Woo woo Chapter 2!

Thanks for the constructive feedback, guys! I was directed this way by the cordial Mr. Zaru and I haven't regretted it!

By the way, I have a bunch of other Hazbin crossover stuff that I could post too if anyone wants to read it. One's a crossover with Metalocalypse called Life After Dethklok that I'm very proud of, and the other is a collab piece I did with a good friend of mine, Laz Briar, called The Shape Of Evil; long story short, the Evil that wears Micheal Myers is enticed into Hell and the Hazbins have to survive a night with the Shape.



Well, anyway, here's chapter 2







Chapter 2: Detox





The hotel was elegant in a way. The decorating, while not quite to his tastes, was at least consistent in its philosophy and use of color. It looked like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story, with tall, dark hallways and Gothic murals peppering the walls. The severity of the style held an undeniable air of grandeur and elegance, reinforced by the red and black color scheme endemic to Hell. Indeed, rather than seeming dirty or illicit, the colors made it seem… ominous? Foreboding?



Kira decided then that he actually quite liked it.



“And through here is the second floor rec-room. It has a foos-ball table and a billiard table, though the pool table is out of order at the moment. Angel took the billiard balls for ‘reasons’ and I don’t think we’ll be wanting them back, so I ordered new ones. They’ll be in next week. Do you play pool, Mr. Kira?”



Kira looked down at the hostess of this strange establishment. She was rather short for a denizen, reaching about mid-chest on him and thin, but not in a way that conveyed any frailness; she was athletic, like a ballet dancer. She seemed very human, a look that Kira realized he’d missed dearly since coming here. Doll-like and elegant, with flowing blonde hair, porcelain-white skin, and charming little red dots on her cheeks.



Then there were her hands.



Long, perfectly-proportioned fingers. Cute, delicate knuckles. Clean, trimmed, pedicured nails done up with shiny black nail polish, contrasting exquisitely with her smooth alabaster skin. He’d almost given himself away the instant he’d seen them. In all Hell there were no finer hands, not since he had been alive had he encountered such delicate, subtle beauty. He longed to feel those hands in his own. To have them caress his face, to draw those dainty fingers into his mouth and play with them with his tongue. The mere thought made his heart race, set his teeth on edge, his claws once again pushed out from the tips of his fingers.



“Mr. Kira?” She repeated, turning to look at him.



Kira tried his best to look nonchalant, glancing over at the rec-room. “I’ve been known to sink a few pockets. I find the mathematical aspect of it soothing. Numbers in motion.”



She smiled and nudged him with her elbow. “You’ll have to show me some moves, I’m absolutely terrible!”



Kira thought about wrapping her hands around the shaft of a cue-stick, her fingers caressing a billiard.



“Well, here’s your room!” She said, gesturing at a door.



They entered and Kira gawped. It was opulent by Hell’s standards, and outrageous compared to what he had become accustomed to. A twenty-by twenty room with a double-king sized bed set in a Gothic-style canopy of carved ebony and red gossamer curtains. Across the room was a stylized Victorian-era red leather lounger with a black tassel skirt. In the corner of the room was a handsome hand-carved desk with a scallop-bell lamp on top. All as neat and clean as any Five-Star Hotel on Earth. Where had this place been all these years?!



“And through that door is your private bathroom. It has a large-sized walk-in shower with a rainfall showerhead and adjustable steam nozzles. Toiletries and all that stuff are under the sink. If you’re missing anything don’t hesitate to let us know!”



“Thank you very much,” Kira ran a finger across the desktop, nodding in quiet approval at the lack of dust. “You’ve done a marvelous job of cleaning, this place is spotless. I think I’ll be very happy here.”



“Oh!” She squeaked, reaching out and placing her hand over his, squeezing it. Her hands were as soft and gentle as they looked. “Thank you! It makes me so happy to hear you say that!”



