughts kept on turning to what he might find once the lift stopped. He could give a good guess, which was two-thirds of the problem.

The lift stopped, and the doors opened back onto the cave.

David felt himself start to sweat. By this point, he suspected what might be going on, but the last thing he needed was to be proven right.

He pressed the G button for a third time, and the lift once again started moving. This time, he didn’t bother trying to distract himself, and simply prayed his hardest that what he thought was happening wasn’t. He now knew for a certainty that God existed, but given the day’s events, he still didn’t feel as if his prayers would be answered. The lift began to feel very, very small.

Eventually, it stopped, and the doors opened back onto the cave. This time, Satan was stood nearby, like when David first arrived. The same went for his appearance: instead of the demon he had become on David’s advice, he had changed back to his black angelic image. However, his smile was new, looking, for the first time, deeply malevolent.

“I can see why the guys and girls at Barratech chose you.” he said, smile still present. “You ain’t exactly imaginative, but you don’t panic. A skill like that is valuable, especially down here. But you need to remember, David, that Hell is the way it is, and we all just have to deal with it.

“Ah, don’t be miserable. We all manage to find ways to keep ourselves amused. You’ll get used to things. And hey, there’s still plenty of work we need you to do. Profits must always go up, after all.”

David looked at his watch: 2:34pm, it said. With a completely depressing certainty, he knew that he’d never need to check it again. He knew that Satan was right, even if wasn’t sure exactly what he was right about.

He stepped out of the lift. First things first, he’d need to do something about all that screaming.