The hall wound into predictability, each hall tuning to another one and featuring rows of identical doors. The lights began to dim as I turned into maybe the tenth identical hall, and around the twentieth, the lights were black and the ceiling had collapsed.

The killer could have gone through any of the hundred doors. I stopped being a dog. This was going to be a pain. I opened the nearest door, found a dusty bed and nothing else, and closed it. The next one had the same results. Jesus Christ.

I heard something crash behind me then, and I turned around to see a man wearing one of those suspicious ski masks. Probably the guy then. I shifted back and barred my teeth. Was I going to kill this guy? Guess so. He had killed enough. The morals of the situation were totally on my side.

I jumped towards him and just went for the kill, right towards the throat, claws out, mouth open. Fairly casual about it until the asshole stabbed me in the stomach- I don't even know where he got the knife, I was too busy being stabbed. I fell to the floor, vision dark, and he pulled his knife out with a little jerky movement that expanded the cut.

I writhed around on the floor, kicking my legs about wildly. I could probably still get up and give chase- hellhound bodies were notoriously vague about their limits- but I kind of preferred to avoid that pain. I lay on the floor, black blood pouring very slowly out of my cut, and let my vision darken.

I woke up what felt like a second later as a human in a pool of blood. I got up slowly, but a sudden jab in my stomach caused me to fall to my knees again. Breathing hard, I held a hand to my stomach. I was definitely bleeding, and too light headed to trust myself with walking. Wounds on hellhounds rarely transferred to the human body- usually there would just be a mark on my skin that would fade after a few weeks. An actual open wound shouldn't be too bad, but I was reluctant to actually open my shirt and check.

My head was whirring. I shifted back into my hellhound state- it was the only way I could trust myself to walk. My wound still hurt, and even slowly bled, but I was able to move very carefully through the halls. I wasn't quite sure what I was hoping for- the killer had no doubt fled down here, and had probably gone and finished the job in the couch room. Pine was no doubt dead, and I was fine with that, but the kids and Micky- Well, they had only been knocked out before. Probably intentionally. But I thought it best if I worked through my grieving early and thought of them as dead.

No one was going to be able to help me for a very long time. And I couldn't fit through the maintenance hatch while I was a wolf. Was I going to die? Was that possible? I guess anything is possible, but seriously, was I really going to die?

It never seemed like a possibility to me, death. Even when it came to me. Even when it came to my family. It never seemed like anyone was really going to be dead, let alone me.

I tumbled down another set of halls. I can easily explain why I was still moving forward with the possibility of death hanging so close in my mind. There was still a chance- a very good chance, actually- that I was going to be completely fine. There was another good chance that if I died here, no one would find my body for a good long time. If I crawled a bit closer to the entrance I could at least get a funeral.

I had lost the ability to tell time, so all I could call it was 'later' when I came to the end of the endless halls. The goal having been reached, I collapsed on the floor, human again. My vision blurred and my eyes seemed crossed. I did my best to shake off my dizziness and sit up.

Something smelled like a fire. I coughed a few times, purging some blood from my throat. I heard someone talking and I decided to assume I'd be fine- but that didn't exactly cure me of my ails. I edged to the door, blood soaking my pants, and weakly called out a word that had started as a 'hey' and ended as a painful croak.

Something moved, and Micky opened the door with a grin that fell the moment he saw me. He lifted me up with a surprising strength and carried me into the room, placing me on a couch.

He looked me over. It took him a few seconds. "You look like shit!"

I made a sound meant to sound like 'yeah'.

My vision was blurry, and when I turned my head I had trouble telling who else was in the room. I mean, I already need glasses. Extreme light headedness did not make things easier.

Someone- I'm going to guess Micky, but my head was turned- started to take my shirt off, and warm fingers traced what was probably a wound.

"You got stabbed!" Micky yelled. If I had been able, I would have told him 'no shit'. Micky finished taking my shirt off and tied it around my stomach. It wasn't the most medical move, and a few seconds- or minutes?- later, someone else came and fixed it, tearing a strip out and retying it tighter.

Now that I felt safe, I had lost my will to stay awake. My vision grew dim, and I closed my eyes. I could feel the sweat on my forehead. At one point, Micky picked me up and moved me. At another point, he put a damp cloth on my head.