She turned her back to him as she continued to prattle on about the Hotel’s mission. Something-something dream, something-something rainbow, something-something blah-blah. Kira could not hear for his heart thundering in his ears, her words drowned out in by the heady tone of rushing blood. He crept up behind her, eyes blazing, hands raised and clasping. Her slender, dainty neck exposed and vulnerable. He wanted to open up to her, to tell her his deepest, most intimate feelings. To throttle her and show her his true unabashed self. And once they were acquainted and his heart was laid bare, he’d render her into a more pleasing form. A form rid of all that chaff and baggage and reborn as something he could love and dote on. Her hands were the most beautiful in all Hell, and they would be his.



“…Don’t you agree, Mr. Kira?” Charlie said, turning around.



Kira’s hands were at his collar as he loosened his tie. He doffed his jacket, exhaling through his mouth before smiling at her. “Oh? Yes, of course. I’m surprised no one thought about it before. Is there anywhere I could hang up my clothes?”



“Oop! Yes!” Charlie gestured at the very obvious closet door. “Right in here!”



Kira opened it and placed his jacket on a hangar and his tie on a hook. Charlie watched him for a moment before saying: “Is there anything else I can help you with?”



“No, no. I think I’ll just take a minute to settle in and decompress. Get a feel for the place. You’ve been a great help, Miss Magne. I really appreciate your dedication.”



She puffed up and a radiant smile spread across her face, as though he had told her she’d won at life. Kira noted her reaction to his modest praise. Surprised, desperate even, as though unaccustomed. Then again, he supposed, one might expect some friction when opening a rehab clinic in Hell itself.



“Well, you just let me know if you need anything, Mr. Kira,” she said, shooting him two finger-guns. “And ‘Miss Magne’ is my mother’s name (well, actually, it’s Mistress Magne) I tend to go by ‘Charlie’ ‘round these here parts!”



“Of course, Charlie. And if I do, I’ll let you know.”



She clicked her tongue and winked, stepping out the door and closing it behind her. Kira doubled over and exhaled. He held his shaking hands out in front of him, his claws pale white slivers extending from his fingertips. He flexed his hands, they would not retract no matter how much he willed them to do so.



“This was a mistake. I can’t stay here.” He shook his head, as if he could rattle the image of her hands out of his mind. “No… no… I just have to control myself. It won’t do to kill my hosts on the first day. That’s probably impolite, not to mention I need her to get me out of this horrid place.”



He walked over looked out the window, out at Pentagram City. The wretched people, the filth that saturated every pore, chaos defiled every crack, every crevice. He drew upon the vast well of willpower within him, once Yoshikage Kira had set about a task, no force on Hell or Earth could stop him. Fate was on his side, and would not have led him here for some tawdry fling with a new girl. He had to escape Hell, and escape he would.



“Charlie…” he murmured, tasting the name. “Charlie… it is a cute name, though.”



He grit his teeth and inhaled, long and deep, centering his breathing and closing his eyes. His claws retracted further into their sheaths with each breathe. He balled his hands into fists and exhaled one last time. Opening his eyes, he turned away from the window, drawing the curtain. “I’m no animal, no wild beast! I can control myself! I will control myself! I just need a new hobby…”





















Charlie entered the foyer and plopped down on a love chair, brow furrowed. “Phew!”



Vaggie walked over from the front desk, where a particularly wretched-looking Husk sat like a congealed lump of misery. “Hey, so, what’s his deal?”



“I… don’t know.” Charlie drummed her fingers on the armrest. “He seems really nice. He’s polite, charming, gracious… just really…”



“…Nice,” Veggie said, grimacing. “That’s weird. How many nice people go to Hell?”



“Bet he’s a pedo or somethin’,” Husk grumbled from under his arms. “Sounds like a poof, anyway, sliding that sweet-talk.”



“Husk!” Charlie said. “That’s rude! We can’t just go assuming people’s sins! Besides, it doesn’t matter what he did, he came here to get help all by himself!”



“For all you know,” Husk said, looking up from his arms, his eyes rheumy and lidded. “Maybe he’s just looking for a place to crash, like Angel.”



“Speaking of crashing, what happened to you?” Vaggie said, nose curling at the stench of alcohol pervading the room. Husk was no teetotaler, to be sure, but he seemed to be suffering more than usual this morning. “Did you go on a gasoline bender or something?”



