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Hi-Octane Mind Trip prologue of "Hell Fights Back" by Alex Reynard ~*~ The Devil's motorcycle is a wonder to behold. A chopper, naturally, it stretches 66.6 feet in length from the front tire to the fox tail dangling from the antenna. The engine runs on fresh blood, gets 666 miles to the gallon, and has 666,000 horsepower. The chrome on the front wheel fork alone has been known to fry onlookers' eyes like eggs in their sockets in less than a second. There are seven headlights, the largest is the size of a pizza. There are ten horns, each of which play a different tune when pressed. One of them plays 'La Cucaracha', another plays 'Highway To Hell', another plays 'O Fortuna'. The seat is upholstered in over one thousand graciously donated cheetah scrotums. The roar of the motor has been calculated as being louder than an entire Alice Cooper concert, start to finish. There are over thirty exhaust pipes snaking out of the back like Medusa's hairdo. Many of them shoot thirteen-foot flames. The back wheel is five feet across. The speakers are blaring tight 'n tasty riffs from the greatest band in the world: Tenacious D. And behind his pitch-black Lennon-style sunglasses, his hair whipping in the wind like a reaper's cloak, his muscled arms thick as redwoods, the Devil drives at two hundred miles per hour down Hell's most popular freeway. Twenty lanes. No speed limit. Randomly spaced concrete protrusions. Hidden catapults. The Devil is deep in thought, and does not notice the other cars he is currently running over, his powerful machine chewing them up and spitting them out like sunflower seeds (much to the delight of the thrill-seeking inhabitants inside). It has been said that 'heavy hangs the head that wears the crown'. It may also be said that heavy hangs the head that bears the three-hundred pound black onyx-like horns. The Devil has taken an uncharacteristic break from his infernal paperwork today. He has left his stacks of files to pile up to the rafters. Has left his coffee and donuts to grow cold. He is, for lack of a kinder wording, pissed as a motherfucker. And he has decided to finally do something about it... ~*~ Xander gripped the side of his father's car almost hard enough to leave dents. "Holy shit! I think I just saw Big Red!" "It was probably just someone who looked like him," Lexi replied. Xander sat back down on the ice-cream white vinyl seat. The wind tousled his headfur artistically through the open convertible top. "Oh yeah? Who else do you know that's eight feet tall with wings?" She crossed her arms. "That guy who runs the ice cream shop," she said smart-assedly. Xander, refusing to admit she had a point, scowled. Not being able to come up with a witty enough retort, he whipped out a double-barrelled shotgun and fragged her. Mr. Oakley glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Try not to stain the upholstery, kids." While Xander chortled merrily, Lexi willed the thousands of little drippy bits of her head back into place. She shook her newly-reformed noggin a bit to gather her thoughts. "Mr. Oakleeeeeey!!" she yowled, "Xander keeps killing me!" Not even taking his eyes off the road, the masculine fox in the hawaiian shirt (and nothing else) replied laconically, "Well then, you just kill him right back." Mrs. Oakley, currently smoking a joint, giggled. "Besides, I think I see our exit up ahead," Mr. Oakley added. "Oh, cool! Finally!" Xander said. He glanced over the side of the enormous, serpentine vehicle and saw yet another really interesting traffic 'accident' up ahead. Musta been a thirty car pileup! At least! Twisted, burning metal was heaped up to the sky, and many of the drivers were currently enjoying a wild orgy with other cars screeching on either side to avoid the massive carnage. Driving in Hell was very much like going to a demolition derby. Except you were right in the middle of it, you were going over 100 mph, and nothing could kill you. While Xander was distracted, Lexi buried a small hatchet in his tailbase. He yeeped satisfactorily and she blew a raspberry at him. "So there!" Xander chuckled and tossed the hatchet out somewhere behind him. (It smashed through some lady's windshield. Her car went spinning around, collided with a van full of nuns, then flew up into the air and buried itself like an arrow in the side of a sixteen-wheel gasoline truck. The explosions were really colorful) The two kits in the backseat paused their mayhem long enough to give each other a giggly hug and exchange a few smooches. They weren't really angry at each other, just restless. Neither of them had been to Dinosaur World in quite a while, and were very excited. They'd both asked Bartleby to come along, but he'd already made a date to hang out with Criss Nero. He said he'd try to tag along next time. "So, who're you gonna have eat you first?" Lexi asked. Xander thought. "I was gonna say T-rex, but everyone always wants to get eaten by him. It's been done. I wanna try something different. Maybe the velociraptors." Lexi gushed. "Oooh, they're *cute*!" Mr. Oakley was aiming his big cherry-red jewel towards the exit ramp. "Hold on kids! Here we go!" A furry black foot mashed the accelerator pedal to the floor. The exit ramp shot up at a ridiculously steep angle, seeming to catapult drivers directly into the sun. Mrs. Oakley held her hands up like she was on a rollercoaster. Xander and Lexi did too. At a hundred and seventy miles per hour, the Oakleys' car shot off the end of the unfinished ramp into empty air. Everyone screamed. The car reached its apex, hanging hundreds of feet in the air, cradled by the hot summer sun, then began to nosedive back towards land. At the last second, a hidden portal gobbled them up (along with several other cars all heading in the same direction) and deposited them in a flaming, mangled heap in the parking lot at Dinosaur World. "Awesome!" said Xander ~*~ . As it would eventually end with Bartleby Fletch, so too did it begin with him. Satan always knew there was something special about that