I guess I was in a hospital when I next awoke. I just remember the white room, which seemed very hospital-like, but I don't remember seeing any doctors or hearing any machines. I remember Micky picking me up, literally just lifting me up one day, and leaving the bed. Then I blacked out, and the next thing I knew, I was feeling fairly fine back in my apartment.

It almost felt like teleportation. I was laying on my bed, maybe having just woken up, but it felt like I had suddenly come back into existence. I blinked. I was tired, and somewhat sore, but fairing no worst than I did on a typical weekday morning. God, was it even a weekday?

I stood up and shuffled towards my calendar despite knowing how pointless it'd be, and midway I realized Cecil was sprawled out on my floor. I stepped over him to properly gaze upon my calendar. Considering I had gotten stabbed on Saturday, it had to be at least Monday by now.

I yawned. Looked over at Cecil, sleeping fully dressed and half curled into a ball. I nudged him with my foot and he slowly woke up. I was too tired to mind the slow pace in which he shook himself awake, and eventually he was standing across from me and fixing his same white shirt.

"What is today's date?" I asked him.

He yawned. "Monday."

"No, the date."

"Monday the twenty-ninth."

"Shouldn't getting stabbed take... longer to recover from than a single day?"

"Nah." He yawned again.

"Aren't all the peace gala celebration things happening today? What time is it?"

"Like... Ten forty-two?" He said. "Nothing's really started but the morning talk shows."

"....Should we go out and... I'm not really sure. Enjoy the festivities? This is really weird. I was just stabbed in the gut. Am I good now?" I stuck a hand up my shirt and traced my stomach. There was a rough little patch of skin where I guess there used to be a wound, and adhesive residue.

"The big events are all happening at night, so really, it's not like we have to head out yet." Cecil looked really uncomfortable. I was still having trouble clearing my head, but I could still easily tell how nervous he was. He had previously told me everything important would happen at the celebration tonight. And I guess his part to play in that something he wasn't all that fond of.

It was a reasonable enough point. I was already wearing suspiciously fresh clothes, but I changed out of them for cleanliness' sake anyways and settled on my bed with Cecil to watch some good old demonic community television.

There were fifteen channels in Hell, but most of them were off every hour of the day. Only the news could be relied on to play twenty-four-seven, and even then it was padded at night with experimental films and PSAs. The other channels would occasionally feature content, seemingly at random, such as a movie from Earth or perhaps some poorly shot video on how to care for houseplants.

We stuck to channel one. The two newscasters, a woman and an angel, were smiling brightly and making semi-scripted chatter with one of The Few. Noel Flory, I think, a wheelchair-bound former general who seemed to have nothing substantial to say. Maybe that was a rude judgement to make, actually. She was on morning television, after all- holding her to a high standard at this time of day was petty.

"This isn't very interesting." I complained a few minutes into listening to Noel excitedly talk about her engagement.

Cecil had been leaning forward, possibly engrossed. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know."

Cecil turned off the television and leaned back on the bed, propping his head up with one hand and looking at me blankly. "Do you know anything that's happened in the last few years?"

"Do you?"

"No. But I would have thought they would have given you a few history classes on the last twenty years."

"I don't know." I leaned back on the bed as well, but kept on my back, staring at the ceiling. "No one really talks about the past here. Well, they do, but they talk like it doesn't matter beyond the fact it happened. It's not like anyone is going to quiz me on it."

"Fourteen years ago, an angel infiltrated hell and destroyed the underground. He was named Nichael. And soon after that, the angels came to Hell on his command. They came in waves and settled slowly. Before that, there was a week five years previous where far too many things happened." He said wearily.

I waited for him to continue. "That all?

"There's a lot more, but I don't know if you'd care to hear about it. The old government. Sato, Alexander, Aliyah, Jordan. People that people don't bother to talk about."

"You're an angel. Why do you know so much about Hell?"

"I... have some problems." He said, or I guess, admitted. "I like these things. I think history is a fucking terrible thing to concern oneself about."

"Isn't it all about... learning from the past to benefit the future? I don't know. I had friends who were really into it."

"I know. I just- I know a lot about only the worst of things. I'm sorry about it."

He was quiet for a minute, and I could sense his anxiety.