“Near enough.” Husk straightened out, wings flexing with a nigh-audible creak. “Some of my old buddies went and got dusted t’other night.”



Charlie’s hand shot to her mouth. “Oh no! What happened?”



“Came down wit’ th' cansker!” Husk sneered. “How the fuck else do folk die around here?! Gang shit, prolly. The West Side’s gone to the birds since the purge. Lotta big figures there got pegged and the jackals come a’runnin’ to fight over the carcass. Wrong place, wrong time.”



“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Charlie said. “Is there anything I can do?”



Husk buried his face again. “Stop bashing ears and let me suffer in peace.”



Vaggie walked over a slammed a dossier down next to his head. “Suffer in peace all you like, but do your job while you do it! New guy’s name is Yoshikage Kira, find out where he’s from and what he does and then write him up in the guest list. Oh, and by the way, work starts at 7:30, not 10:30! Think you can handle that?”



“You’re a real peach, y’know that?” Husk looked up at Vaggie and smiled a sweet smile while staring daggers. “Well enough you’re a kiki, a fella’d lose his prick to frostbite!”



“Don’t give me any ideas,” Vaggie growled as he took the dossier. She turned to Charlie, arms crossed. “So, what’re we going to do with new guy?”



Charlie shrugged. “Going to do? We’re going to rehabilitate him.”



“Okay…” Vaggie nodded and gestured for her to continue. “…How? We don’t know what he did! We can’t treat sins if we don’t know what they are!”



“He’ll tell us, eventually. He just needs to settle in, I think.” Charlie said, clasping her hands together over her heart. “He’s committed, I can feel it! He really wants to be a better person!”



“Pedo!” Husk called over from the front desk. “Or a rapist!”



“My money’s on serial killer,” Vaggie said.



Husk’s ears perked, a wry smile on his otherwise dour face. “Wanna bet?”



Vaggie grinned and crossed her arms. “Even hundy, serial killer.”



“You’re on!”



Razzle and Dazzle leaned into the room and bleated in unison.



“What’s Unit 731?” Husk said.



“Think Mengele but Japanese,” Vaggie said, gesturing so-so. “More or less.”



Husk gave an impressed whistle and drummed up a pool in the margins of the dossier. “Goat Bois, swinging for the bleachers! Pool’s 400 bucks, accepting all comers!”



Charlie shot to her feet, eyes crimson as a pair of horns sprouted from her hair, her voice reverberating. “Enough! We have to be welcoming, understanding, and professional. Everyone has something good in them. Everyone. Husk, get to work. Razzle, Dazzle, get back to fixing up Angel’s room. Vaggie, see what you can dig up on Mr. Kira’s past. I have to get Angel his medicine. Everyone got that?”



Everyone nodded, eyes wide and surprised. Charlie smoothed her horns down and nodded, smiling. “Good! Alright everyone, break!”







Razzle and Dazzle set about patching the bullet holes in the wall with plaster, their cute little workmen’s hats hanging off their horns.



Angel Dust blew a raspberry as Charlie listed off his list of new hobbies. From model-making, to Lego, to knitting, she even brought him a tablet to ‘express himself without bullets’.



“Hard to communicate a desire to murder with a tablet. Besides, I suck at art,” Angel rasped, taking a sip from the big glass of water she’d brought him. He grimaced and held it out, shaking it at her. “Care to Irish this up a bit?”



Charlie smiled and shook her head. “No Irish here!”



“Racist.”



“Oh, I’m not aaaaalll bad…” Charlie said with a wink, dropping two tablets on the nightstand.



Angel’s eyes widened and he looked up at her. Charlie very pointedly turned around and watched her Goat Bois work. Angel Dust snatched up the pills and crunched them between his teeth, swishing the bitter paste about his mouth as he waited for that sweet, sweet hit.



And waited.



And waited.



“Aw c’mon!” Angel cried, scowling at Charlie. “Ya fuckin’ tease!”



“Naltrexone,” Charlie said with a gentle smile. “Wash it down.”



Angel sipped from his glass and grumbled. “You’re getting better at this whole ‘rehab’ thing.”



