Hell

An endless plane of dirt, rock, and tormented souls scatter across a bleak landscape. Mountains and valleys where nothing grew on or in between, except the quarries where the souls of The Damned go to excavate their new dwellings. Caves, interconnected to each other in these massive quarries after millennia after millennia of carving, housed an endless amount of poor and helpless beings, tormented to an eternity of digging deeper and deeper. The pit of goop at the bottom of these holes constantly bubbling out rage, torment, and anger, reserved for those who decide to jump in to end their struggle. It never ends their struggle, but they can never leave it, this pit of despair.

But this is for the majority. The pits hold the murderer, the rapist, the lawyer, the corrupt cop. Things that were once people on the mortal plane reduced to nothing but slaves because they had no "ambition" or "drive" to do the real heinous acts. Those souls, souls that achieved something in life that earned them a right to carry on a fairly respectable life in Hell, get to live in actual homes in towns and cities. Get to earn Hell bucks to buy made in Hell products. What, did you think Hell was just 7 layers of endless pain and suffering? No, you poor fool! There's a hierarchy that doles out the pain and suffering. Punishment on this kind of scale requires micro and macro management to be the most efficient Hell Hell can be. This isn't some tourist spot, it's hard work! Or so the corporate style middle management will tell you. What it really is, is a repeating conveyor belt of endless repetition, where time has no bearing. The blood red sky never changes to anything more than "ominous", the thunder never booms more than is necessary. This has been going on since He created this land for the Damned, on a plane separate from the mortal and the ethereal. These were the way things had to be, unfortunately. Can't have just one plane of existence, can't have just one flow of time. For some reason, He wanted to fuck with the Big Boss and make Hell have time in aerternum, having no beginning and no end. Not until He decides to change it all with a snap of His fingers.

By "He", we of course are referring to His Holiness, Gee Oh Dee, The Creator of All Things, we of course cannot refer to Him by his actual title, save for a demotion...or worse. By Big Boss, we of course mean the Big Kahuna. The Deal Maker. The Fallen One. Satan. The Devil. Lucifer. Accolade after accolade, title after title, the Big Boss earned every one, and he runs a tight ship from his...wherever his office is. It might be in a pocket dimension, not in the corporate headquarters building. There is no floor or room that has his department listed.

The HQ is located in the Gateway City. This is where all the Souls of the Damned first arrive. They pop through a rusty wrought iron gate, stand in line to get their registration as citizens of Hell, move to the next line to find out what area of Hell they'll be living (depending on their deeds on the Mortal Plane), the next line they get handed their supply bag, and for the vast majority of them, a sudden realization they won't be "tortured" and burned for eternity, or how so the religious depictions of Hell claim it to be. In fact, there is almost a moment of sudden elation as they find out their fate isn't that bad. However, the soul crushing realization they'll be committing to an eternity of hard manual labor to prop up society for the mostly smaller minority of Hell's citizens kicks in, when the next line they get in is for their shovel and tool bag, plus a bus pass that will take them to their assigned quarry/dwelling cave, where they will work to serve the Big Boss in his quest to get Hell ready for a war against "Him". By providing the raw materials pulled from the Hell dirt and Hell muck, they keep the society in Hell from crumbling, by making sure essential services are rendered, all for minimum pay. Just like on Earth, capitalism truly is the root of all Evil.

Speaking of Evil, real Evil that is, are the souls who did deeds on Earth bad enough to warrant them access to living and working in the towns and cities that surround the Gateway. "Family" sized living spaces are not normally needed, unless the soul with the most heinous acts committed files a request to be notified if relatives on Earth unfortunately made the trip Down Below instead of Up There. In such cases (statistically there is more of a chance to wind up DB than UT), depending on the size of the family, they will be offered to either room together in the city closest to each of their assigned workplaces, or they can pool their resources together to purchase a multi-bedroom unit on the outskirts of town. Nobody lives in "the boonies", those are where the quarries are. Nobody wants to live in the quarries. For example, some of Earth's most heinous villains and criminals live (somewhat) cozily in adequately sized living spaces. Your *serial killers* like Richard Ramirez, your *cult leaders* like Charles Manson, they get single bedroom units. Both souls are in retail management. The Mussolini Family has a rather spacious split level on around 3 acres of land just outside the smell zone of Hell's main garbage incinerator, a massive hole that consumes anything tossed in it and burns it to a crisp; Benito is the Chief Minister of Waste Management. Genghis Khan has a much larger McMansion surrounded by other mini Mcmansions on one of the hills overlooking a quarry zone; his job is to dole out punishment to the rebellious slave worker souls (or at least ones who think they can usurp the more powerful souls that make up the middle and upper classes) along with his massive force of his offspring, most of whom somehow find their way DB. Genghis Khan is Chief of the Punishment Police, Horseback division. The Big Boss is the Commissioner. And the Mayor. And the Governor. And the President. Oh, and also the Prince of Darkness. Just in case you forgot, he holds many titles. And in case you were wondering, Hitler and his merry band of "loyal" SS all have to clean every single room in every house in Hell, leaving it spotless. Every day. For eternity. They don't have a department or specific title, Lucifer just thought it'd be funny for a guy who lead a group that wanted to ethnically cleanse Europe to wind up cleansing the halls, kitchens, and bathrooms of Hell to keep them free of dirt and dust...all while wearing frilly french maid uniforms. Hitler himself is the Big Bosses personal toilet and bidet attendant, ensuring Beelzebub's bottom is clean from any foreign expelled material. There is no hierarchy, Hitler is just another Nazi in a maid outfit, just like every one of his followers.

