"Alright," Lucy smiled, "Have you ever committed a murder?"

"Um, no?"

"Boring." He yawned, and his midwestern accent stood out with his next sentence, "Any history with arson?"

"I'm going to go with no."

Lucy sighed, "What about theft? Perjury? Embezzling? Fraud? Assault?"

"I really don't understand why you want me here. I might have a personal distaste for humans, but I'm not necessarily the most... experienced in this field," Gregory said with a hint of exasperation.

"I see potential for you," Lucy said. "Remember, this is about saving the world, not ending the world."

"Oh, that's a good point."

"Well of course it is, I made it."

"Look, I know you're Satan and all, but can you not be so full of yourself?"

Satan took a sip of his piña colada and looked up thoughtfully. Little known fact, but pineapple was the devil's favourite fruit.

"So you're asking me, the world's first narcissist, to not be full of himself. Something about that seems a little off, don't you think?" Lucy said with a perplexed expression.

"I give up." Gregory said, exasperated.

~~~~~

"So you're saying that Satan-" Howard began.

"Lucy," Greg corrected.

"Lucy," Howard continued, "is now having you help him prepare for essentially, the apocalypse?"

"Yes."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes."

"Greg, you're a good friend of mine, you know that. So may I ask why you think Satan would want to avert the apocalypse?" Howard was more confused than ever, and that was a feat in itself.

"I don't know. Personal reasons, I guess," Greg spoke. He didn't particularly care about death at this point. It was welcome to him. 

"You're going to get killed," Howard said, with a bit of concern in his voice.

"So what if I do? It's a suicide mission, but that's okay. It's not like I have much to live for at this point." 

Howard sighed. And with that, Gregory took his leave.

~~~~~

Few people know this, but there is a particular spot on earth where every year one representative from each Heaven and Hell meets to discuss plans for Earth. The representatives have been living on earth for a year, training to fit in with the humans around them. One such representative was a nun from the convent of chili cheese fries, Sister Marian Catey. The other representative, a government agent from the United States, Leroy Martell. We'll let you take a guess as to who was representing what, as they meet in the chosen place. The place, of course, was a very nondescript Wendy's, where Sister Marian could easily pick up the holiest chili cheese fries, and Leroy was able to hide his reptilian nature behind a pair of simple sunglasses.

As Sister Marian arrived promptly two minutes early to the meeting, she once again questioned why it was she who was chose to represent in this annual meeting. Leroy, who was driving fifteen miles past the speed limit, never had a doubt he was the best for the job.

After waiting for precisely seventeen minutes past the set meeting time, Sister Marian adjusted her sitting position. Leroy walked through the door, took a moment to admire the scent, and sat across from Sister Marian. She glanced up.

"Fashionably late does have limits, you know."

"Doesn't affect me," Leroy retorted.

"Only others. Of course, standard protocol for a demon," Sister Marian looked him up and down.

"At least I'm not some stuck up angel," Leroy retorted.

"Let's just get on with this. What's the news from down there?" Sister Marian was already exasperated by her counterpart. 

"Nothing too extreme. Something about ending the world, but that's about it."

"You consider ending the world to be 'nothing extreme'?" Sister Marian questioned, putting air quotes around "nothing extreme".

"It's pretty standard stuff. A little war here and there, world hunger, maybe some bad weather. Nothing too exciting."

"I suppose," Sister Marian said, still rather skeptical of this person who was supposed to be her opposite.

"What's the news from your side?"

"Well, there was some news about an apocalypse," she sheepishly admitted.

"Well, there you go then." Leroy said. He was the type of man to claim he was always right. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten, he was. 

"So what exactly is our role in all of this?" Sister Marian asked. 

"Did you not get the memo?" Leroy asked, just as quizzically. 

"Memo?"

"Yeah, this one," Leroy spoke, pulling a crumpled paper out of his back pocket. It was written in what Sister Marian hoped was simply red pen ink.

The note in question read something about placing certain people in certain areas, causing a very large and hectic traffic jam, dessert, a sword, and some helium balloons. Sister Marian looked it up and down carefully, eyeing the words "Chocolate Cake" with interest. 

"Seems simple enough," she commented. Leroy nodded back at her. 

They were about to wrap up their meeting and their chili cheese fries when a frazzled man in his fifties walked in. He seemed average enough, a little introverted, maybe hostile. He ordered a large drink, and walked over to the counter for a straw. He picked one up, but suddenly three teenage girls burst through the door, screaming at him. They all had oversized shirts, shell necklaces, and each carried a very large water bottle, mimicking how you hold a gun. 

"EXCUSE ME SIR! ARE YOU ATTEMPTING TO USE A PLASTIC STRAW FOR THAT DRINK?" The first yelled. 

"Yes," he spoke, annoyed that the second girl had kicked his straw out of his hand. Unfortunately for the girl, her sandal flew off with it, hitting the poor cashier who witnessed this all in the head. The cashier, of course, had a very low pain tolerance, and blacked out, causing the manager in charge to panic and look for the culprit.

"SIR, ARE YOU NOT CONCERNED ABOUT THE FUTURE OF OUR PLANET? WE NEED TO SAVE THE TURTLES!" The third girl spoke up.

"I'll keep that in mind," the man said, grabbing another straw, and poking it into his drink. He took a sip, eyeing the girls warily. The manager charged through the front counter, eyeing the nametag of the girl in front, "Karen Leonard, VSCO Alliance, Save the Turtles". 

"Karen, is it? I need you three to leave," the unnamed manager said with irritation in his voice. Then, as all good managers would have, he threw the sandal at her. He apologized to the only three customers he had inside at the time, after all, Wendy's isn't the most popular spot at nine A.M. The man sitting in the back table seemed unfazed, whereas the woman with him gave more of a concerned look before leaving. When the man with her left, and the older man was left alone in the Wendy's lobby, he took out his phone to call his good friend Howard and tell him about the event he had just been a part of.