“I’ve been talking to some people. I almost sorta know what I’m doing! Look, it’ll take the edge off, but the low is something you’ll have to learn to deal with now so you don’t relapse later. That’s what the Lego is for!”



Angel scrunched up his face in a childish pout, grabbing the Lego box from her. He pulled it open and extruded his third pair of arms, a crazed smile on his face. His arms were a blur, the snaps and clicks of Lego bricks filled the air like Tommy-gun fire.



“Ta-daa!” Angel exclaimed, turning the tableau around for Charlie to see. “ART!”



Charlie’s smile faltered at the grotesque scenes of sex, violence, and hedonism Angel had somehow committed to Lego. Made all the more disturbing by the placid yellow faces of the Lego-men. She leaned in and pointed at the jolly little fellow getting a hypo in his eye from another dressed in bondage-gear. “Why in the eye?”



“His arms are all tracked out,” said Angel, matter-of-fact. He pointing at the ghoulish lines on the Lego-man’s arms. “See?”



She pointed at another particularly graphic scene. “I, uh, didn’t realize that Lego made, uh… strap-ons…”



Angel waved a hand and scoffed. “Naw, that’s mine.”



Charlie almost asked the obvious question before deciding that she didn’t want to know the answer. She stood up and clapped her hands, a strained smile on her face. “Well! I can see that you’re just bursting with creative energy! You okay on your own for a little bit?”



“Bit peckish,” said Angel, fiddling with the tableau. “Lunch soon?”



“An hour or so. Do you think you can wait?”



“Yeah, I’ll be hungry by then.”



Charlie was almost out the door when Angel called after her. “Hey! Were you talkin’ to someone earlier or did I just hallucinate that?”



“Yes! We got a new customer this morning! He’s very… mysterious.”



“In my Line a’work ‘mysterious’ usually means ‘hiding from the mob’ or ‘I’m actually broke’. Pass!”



Charlie shook her head and left. Angel rolled his eyes as door shut. “Fuckin’ Lego? Really?!”



He moved to swipe the set off his lap before pausing and leaning in, examining the orgy. “Hmmm…”



He pawed through the box full of random pieces, eying the parts with care as he shifted them about. “Where… where… Ah! Perfect!”



The piece set down with a snap and Angel admired his work… for about five seconds. He turned back to the box. “But what if I…”







Charlie stood outside the door, a knowing smirk on her face at the sound of snapping plastic. “No one can resist Lego.”



A click from across the hall drew her attention. From the corner of her eye she saw the door opened a crack, an eye peering out. Charlie resisted the urge to call out to him, opting to give him space. It took a lot of bravery to come off of the streets and seek help, to seek redemption out of the blue. She mused that she was treating him like some kind of sick, scared animal, careful not to spook him or scare him off. Still, she could hardly contain her excitement: a second customer! Charlie hummed to herself as she skipped down the hall. Red eyes watched her, purple pupils narrowing to slits.





















Vaggie scrolled through Hell’s registry, fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop. Much to her surprise, Hell had an in-depth database of all its occupants. Unfortunately each bio contained only inane information like favorite flavors of ice cream and number of nocturnal emissions. Nothing more hellish than an intricate, labyrinthine, and yet entirely worthless bureaucracy.



She hated this place.



Oh! A hit!



“Ah,” said Vaggie, smirking. “Gotcha.”



Yoshikage Kira, no other known aliases in Hell. Tch! Still using his human name! Pretentious dipshit. Vaggie read on, having a chuckle at his ignominious and rather ironic death. She’d keep that one to herself, in case she needed to bust that bombshell out and take him down a few pegs. Okay, let’s see, let’s see… Collected his fingernail clippings (ew) to [REDACTED] his [REDACTED] and predict his chances of [REDACTED]. Real helpful… Enjoys long walks in the park. Had bunch of third place trophies. Favorite sandwich was the fried katsu at St. Gentleman’s. Favorite fashion brand is… Gianfranco Ferre?! Shit, credit where it’s due, that’s some damn good taste. The rest was some nonsense about stands (like, as in sheet music?) and a killer queen, also someone had a heart attack? The fuck’s a ‘duwang’? Who translated this garbage?!



She shut her laptop with a disgusted growl. “You find anything, Husk?”



