Hell was a shitty place to get stoned.

The sky was the color of blood splatter fresh from a zombie kill. A thickened scent of gasoline and sulphur; of blood and iron clung to the air. Even at a distance, the clashing sound of cogs and gears grinding against each other was a constant annoyance. And the mere act of breathing was like drinking ethanol laced with battery acid, something that the body strangely acclimated to. Dante Alighieri would have had a wet dream if hed had the opportunity to experience the place. Judging by how he hadnt just hit the nail on the head with the whole Inferno business, but whipped out the power drill and wedged that motherfucker in, he likely had. Caleb sat with his back against a jagged protrusion that split the ground like an eager excavationist, only in reverse. The joint he held between finger and thumb was passed to the tall man in the white suit and vintage fedora sitting next to him. He didnt know the mans name, didnt know his allegiance, but it didnt matter. Blues, reds, greens, they were all in this together. Well, maybe not the greens. Their enigmatism was the antithesis of magnetism. But some of them were ok, he guessed. Some he even called friends. The blonde woman in pink hotpants and sports bra- he didnt know her name, either. She sat apart from them, meditating or praying, her hands flush together, fingertips aimed at the sky. Cal watched her as he let out a slow plume of blue smoke (not exactly your street variety THC), the snaking trails disappearing into the smog that clung to the sky like a fat and heavy leech. She had a great body, curves where they counted, toned but not too skinny. But he didnt watch her for that, though. Years ago, he would have been doing the same; Praying to some god that would never answer those 911 prayers. You arent such bad fellows to have watching my back, good sir and madam, the man in the fedora said as he took a couple drags from the joint and grinned, his mouth crammed full of white, shiny teeth reminiscent of fresh tombstones. The man wore sunglasses, the mirrored kind that reflected back a wavery parody of whoever was peering into them. No matter how many times he looked in the mirror, how many years theyd been that way, Cals crimson eyes still occasionally unnerved him. They didnt feel like they were a part of him, belonged on someone elses face. But that was a lie that ran too deep, one that he couldnt magick away as easily as he could some hellish beast.

Plus, he had to admit, they were handy for striking fear into the hearts of non-men. It liked to creep up on him, that greed for the power he wielded as easily as assembling a childs toy. Sometimes it even riled up the demons roosting in the darkened crevices of his mind. Hell, demons. The chain of thoughts made Caleb grin at the unintentional connection. Giddy and detached as he was, the grin became a throaty chuckle. The man in the fedora mimicked him, and soon the two of them had erupted into some numb-brained imitation of frenzied hyenas. The woman stopped meditating and tilted her head at them curiously. She tried speaking to them, but the stream of words that came out of her mouth sounded like water streaming off of river

rocks, smooth and slick and full of flowing vowels. French- neither Cal nor the white suited man understood her, so they smiled, and she smiled back and took the proffered joint with a nod of thanks. A few hundred feet away, sprawled on the dry and dusty ground, a beast straight out of a bad B movie laid motionless. Its two heads had flopped to either side, contorted eyeless faces still bearing fearsome teeth in death grimaces. The sinewy, thin arm that jutted out from beneath its withered form was bent at an odd angle. One finely honed claw, longer and sharper than the others, pierced the sky above it; The Machine Tyrants final fuck you before its body started to crumble in on itself, muscle and bone drying into a husk that shattered into a cascade of papery flakes. Hells churning embrace showed no mercy on them, sweeping them up and carrying them away. You two aint so bad yourselves. The joint had found its way back to Caleb, and he pulled the last few drags of placidity left in its fibers. Dusting his hands off on his pants, he rose and hitched his rifle up on his back. Im hungry, and Im trippin some mad fuckin balls. Any of you want to try and get a bite to eat? He pantomimed holding something in both hands and taking a bite of it for the French woman. Oui, tres bien she answered, nodding and standing, wobbling on unsteady feet. I think I might be on that same trip. Let us blow this place before it blows us. The man in the fedora smiled and bowed with a flourish. Interpret that as you wish. Cal had started walking toward the portal rift that would take them back to the coast, but he turned his head back and raised an eyebrow. I have too much of a shameful imagination for that. The woman followed Cal and moved as if she was suspended in water, her eyes dilated and a dreamy smile on her face. The other man took up the rear, laughing softly. At least you have an imagination, friend. Cal grunted, eying the both of them with a narrowed, unfocused gaze. That just might be the problem sometimes, man, he quipped. As he stepped into the portal, he all but stumbled through it.