MEMBERS:

Applied Force Liason Joseph Kurtz

Occultic Sciences Sr. Researcher Ray House

various members of MTF Ω-33 "Ocean's Three-hundred".

Mission team enters basement of Caesar's Palace.

«BEGIN LOG FROM 1:08:18»

Ω33-ALPHA: I didn't know they had actual tunnels below Caesar's Palace.

KURTZ: They don't. These aren't marked on any blueprints of the facility, and the rock isn't worn. These are new.

HOUSE: Stinks of sulfur. Demons.

Ω33-BETA: Safeties off, boys. Say your prayers. (Pause.) No, really.

[All personnel descend into the tunnels, following a downward incline. After approximately twenty-three minutes, they arrive at a set of elevator doors embedded into the rock wall.]

HOUSE: Uh, it's an elevator.

KURTZ: No shit, Einstein. What's it doing at the end of a cave? What's our elevation?

Ω33-BETA: Instruments say we're twenty meters below ground.

HOUSE: Uhm.. do we go through it?

KURTZ: I don't think we have much of a choice.

[Kurtz presses the elevator call button, and waits for twenty-nine seconds. The elevator doors open, revealing a large hotel suite looking out over Las Vegas. A man in a bathrobe wearing a tophat is seated in front of the window, sipping from a teacup. ]

Suite within tunnel.

KURTZ: What the fuck.

UNKNOWN: Oh, you're here! Welcome, welcome! Well, silly me, I forgot to make myself presentable knowing guests were coming over. Take a seat, take a seat.

[A folding lawn chair, electrical chair, barstool, and recliner materialize and force themselves against all personnel, forcing them to sit.]

UNKNOWN: Sorry, still getting the hang of this stuff.

KURTZ: So, who are you, exactly?

UNKNOWN: They call me Pluto — how do you do?

KURTZ: Pluto? Greek god of death?

PLUTO: Roman, actually.

Ω33-BETA: I thought the Roman gods were just the Greek gods with the names cha-

PLUTO: First of all that's incredibly rude. And kind of racist.

Ω33-BETA: Jesus, I didn-

PLUTO: Ugh, don't even mention that shitpiece to me. It's because of him that Satan thinks he's the hottest shit to come out of the human pantheon.

KURTZ: Well, this has been fun, but so sorry to say that we're here for business, not pleasure. Is it true you're responsible for the shitshow going on outside?

PLUTO: Oh, that? Well, I can't take all the credit, that would just be unfair. Couldn't have done it without all the other major demons.

HOUSE: Others?

PLUTO: Oh you didn't know? Vegas is demon country, kid. It always has been. Paradise—oh yeah, fun fact, most of the casinos are-

Ω33-ALPHA: In Paradise, not Vegas, everyone knows that.

PLUTO: Oh well excuse me, so sorry for trying to enrich your small, sad lives with the gift of knowledge. I was saying, Paradise was founded by demons. Sixth-circle demons to be exact — Greed demons. Satan got too big for his britches and kept levying taxes on them for gambling and all transactions of sin.

HOUSE: Hell has taxes?

PLUTO: It's literally Hell, did you think it was a non-profit? Anyway, they decided to pack up shop and leave somewhere he couldn't send his collectors; the middle of the American desert.

Ω33-BETA: So you're doing all this because you want to commit tax fraud.

PLUTO: Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad. But it doesn't really matter anyway — no one expected humans to be so absolutely rock-hard for self-destructive tendencies, and now we have so much pure sin in the city that it's being pulled back to where it all came from.

HOUSE: Wait, but — why would you want to go to Hell? Didn't you say Satan's a dick?

PLUTO: Oh yeah fuck that guy. But now, now I have an army of demons and humans who will pay out of the ass to gamble, drink, and fuck. I'm about to pull an economic takeover, baby.

KURTZ: Well, could you… not do that?

PLUTO: Did you think that was gonna work?

KURTZ: I don't know, it was worth a shot. Okay, Plan B.

[Ω33-ALPHA and Ω33-BETA slip their guns out of their holsters and fire at PLUTO, emptying their canisters of holy water. The water splashes off his bathrobe harmlessly.]

PLUTO: You boys think you can take down the king of this town with some fancy super soakers? Next thing you're going to tell me is that we ran out of food at the buffet.

[PLUTO advances on the soldiers. He is interrupted by HOUSE, seated in the foldable lawn chair.]

HOUSE: What if we make a bet?

[PLUTO slowly turns.]

PLUTO: I'm listening.

HOUSE: A game. We win, you guys leave here and go back to the hellhole you call home.

PLUTO: And if you lose, we get earth?

HOUSE: Yeah, sure.

PLUTO: I like these terms.

HOUSE: Wait wait.

[HOUSE listens to a transmission from his earpiece.]

HOUSE: I’m getting word I can’t bet the whole world.

PLUTO: Aww.

HOUSE: Okay, how about just Vegas? You win, we leave town and won't interfere with any of your business.

PLUTO: Hmm. Tempting, but there's no risk for you personally, is there?

HOUSE: I'll put my soul on the table. But it means I get to pick the game.

PLUTO: That's fair.

HOUSE: Magic the Gathering.

PLUTO: What? No. Pick a real fucking game.

HOUSE: Fine, then. Blackjack.

PLUTO: Oh really? A true gambling man, are we?

HOUSE: You know what they say, when in Rome.

PLUTO: Well, this is the Caesar.

«END LOG»