“Not really,” said Husk, glowering at the hotel’s PC. “Guy’s been all over the west side for the past 20 years, never stays anywhere very long. Longest was at Belial & Scratch Apartment Complex on Bartleby Street, been there since the purge of ’16. Can’t blame the fella for wanting to scoot from that neck of the woods, though. Says here he works a middle-management position at a local department store. No complaints, no missing kids, no nothing.”



“Any insight on, you know, why he’s here?” Vaggie said, unable to think of a more boring person in Hell if she tried.



Husk smirked. “Not too late to change your bet.”



“Oh, you wish!” She walked over and looked over his shoulder. “Skooch over.”



“Piss off!”



A brief struggle ensued, ending with Vaggie tapping away at the keyboard with one of Husk’s wings batting the back of her head. “Ah! Here, look! ‘B&S building burned down just the other day! Authorities suspect quote: ‘arson or gangs or some shit’ to be the cause. Twenty-two residents missing, all from the same floor.’ Ha! See? Guy butchers his neighbors and hides out here until things blow over! Total serial killer move!”



Husk grumbled something before shooting to his feet, knocking Vaggie off. “Wait, what? They’re missing? As in, they’re actually dead?”



“Uh,” Vaggie peered over his shoulder. “Hey, yeah… says here none of the gangs in the area have taken responsibility. No remains have been found, and there’s no evidence of them having moved or escaped…”



Husk whistled, impressed. “If you’re right, then we’re sharing a roof with a guy that soloed more than twenty demons without so much as a scratch on him.”



Vaggie recalled all the mundane details about Mr. Murder’s life and death; she crossed her arms and huffed. “Fuck. Well, I still say he’s a serial killer. Just, y’know, a boring one.”



“Peeeedoooo,” said Husk in a sing-song voice. “Me and four Benjamins got a binge with my name on it!”



“Fuck you!” Vaggie seethed as she stormed off.



Husk chuckled and called after her. “Get four C-notes of booze in me and you might have a chance!”





















Kira inhaled through his nose, hands planted shoulder-width as he held a plank, his phone on the floor in front of him. The smooth serene voice of a yoga instructor the only other sound in the room. His focus on the moment, the urge within him ebbed away unnoticed. For now, anyway. All he had to do was keep himself in line for a little longer, at least until he could glean some more information on the redemption process. Was it something he could bluff? Maybe he could cop to some lesser sins and be on his way? His gut told him no, but could he really risk coming clean with his earthly crimes? Best to let that wait until no other opportunities remained. Not to mention his early days in Hell, something he’d keep secret at all costs. No, he just had to play it cool, wait and see what all this ‘redemption’ talk entailed. For now he just had to be patient.



“And now from plank we’ll go through a flow. Exhale into a cobra position… and then inhale into a downward-facing dog. We’ll hold here for three breaths.”



A knock sounded at the door. “Mr. Kira?”



“Come in,” he said, exhaling through his mouth.



Charlie entered the room and started when she saw him. “Whoops! Am I interrupting anything?”



“…Lift that right leg into three-legged dog…”



“Not at all, Charlie,” Kira said, leg raised high behind him. “Can I help you with anything?”



“…Exhale that leg up between your hands and flow into a runner’s lunge…”



Kira swung his leg down and between his hands, slow and controlled before rearing up with his back straight, arms high over his head.

“Just thought I’d pop up and tell you that it’s–”



“…now, be aware of your front foot, feel your strength drawing up from it as you plant your toes and heel. Imagine you’re a tree, sending your roots deep into the ground. Straightening your front leg, stacking more and more weight into it and less and less into the back foot. Back foot is lighter, lighter, so light it’s off the ground completely, floating like a bubble. At your own pace, find your focal point for balance and pivot forward at the hip. Straight as possible, like your arms and leg are being pulled in opposite directions…”



Kira did without so much as a hint of imbalance, smooth and practiced.



“…if you’re feeling confident, reach back with your right hand and see if you can grab that extended foot. Now, exhale into a standing-bow pose…”



He reached back with a slow, cat-like grace and grabbed his shin. He pulled his leg up and high into an impressive sideways split.



