[ WP ] Your the Devil 's top Hitman , you 've killed the worlds most influential people ( Franz Ferdinand , JFK , John Lennon ) and today you received a letter from a man named Jesus explaining how you 've been undercover agent this whole time . Now your final target is the Devil himself .

You ever seen a building collapse in on itself? It's self-contained at first, the upper-most floors disappearing like God's just taken an eraser and rubbed them out. Before long, though, it topples. Debris starts falling this way and that, raining lethal chunks of rock down on the streets below. 
 
 Why is that relevant? Well, the moment after I took that letter from the young messenger's hand, sliced it open, and skimmed the intricate hand-writing, my life turned from something with semi-stable foundations into a collapsing building. 
 
 That damned letter. Who'd have thought something so small could have had such an effect? My current predicament is completely down to that bloody letter. I practically know the thing off by heart... 
 
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 *Holt* 
 
 *What I need you to do for me, once this letter is read, is burn it. Burn any trace of it. Burn the paper, burn the envelope. Deal with the messenger if you deem it necessary. I have others. * 
 
 *Once you've done that, proceed onto your final target. You've done me a great service over the centuries, killing those that I needed rid of, and now it's time for your final task. Do this for me, and you'll earn your passage to the true afterlife. You'll be reunited with your family on the other side. All you've ever dreamed of, Holt, will be yours when this is over* 
 
 *End this* 
 
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 The first thing that hits me is the light. Digging into my eyeballs, stabbing me right in the brain. It hurts. But I can move passed that, because it does n't hurt even half as much as the blade slowly being drawn up and down my naked back. 
 
 `` Holt, my boy.'' Tuts a silhouetted figure stood behind the flood-lamp, two bulky forms flanking him. My final target. `` I thought you were better than this.'' 
 
 What irks me is the fact that I *am* better than this. Getting caught? That had been sloppy. I'd been overconfident. Too sure in my own abilities. 
 
 I'm sat tied to a chair. The back's been removed to provide easier access for the Torturer wielding the cold-iron knife. 
 
 `` Maybe you want to untie me, eh?'' I'm panting. Between the working over my back's getting and the extreme heat in the room, I do n't know which is worse. I do know that both are equally affecting my ability to form coherent sentences. `` We'll talk this over, have a drink. Just like old times, yeah? I can explain how this is all just one big mistake.'' 
 
 `` Where's your tongue at, Holt? Always had a quick wit, you did. Had an answer to everything. Now, though, all trussed up like a pig ready for the slaughter, you're babbling.'' 
 
 `` I'll babble you, you long-nippled *motherfucker! *'' Christ, what am I saying? 
 
 The next thing I feel is the blade digging at least half an inch into the flesh, just above the small of my back. Then the Torturer slides the knife up the length of me. The steel rattles off my vertebrae, sending literal shivers up my back. I make a mental note to bring that man with the knife a horrible end before the day's out. 
 
 `` Do you know the funny thing?'' Asks the man in charge, striding into the light. `` I was going to reward you for what you've done for me. All those people killed in the Mortal Realm over the centuries? You've done me a great help. When I finally decide to invade, to claim it as my own, it'll be in part down to you.'' 
 
 `` Brilliant. Why do n't you tell me about that over a pint?'' The Torturer's going at my back like he's carving his initials into it. Lots of little, shallow cuts. Sharp pain, like stubbing your toe but a lot worse. 
 
 `` In fact, when they said you were at my front gate I thought that's what you wanted to see me about.'' The Devil's wearing a lovely white shirt with lilacs dotted all over it under a purple blazer. His tie and his pocket square are matching colours of red. He's slicked back his coal-dark hair with product. Shaved his cheeks and his jaw but let his goatee grow. 
 
 He's stitched up the deep cut I gave him. The one looping from the right corner of his thin lips and over the bridge of his nose, coming to a stop just under his left eye. 
 
 `` Nature of the job, Y'know? Never trust a hired knife and all that.'' I give a snort of laughter. I do n't feel like laughing, but sometimes you have to laugh. You understand? Life's hard. The afterlife's harder. Laughing keeps things straight in your head. Makes things a little easier to handle. 
 
 `` No. I'm not taking the'Nature of the job' bullshit. You're going to tell me who ordered the hit on me. You're going to tell me or so help me I'll -'' 
 
 `` You'll *what?! *'' The fury sneaks up on me. Even the Torturer takes a hurried step backward. `` Threats of violence, of death, they're a little fucking *redundant* at this point. Do n't you think?'' 
 
 There's a pause. An unnerving silence. Maybe the Devil'll order a harsher torture. Maybe he will, maybe he wo n't. Does n't really matter. Ca n't spend your life worrying. 
 
