I apologise for my dramatic use of capital letters, yet how is one expected to speak in a coherent manner when facing a predicament such as mine? I can either do as Alex says and go talk to Satan, or face the wrath of my client and his murdering friends.

You see, everyone here is dead already, but if you die again you're gone forever. You disintegrate into ash and fade away like a sad little fart; no one remembers you, no one cares. Sweet mother of the Underworld they need to inject some cheer into this place. Its as dreary and depressing as a John Green novel.

And yes, I read John Green. Deal with it.

Walking along the cracked pavement with boiling apprehension, I adjusted my crimson tie, did up the top button of my scarlet shirt, checked the fly of my burgundy trousers was zipped up. Entering the big building where Satan resided, I kept my gaze lowered. Despite my attempt at subtleness, I still attracted suspicious glances. I flushed, though at least the colour matched the rest of my outfit.

I felt my sass and general brazenness desert me as I ascended the building in the lavish - you guessed it - red elevator, the music dwindling from the speakers doing nothing to calm my frightful nerves. The song was 'Highway to Hell'. Tasteful, Satan, tasteful.

Cruel, ugly cronies loitered around the corridor as I stepped out, making my way along the carpet, toward my probable doom...

I knocked on the door.

"ENTER!" Boomed the intimidating voice. I quickly obliged, opening the door and clicking it behind me.

Looming above me was the Man himself, lounging in a throne with a smirk on his features. His skin was a deep, majestic scarlet, the horns curling from his cranium long and pointed, the tips gleaming with malice. His clothes were of the finest silk, the edges sewn in gold, the rest of the garments coloured blood red. Hell, it probably was blood, knowing him. No compassion, no care, no regard for his actions or words... I was pitiful compared to him. He ruled me. I hated him but couldn't voice my views: he would kill me in an instant.

"Oh, you. What's your name? Roasted Barbie? Lovely Barbecue? Fiery Pit o' Doom?"

"Its Inferno, Sir."

"Oh of course!" He replied, a loud chuckle accompanying his words. "What do you want? Don't take long. I detest time wasters." As if to prove his point, he clicked his fingers, a fire ball igniting in his palm.

"Sir... I was feeling curious and -"

"Curiosity is punishable by death!"

"O-of course, Sir."

"Stammering is punishable by death!"

I drew in a deep breath. "Obviously, Sir."

"Continue."

"Well... It wasn't really curiosity, merely a hunger for powerful knowledge!" I compromised, adding ardent stupor to my words.

"Understandable! I like it!"

Good - the oaf was mildly appeased. "I was wondering whether anyone could convert between Heaven and Hell, Sir! Just in case we would need to improve our security, Sir!"

"I did not think of that dilemma! Well done, Inferno-Werno." Oh great, a nickname. "I have not though of that possibility before, but I guess someone might've achieved it in the past... Huh! I would check the records but I don't care about who dies! Whoopsies! I should probably do that... But... I cannot be bothered! Alas, I shall brooch the subject with my acquaintances at the Pearly Gates."

"Thank you, Sir! I would appreciate it if you would report back to me after your discussion - my hunger for this knowledge is elevating!" I almost cringed at the conversation. It appeared I now knew why there was such little alcohol in Hell.

"Yes... In fact, you can join me!"

"Wait, what?" My words were so sad and squeaky I could feature in a John Green book.

"Yes! Meet me here tomorrow morning. You can attend and hear what is to say first hand, first wing whatever you wanna call it." I didn't think for a second this offer was out of kindness, more like he wasn't bothered to make notes on the discussion himself. He belched and beamed at me.

"I would be honoured. I will be here as promptly as possible!" I started toward the exit, wanting - no, needing - to leave.

"Toodles!"

I swiftly left the room, trotting back down the corridor. "Make sure he keeps off the booze for a while." I muttered.

That could have gone worse, right?

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{Most of you are probably going to detest the story but to those who are actually enjoying this weird cacophony, thanks! Remember to vote, comment, and enjoy!}