He exhaled quietly, eye sweeping over to Charlie. “It’s what?”



“Wow!” Charlie looking up and down. “Snack–I mean–lunch! It’s lunchtime!



Kira let go of his leg and righted himself, flicking out his arms and legs, rolling his shoulders. He turned to her and gestured at himself. “Should I put something on?”



Charlie shook her head. “Oh no, you look great! Uh, I-I mean, no need! It’s pretty casual!”



“Mm.” He followed her to the door. “What’s on the menu?”



“Mexican today, soft and hard shell tacos with all the fixings, birria soup as a side, and a salad. Sound good?”



He couldn’t complain about free food. “Very.”



“So… yoga?” Charlie said, incredulously. “You don’t seem the type.”



He shrugged. “I’ve always been a stickler for basic fitness and wellness. Though I took up yoga after I died to deal with… stress. It keeps me from focusing on negative thoughts. Helps me sleep.” Kira rubbed his thumb across his fingertips, feeling the claws still in their sheaths. “I find it centering.”



“Careful now,” Charlie said, elbowing Kira in the arm. “You might go and do my job for me!”



He chuckled and shook his head, running his fingers through his hair as he swept it back. “I’m sure it’s not that easy.”



“Ha ha ha… yeah, no, not… not easy…” Charlie said, trailing off.



“Hm?”



She spun around, her cheerful smile bordering on a rictus. “Lunch? Lunch! Let’s get lunch!”



“…Okay.”



They walked out into the hall and Charlie walked up to the door opposite his and knocked on it. “Aaaaangel! Lunchtime!”



Shuffling sounded from inside, a few bangs, and a muffled string of curses. The door swung open to reveal a tall, disheveled, haggard-looking spider demon. He was wearing a frayed pink tank-top and pair of jogging shorts that were one size too small and several years past their intended lifespan. Behind him was what appeared to be a half-completed 1/130th scale model of the Eiffel Tower… made of Lego. “What what whaaaaaaat?! Can’t ya see I’m in the middle of my magnum opus?!”



“Come eat!” Charlie said, and then half-sung: “And also meet our new customeeeeeeer~!”



Kira stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Hello. Angel, was it? I’m Yoshikage Kira and I–”



Angel Dust’s eyes bugged wide, fanged mouth hanging open in shock. He slammed the door shut.



Kira blinked and looked over at Charlie. “Was it something I sa–?”



The door opened in a slow, sultry manner. Angel hung in the doorframe, his hair coiffed and flawless, his eyes shining, dressed up in his best out-on-the-town fare. “Why… hello there.”



“Hello.” Kira repeated. “I’m–”



Angel swatted at Charlie, batting his eyes at Kira. “Charlie, how rude! Ya didn’t introduce us!”



“He’s–”



“Yoshikage Kira,” Kira broke in, thrusting his hand out. “I’m a recovering sinner, like you.”



“Ain’t no sinners like me, pussy-cat,” Angel purred, arching an mischievous eyebrow as he took Kira’s hand. He pulled him close and whispered. “And that’s a claim I’m willin’ to back up, all’s y’gotta do is ask.”



“I’d… rather not encourage a relapse,” said Kira, trying to free his hand from the spider’s steely grip.



“Oh ho ho~!” Angel laughed into the back of his hand while waving him off with another. He kept his death grip on Kira’s hand with his other two. “Where in Hell’d ya find such a straight-edge, Chuck? Ha! Either someone Up There fucked up or you’re a goddamned psychopath!”



Kira said nothing.



“Ey, you’re a real sport!” Angel said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think I’m gonna like messin’ wit’cha.”







Charlie led the two of them into the foyer. Angel was mock-flirting with Kira, hanging off his arm like a debutante at the ball. Kira seemed neither interested or irritated, deflecting Angel’s innuendo and backhanded repartee in a calm, straightforward manner. Charlie could see it was driving Angel up the wall. Vaggie and Husk looked up from their computers, exchanging brief glances with one another. Husk looked at Vaggie, expression urgent, nodding at Charlie.



“Ugh! Fine!” Vaggie got up and walked over. “Hey, Charlie, can I talk to you for a minute?”