"What is it?" I asked. "Something seems wrong."

Cecil made a weird noise, a cross between a soft scream and a sigh. "Everything is going to be shit tonight, Martin."

"But why? You keep acting like you have no control over anything ever, but clearly you're involved in it."

"I don't. And I don't quite know what will happen tonight. But I'm already sorry for it. I don't- I don't know when we'll speak again after it. I'd like for you to try, if you're able, to track me down. So I can explain."

"I hate this cryptic nonsense."

"I'm so sorry." He sounded it, actually, and his voice was really digging on the edge of its pitch, like he was about to cry.

"Sorry. Ugh." I rolled over and sat up. "This is feeling even more like Christmas. All the waiting. God. I need to kill some time."

Cecil continued to lay on the bed. "I'm sorry the angel murderer attacked you. I should have been there to stop him."

"Who is he? You could at least tell me that."

"He'll be there tonight. I'd bet on it."

"Should I call the cops?"

"Everyone will be there tonight."

I got off the bed slowly and grabbed a coat off the floor. I put on my shoes with a steady deliberateness, waiting to see if Cecil would do anything.

"I have business to attend to." I sighed.

Cecil rolled over onto his stomach. He sighed as well.

I stood at the end of the hall, digging through my pockets for my phone, conscious that Cecil might hear me speak otherwise. When I got ahold of the thing, a standard if not ancient flip phone, I dialed Micky's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Nice to see you're awake." He said. I could nearly hear him grin.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, the guy only knocked me out. Did you see his face, by the way? I guess the police were curious about that, but I asked them not to bother you for a few days. But if you saw him..."

"He had on a mask. Anyway. Do you know where I can find Michael? I want to talk to him."

"Dude, why?"

"He's the one who got me involved with this. I want to blame things at him. Yell, maybe? I-I don't know if I should really fight him, but I might feel a bit better if he takes some blame."

"Come on. It was all my fault that you got stabbed. I let the guy sneak up on me, and I dragged you down there in the first place. I mean, fuck Michael as well, but the blame's all on me. I'll make it up to you later, okay?"

"Thanks, but uh- oh! How are the kids? Did Amy ever make it home."

"Don't know. I'd guess so." He paused. "Look, I have to go. I'm in the central building in... the center of town. You know the one. Michael's here too, and if you come by, I'll get you through security. See you!" He hung up.

I jammed my phone back into my pocket and finished buttoning up my coat. It took a while to enter downtown- or central town, as Micky had rightfully called it. All over the streets, preparations had been made for what seemed to be the first celebration the city had ever held. Red banners hung weakly across several rooftops, looking rather pathetic whenever the supports had failed and there was a building long gap and a dropping patch of fabric. In the central square, the three large screen displayed images of notable people, with only a few that were recognizable to me.

The square itself had been altered best it could be to seat a good number of people. It painfully wasn't meant for this, but rows of chairs were fitted in anyways. On every roof, silhouettes suspiciously chair-shaped could be sighted as well.

The steps of the central building had a red carpet on them, and right in front of them was a very long stage with a very long table. Microphones, water, and name cards were in the process of being prepared.

I walked up to the steps with little hassle besides getting in the way of one rushed stage coordinator, and at the double doors of the building, Micky was waiting to wave me past the guards.

He was smiling strong with a large white bandage taped onto his forehead. As he took me somewhere I didn't bother to pay attention to, I pointed to it. "I thought you were only knocked out."

"I was. It's mostly for show. I'm hoping to sue the murderer at some point for damages."

"You don't need the money."

"I like money." He tapped his bandage. "Plus, it makes for a good story."

Somewhere near the top of the building, we got out of an elevator and came to a neat little meeting room, bland and uninteresting. Micky seemed to relish in the space, however, exaggeratedly opening the door for me to enter.

Michael and people I assumed to be angels were gathered there, among other objects and things. Michael was lying on the table next to a pile of mints and mint wrappers, chewing hurriedly. A woman was sitting by his feet, having her hair brushed by another unknown woman. Young men, or honestly boys, sat around the table as well, distracted in books and games. I assumed them to be those brothers I was always hearing of. They were all very young.