The Hierarchy that is in the governmental body are some of the most revered of all. African warlords responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of their own countrymen, while kidnapping and training child soldiers make up a decent chunk of the legislative spectrum, while central and south american dictators make up the judicial spectrum. Dead US presidents work the news media channels in Hell, there is no "right or left", just how to report on how effective Hell is being ran.

One such position that oversees the governance of the registration process is the Director of Registration Management. This position is one of the first appointed by Lucifer himself, to ensure that efficiency in Hell starts the very instant the dearly departed become citizens of DB. One of the original few cast down onto Earth along with Lucifer after the Rebellion in Heaven, a fallen angel with clipped wings, who can no longer "fly" into His good graces and be welcomed beyond the pearly gates without being smited into oblivion. His name, and his story, starts here.

"Tene, what's on your mind?" A soul of the orient stares at the object of his question. Tene, or rather, Tenevorius Reikusu as he came to be called once he had settled into his human form on Earth, slouched with head in hand, the other flipping through an archive form, glancing over the text nonchalantly. "Ne, Tene, what's the matter? We need these documents approved for the archive, hurry up!" The asian man pestering Tene was legendary warrior Miyamoto Musashi. The man who never lost a battle, until a battle lost within to cancer took him to a trip Down Below. Or as he preferred to be addressed, Shin (Short for Shinmen Musashi no Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu). "Shin, do you think that soul was talking nonsense, or do you think there's truth to his claim?" A calm, almost monotone slab of warm honey reverberated slightly in the room came from Tene's lips, contrasting against the sqwak of post pubescent voice drop that was Shin's. The two were quite the contrasting duo in terms of physical presence. Shin chose to settle in his late teen to early 20's physique upon entering Hell, the point of his physical fitness he felt had the best mix of speed and experience. However, he was still a Japanese man, and although warrior he may have been, still held the frame of some kind of colt struggling to fill out his drawers. In short, Shin looked more like an effeminate man boy than decorated warrior. Compared to Tene, he literally was the man boy. Tene stood at a towering 7 feet 4 inches, broad shoulders with hair as dark as his eternal soul, and straighter than a razor, despite most of it being tied up in a bun behind his head. Golden glowing orbs filled the irises of his eyes, pale porcelain skin looked so transparent you could see the vascular anatomy on his flesh. Typical of the Fallen was the porcelain skin, more so the tell tale glowing irises that somehow shine even in the depths of Hell. It's something one could tell to differentiate a mere mortal from an Angel.

But angel was Tene no more. He had served literal eons in Heaven, only until the last 6000 years or so had he been forced into serving Lucifer in Hell. Time is irrelevant in Hell, but sometimes he wishes he could do it over again. Alas, what is done is done. He chose his humans, and cast the Angels who questioned him out. "You know they probably say things like that all the time, right? I'm sure if I pulled it out of archives there'd be a multitude of similar statements." Shin was tapping away at his tablet on the other side of Tene's desk, on the 20th floor in the governance building of Gateway City. Despite choosing his post adolescent form, Shin decided to keep the two streaks of grey hair from old age that made up his front bangs. Neck length straight and wavy mop top with a tint of light brown to match his eyes complemented his boyish cheekbones. "Not like this. He was sure. He came through that gate with a smile on his face, and happiness doesn't come that quickly to fresh souls in Hell. In all my time, I've never heard any soul say such a thing." Tene nibbles on his thumb, staring blankly at the archive document Shin was waiting for him to approve. Does he dare to ponder this further, or risk Shin's submittal to the archive to run late? Efficiency is number 1, right behind the Big Boss of course. Tene snaps out of it, and signs the document. Shin quickly snatches it up and places it in the manila folder behind his tablet. "The archival department thanks you for your quick and "efficient" job well done, Director Of Registration Tenevorius Reikusu." Shin politely offers a bow to go with his quip about speed, and begins to upright himself. "Tch. Don't bother with the formalities, Deputy Director of the Archival Department Miyamoto Musashi...kun~. You know better than that. You still plan on coming over to help make dinner?" Tene hits Shin right back, not one to miss a beat. Shin's cheeks puff and pout like a spoiled schoolboy being told he can't stay out too late, and turns red in the face. "Tene, you know that name is only for when my subordinates are around. And what the fuck is with "kun"? I'm a man, you know. A. GROWN. MAN." Tene's joke about honorifics regarding "smaller" familial stature was always a go to poke for Tene ever since the two met several hundred years ago. "Yes, a dead grown man who chose to shape himself into a boy."

"I'M five foot ten!" More pouting and glaring teeth from Shin, the loveable warrior puts on a brave manly act, but really he's a softie. "I know. Don't forget to bring the veggies." Tene logs off from his work computer, thus ending his work shift. Shin composes himself and sighs. "You know, you only get to say those things because you're as tall as a fucking tree. I'll bring the vegetables." Tene and Shin both leave the office, donning their crisp clean black work suits. Tene, as usual, has to duck to avoid getting necked by the door frame, as they both head to the elevator. "See you in a couple hours?" Tene asks as he begins to head further down the hall to the outdoor terrace. "I'll be there, 'Treeman'. Don't hit any buildings on your way out." grins Shin, as the elevator doors close between the two. Tene opens the door of the terrace, a woosh of Hell air blowing into the corridor. But of course, hitting buildings isn't what Tene is thinking about. He's thinking about what he overheard that fresh soul say. As Tene widens his stance and puts pressure into his back, he lifts off the floor and floats for a second before he takes off, flying for his condo. What did he mean, an Angel would promise him passage into Heaven?

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