“In a bit,” Charlie, looking over at the dining room. “Where’s lunch?”



“Lunch?” Vaggie looked over at the empty table in the room over. “Hey, yeah. Weren’t Razzle and Dazzle supposed to whip something up?”



“Yeah! Tacos!” Charlie put her hands on her hips, scanning the foyer. “Where are those two? They were supposed to make lunch after they finished fixing up Angel’s room!”



“Oh, them?” Angel Dust said, an innocent smile on his face. “I drafted them to help me make my sculpture. Oh! Why don’t you come up and see my art, Mr. Kitty? Come and see how I… express myself!”



“With Lego,” said Kira.



“Among other things,” Angel winked and flashed a gold-toothed smile. “I’m flexible. Very flexible.”



“I’ve always been partial to Playmobil, myself,” said Kira, the hint of a smirk on his face.



“P-Playmobil?!” Angel sputtered, disgusted.



“Sorry guys, looks like lunch will be delayed for a bit,” Charlie said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just a minute, I’ll see if I can put some sandwiches together or something. Hope you like PB&J!”



“Hey, there’s a good take-out place down the road,” Angel offered. “The Yowl reviews said the food had way less pubic hair than the competition!”



Kira hissed something and brushed past the two of them and headed for the dining room, rolling up his sleeves.



“Mr. Kira?” Charlie followed him around the corner, turning it in time to see him disappear into the kitchen. The door shut in her face. She could hear the clatter of pans and bowls being set on the counter and the dull ‘fwoosh’ of the stovetops being lit. “Mr. Kira, you really don’t have to do this! It’s fine, we’ll just–”



He peered over the order counter, the smile on his face was gentle save for the harried look in his eyes. “I don’t care for take-out. Please, cooking is therapeutic for me. I find it calming.”



“O-okay…” Charlie said, looking over the counter and into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?”



“I’ll have to check the pantry.” He turned away from her, putting on an apron. “It’ll be a surprise! Any allergies I should know about?”



Charlie shook her head, looking at the floor. “No, I’ll just… be waiting, then.”



She made her way back to the foyer and ran her hands through her hair, groaning in frustration. “Oh God, I’m so embarrassed! The clients aren’t supposed to… UGH! Not two hours here and he’s already cleaning up after us! Real great first impression, Charlie!”



“What?” Vaggie said, looking to the dining room. “He’s cooking? For us?”



Charlie nodded and sighed. “Yeah. ‘Our service can’t be beat’ my butt!”



“Damn Charlie,” Husk grunted. “Got yourself a real catch, there! Too bad he’s a–”



“Don’t. Say. It.” Charlie growled, turning to Vaggie. “You wanted to talk about something?”



Vaggie crossed her arms and nodded. “Yeah. He’s the most aggressively normal person in all Hell. No one knows what he did to get here and he hasn’t done anything of note in twenty years. He works a mundane job, in which he has a perfect record of attendance and service. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t do drugs. He’s just a guy.”



Charlie blinked and nodded, gesturing for more. “And that’s… bad?”



“It’s weird, really weird. People like him don’t just wind up in Hell, there’s always a reason! And it’s not just that he’s not telling us something, it’s like he’s gone out of his way to seem normal to everyone. He’s hiding something, I know it.”



“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Charlie looked her in the eye. “You think he’s a murderer, I know, but do you think he’s dangerous?”



Vaggie sighed and rolled her eyes. “No. I just… I dunno. You’re probably right, he seems pretty harmless. It’s not like he can actually kill anyone down here. Guy just creeps me out, you know?”



“All guys creep you out!” Husk shouted from elsewhere.



“What? No!” Vaggie said, pointing to Angel. “He doesn’t!”



“I should.”



“You’re not helping!”





















Kira seethed to himself over the stove as he whisked the diced onions, red pepper and tomato in with the eggs in a large mixing bowl. No matter what he tried, no matter what he did, there was always something to put him in a killing mood. Not that he was unique in this regard, five minutes alone with that spider would drive anyone homicidal. He’d have to make a decision, and soon, otherwise he was going to lose control and admit defeat to his urges. He’d have to find a way to manage or give up on this dream of redemption and kill them all. If only he had a little more time!