 `` Ahh.'' Chuckles the Devil, his features softening just a fraction. `` There it is. There's the fire. I knew you had it in you, Holt. You acted all cold, all heartless. Put yourself out there as calm. In control. But at the end of the day it was all a mask, eh? I always knew. Man does n't get to rival death for lives claimed without a little fire in him.'' 
 
 *Just one more life*. Just one more and I'll be free. He's so close to me. If only I was free, if only I had a knife. If if if. Too many if's, not enough thinking realistically. 
 
 `` Now I know what you're thinking.'' The Devil continues. `` That there is n't anything more I can do'cept kill you again. The thing is. Well, the thing is. That's just not true. There's a lot of things I can still do to you, Holt. A lot more horrible than ReDeath. I promise, it'll all go a lot easier if you just *tell me who ordered the hit! `` * 
 
 `` Fuck you.'' 
 
 He backhands me. He's looks like a scrawny guy, but there's power there. It stings worse than all the cuts I've taken today combined. Numbs my jaw, my cheek. I reckon he's shattered a cheekbone. 
 
 Then he's leaning in closer. Close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my neck. Smell the sulfur off him. 
 
 `` I'll ask once more, Holt.'' He says. `` Who.Wanted.Me.Dead?'' Each word snarled a little more furiously than the previous once. 
 
 I raise me head just a little bit. Meet his eyes. Stare deep into his black irises. A smile dances across my lips. 
 
 `` Fuck. You.'' 
 
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 He left me to the Torturer. 
 
 He's long gone. A few hours. I've just been sitting here watching as the horribly twisted, green-skinned creature moves from my back to my arms. From my arms to my torso. The pain's completely unlike anything I've ever felt before. A different level. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the runes engraved on the little iron knife he's using. 
 
 Then something weird happens. 
 
 My eyes are shutting. The exhaustion getting the better of me. Before sleep can claim me, though, I feel the Torturer sawing at the rope that's holding me to chair. 
 
 My body moves as if on autopilot. I stand as quickly as I can. Steady myself against the nearby trolley - the one holding the Torturer's equipment - so I do n't topple, and then cast my eyes back at the monstrous thing with the knife. He's hunched over, practically on all fours, his head bowed. 
 
 I open my mouth to speak. Find my throat parched. Raw. 
 
 `` We serve the same Master!'' The Torturer says, not daring to meet my eye. 
 
 `` You've been cutting at me for hours.'' I reply. I'd shout it if I could, but I ca n't. 
 
 `` Had to make it authentic-looking. Never know when a patrol could come by and check in one me! Sorry!'' 
 
 I snatch the blade from his hands. Take the underside of his chin in one of my hands and yank his eyes up to meet mine. I touch the blade to his now exposed throat. 
 
 `` Tell me where he sleeps.'' I growl. `` And you'll leave with your life.'' 
 
 `` Out the door! Along the corridor! Two lefts and a right, then up the stairs! I'm so sorry!'' The little misshapen beast caws. I feel a little bit of pity for him. A little pity that's outweighed by an intense hate. But still, pity, too. 
 
 I leave him there. I'm pretty sure he curls up into a ball and weeps once I let him go. I do n't particularly care. 
 
 The corridor beyond the room I was held in is deserted. So are the ones leading toward the Devil's chambers. It strikes me as odd. Surely there should be guards here? I mean there have been before, the other times I've come. 
 
 But then, if my employer has someone so deeply ingrained as the Torturer, it would n't be too much of a stretch that he's got some guards on his payroll as well. 
 
 I limp my way there. Limp through the corridors. Limp up the stairs. My blood leaking from a thousand wounds of varying sizes. I'm leaving a trail as I go. If I do n't finish this soon I'll pass out. 
 
 It'd be just my luck. 
 
 The Devil's door is as unguarded as the corridors. A massive, wrought iron thing. Screaming faces and other things of that nature stare out at me through hollow, dead eyes. Engraved upon the door. 
 
 I push it open, and it swings wide without so much as a squeak. Crouching low, I move as quickly as I can into the darkened room beyond the door. 
 
 He's lying in his bed, tossing and turning, but asleep. Looks almost innocent. Almost at peace. I raise the little knife high above my head and plunge the thing into his chest when he's still enough. Stake the bastard right through the heart. 
 
 His eyes snap open, flash angrily for a second or two. Then he realises what's happening. Realises he's dead. His hands shoot out to wrap themselves around my neck. He fights me for a moment. 
 
 Then they still. His whole body stills. He's gone. 
 
 I expected it to be harder. 
 
 I slide to the floor. Sit slumped against the side of his four-poster bed. I can hear the pounding of heavy boots approaching the bedchamber. 
 
 I take a breath. Tighten my hand around the knife. Just a moment to rest. 
 
 My eyelids feel heavy. Begin to shut. 
 
 *Just one moment* 
 
 