I guess I was young too, I mean, but it still bothered me how visibly young they seemed to be. One of them had dark brown hair and half a beard, and he was the only who looked like an adult- a somewhat handsome face that was held back by the air of knowledge that he was likely still a teen.

The other two boys were pathetically young. The red head had large, watery eyes and too many freckles. His face was skinny, with a large nose and ears, and even while reading he looked skittish as hell. The other had a bad haircut, and he frowned at his phone in just the perfect way that his cheeks were accentuated into stark chub.

Wait, did these brothers all have different hair colors? Was that even possible? I had my serious doubts.

One of the girls looked at me when I entered. "Oh hey." She smiled warmly, but didn't have much else to say.

"Hi." I said. I walked a little bit forward, facing Michael. I don't know if it would have been any easier had we been alone.

Someone made a subdued cough. I turned around sharply, nearly frightened. There was a tall blonde man in the corner. Maybe some sort of guard. I looked back at Michael.

"Amy come back to you?" I said with a voice that sounded off tune.

"If you're looking for her, wrong floor." He rolled over onto his stomach to look at me, kicking his legs above his head like some sort of swimsuit model. "If you're not, what is it that you've come to speak about?"

"You're a terrible father." I said. Nervous, still, but comforted by Micky's presence. Michael probably wouldn't succeed in murdering me in today. "I got stabbed in the stomach by an angel-killing psycho in a ski mask while trying to find your rebellious teenage daughter, and all I'm asking for you is to acknowledge how much you suck at parenting."

"I could have fucking told you that." He laughed.

"Please never ask anything of me again."

"Mmm." He said, seemingly pensive. "We'll see about that tomorrow."

I could have groaned. "I don't want Amy to bother me again either. Keep better track of your poorly raised kids, okay?"

Before Michael could answer, the woman who had greeted me earlier spoke up. "What's all this about Amrael?"

"Michael's daughter. She's in some revolutionary gang- or two of them, technically- and has been skipping school to try and get me to run weird errands for her."

"Ahmay's a good kid. And I know she hasn't been skipping anything- I have her teacher call me if she ever ends up late. Any rebellious stuff she does is her choice."

"Uh, sorry?" I said.

"I just don't want you thinking bad about her."

"I mean, she hasn't been... terrible to me. Very normal and freshman like. I'm just saying Michael shouldn't have let her sneak out into the underground overnight."

"She doesn't live with Michael." The woman primly said, as if reminding me of something I already knew. "She lives with me. And I allow her to spend the night at friend's houses on occasion."

"She was in a closed off part of Hell with a bunch of... fallen angel rebels, it looked like. She could have died."

"You can't control kids forever." The woman sighed beautifully. It didn't seem to be a possible action, but the woman was so beautiful- unearthly long hair, glowing dark skin, well applied makeup- that even her sigh was immensely lovely to experience.

"I do not know." I decided to declare, figuring it was about time I get out of this personal business. "But I don't think any of you angels should be raising kids."

"Mmm." Michael said, watching the woman who had been speaking. I guess she was probably Amy's mother. They didn't look much alike facially, but Amy looked nothing like Michael either. At the very least, she got her hair and skin color from her mother. "Guess so."

"Okay." I said. I started to turn around and walk out the door. A silent Micky nodded once.

"Wait." Michael said. He rolled off the table and started to follow me out into the hall. He put a hand on my shoulder which I immediately shoved off. "Amy's really hard to deal with. I didn't know kids were this hard. But I don't want you thinking I hate her. I love her. She is my daughter, even if Vici doesn't let me see her. But children are tough, you see?"

He seemed to be desperately waiting for me to validate his feelings, and was speaking in a nervous whisper.

"I have younger sisters. It can be hard."

"Right. So I do care about Amy... I mean, she is my child. You can't just... leave that behind." He laughed nervously. "God. Can you fetch Christina for me? And if you see Amy, tell her I love her."

"Sure." I said, and he gave a toothy, insincere smile and tried to clap me on the shoulder. But he seemed to recall my previous rejection, and stopped short. His hand hovered, and then retreated to his side. He stood still, waiting for us to leave.

When we were in the elevator again, Micky turned to me. "I've always known he wasn't right in the head."

"That's rude to say. Probably politically incorrect too."

"What? You've met him. The fucker's psycho."