Time…



That’s it!



Kira smirked as he poured the first of the eggs into a buttered pan, the hiss and sizzle like a crowd at a stadium going wild after a daring play. He fought the urge to raise his hands in victory. It had been a while since he’d used this particular talent of his, but it could work. If he planted his third bomb, Bites The Dust, onto someone and detonated it himself, he alone would loop back in time one hour. One critical hour to center himself, to think. He would have redemption yet!



And he knew just who to plant it on.







Lunch was ready not long after. Kira beckoned the assorted degenerates and Charlie into the dining room. He laid out seven sets of plates and cutlery on the table around three stainless steel food warmers in the middle. He directed each of them to their seats, a genuine, jolly smile his face.



“Please, be seated everyone!” He said, gesturing out at the table before patting the chair next to his. “Charlie, if you please.”



“Oh, thank you, Mr. Kira!” She giggled.



He opened the food warmers, announcing as he did. “For lunch today we have sliced asparagus bundles wrapped in prosciutto, roasted until crispy and dusted with Parmesan. Here, we have a very fine huevos pericos, and as a side we have a caprese salad topped with a sweet balsamic reduction. Help yourselves and enjoy!”



“Caprese!” Angel exclaimed. “I knew I’d like ya.”



“Mr. Kira, this all looks so good!” Charlie said, patting him on the wrist as he seated himself. “And I’m really hungry!”



“Please, call me Yoshikage,” he said, placing his hand over hers and giving a friendly squeeze. Her eye flashed purple, invisible to all but him; the bomb was set. “And it’s the least I could do for such a warm welcome.”



He stood up and raised his glass. “If it pleases you all, I have an announcement to make. First, I’d like to formally introduce myself. My name is Yoshikage Kira, I died July 16th 1999 and I’m a serial killer.”



“Oh, that’s ni–GHLRK!” Charlie began to say before spluttering into her glass.



“I killed 48 women and collected their hands, which I then treated like girlfriends. I'd buy them rings, watches, I would cook with them, clean with them, taking them out on dates, that sort of thing. I bear no ill will towards women in general, I simply have an overwhelming urge to kill and a love of beautiful hands. It’s a quirk I try to stay positive about.”

He let the news sink in for a bit before he moved to push the switch, looking over at Charlie. To his surprise she didn’t seem mortified, or even disgusted. If anything she seemed… sympathetic?



“YES!!” Vaggie roared, triumphant, leaping up onto her chair, punching the air. “Serial killer! Called it! Cough it up, hairball!”



“Fuuuuuck…” Husk groaned, getting out his wallet and slapping a hundred dollar bill into Vaggie’s outstretched hand.



She turned to the Goat Bois, who were silently despairing their loss. “Hey! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dipshit! Slap them bills down!”



“Oh, come on!” Angel cried. “There was a pool and ya left me out of it?!”



“You snooze you lose, bug!” Vaggie cackled, holding the three hundred dollars high in the air. “This is going into the Gucci fund!”



Kira faltered, this wasn’t quite the reaction he was expecting. He felt a hand grab his, he looked down to see Charlie’s, her brow furrowed with concern. “Is it bad?”



“Is what bad?”



“These violent impulses you have,” she said. “Can you control them?”



Kira paused, this was definitely not the reaction he was expecting. “I… can. Sometimes. If I don’t indulge I become anxious, stressed. I lose sleep, I can’t think straight. It’s a need, like hunger.”



Charlie nodded and skooched closer, eyes locking with his. “Have you ever tried seeking help?”



Kira chuckled incredulously, priming his switch finger. This asinine conversation was about to never have existed. “There’s no helping it. No one can change their nature.”



“Have you tried?”



Kira paused. Had he? Had he ever? Was there ever a reason to? No, never. Not then, when he was alive, but now… now he had a reason. What was more important to him? Killing or living the kind of life he’d always wanted, a peaceful life?



“No…” His hand softened and wrapped around Charlie’s, squeezing lightly. Her eye flashed purple, the bomb was retracted. “But, I’d like to.”