kid. The little bat knocked tentatively on the Devil's door, remembering well what had happened to him last time. He didn't particularly like the idea of poofing out of existence and reappearing somewhere else a million miles away. Even though last time *had* led to some rather interesting adventures... Luck was with him today though and the door opened with a perfectly expected creak. A warm, resonant voice called from inside. "Come on in!" Smiling now, Bartleby scooted inside. He was still a little worried he might be wasting the Devil's very important time, but the dark lord certainly hadn't *sounded* like he was in the middle of anything strenuous at the moment. Bartleby waded through the hundreds of stacks of files towards the resonant voice. Paper cascaded out of the darkness above like overweight snow. Minor imps ran to and fro, occasionally letting out vulgar noises and snickering to themselves. Bartleby turned the corner and found Satan having a coffee break with Jesus. The young bat didn't even have to ask who it was. It was clear in a glance. The furson sitting opposite the Prince of Darkness was unquestionably the Messiah. It was in his eyes. Even from across the room, their power was undeniable. It was the calmest, wisest, most loving gaze Bartleby had ever beheld. And yet, that was just about the only thing that was at all clear about him. Bartleby cocked his head to the side and thought there might be something wrong with his vision. Even though he was looking directly *at* Christ, he couldn't even tell what species he was. Like some bizarre optical illusion, the facial features defied any attempt at description. Not to say they flickered and shifted like a hologram. Rather, the serene man before him appeared to be the purest embodiment of all life. Not even fully male, his appearance was the amalgamation of every image of him that had ever been imagined throughout history. He was, quite literally, all things to all people. "Hi there!" he said. Bartleby approached on shaky legs. It was one thing to know the Devil lived here, another thing entirely to come face to face with the savior of all furkind. The Prince of Peace. The guy who was always stuck up on the cross, bleeding in agony, over the door at the Sunday school he'd gone to a few times back when he was alive. It wasn't so much meeting him that shocked Bartleby, as it was the sheer weight of the implications of meeting him _here_, of all places. The Devil chuckled. "Better shut your mouth, son. You'll draw flies." Jesus chuckled, and his laugh was warm as golden sunlight. He glanced at a small armchair in the corner and instantly Bartleby felt it pop up beneath his tush. It was quite comfy. Beelzebub dunked a bear claw in his coffee. "So, what brings ya to my humble office, kid?" Bartleby wasn't even looking at him. He knew it was rude but he couldn't help it. His mind was pretty much blown at this point. "I think he might be wondering why I'm here," Jesus remarked. "Um, yeah," Bartleby sputtered. Jesus fixed his wondrous gaze on the little bat and instantly Bartleby felt serenity descend upon him like a comfy blanket. His heartbeat slowed. His thoughts untangled. "Thanks," he said. "No problem," said Jesus. "It happens to a lot of people. Especially Christians." The Devil rolled his eyes. "Hoo boy!" he said, taking a sip of coffee. Bartleby could only imagine the potential for explosively confused encounters. "So, um... Why?" he asked softly. Jesus glanced Heavenward. "Dad grounded me." "You're kidding." The savior shook his head. "Nope." His tone was breezy, but Bartleby could hear a deep, deep sadness beneath it. "I'm sure you know by now what He can be like. I mean, He's my dad and I love Him, but..." Satan dunked his bear claw again. "...He can sure be a real putz at times," he supplied. Jesus cast him the slightest of disapproving looks. "Not the exact words I would've chosen... But, yeah, you do kinda have a point." The Devil grinned. "When don't I? Heck, if you weren't the biggest nice guy in all of existence, I'd expect you to be even more bitter towards the ol' poop than I am." "Why? What happened?" Bartleby asked. Jesus sighed in the way a man does when he's had to tell a tale a thousand times. "Well, you know the whole crucifixion story?" Bartleby nodded. Who didn't? "They've all got it wrong," he said sadly. "God didn't put me on that cross to die for the sins of all furkind. He did it to stop me." "WHAT!?" the little bat shouted. The Devil tossed a donut at him. "Here, eat this. It's a helluva mindfuck, kid. You'll need it." Bartleby dutifully filled his mouth. Jesus sat back in his plush chair, hands behind his head, gazing off into space. "Yes, I am the Son, and yes, He did send me down to Earth to spread His Word. The problem was, I screwed up and misinterpreted what that Word was supposed to be. "I just assumed the best of Him and devoted my life to teaching tolerance and love among all peoples. Unfortunately, that wasn't what He expected of me at all." "You know all those fat, loudmouthed TV preachers you see on the news all the time on Earth?" The Devil asked, crumbs spilling down his beard. Bartleby nodded. "They're a lot closer to what He wanted in the first place, and most of 'em don't even know it. Why do you think so many of 'em manage to get rich and famous beyond all standards of decency?" Bartleby's brain hurt. Jesus took a sip of coffee, looking dejected. "There I was, preaching 'Love thy neighbor' and 'Turn the other cheek', and having no idea how disappointed my father was in me with every word I spoke." Bartleby whimpered sympathetically. "Gosh, I'm really sorry to hear that." Jesus looked up, smiling a little, and ruffled the boy's headfur. To Bartleby, the small touch felt like a shower of pure joy. "In any case, He ended up getting what He wanted anyway," Jesus said. "Look at earth now! There's so much violence and hatred being carried out in my name, it just about makes me wanna..." He hesitated, uncomfortable with dark thoughts of any kind. "...slap somebody. Right in the face!" The Devil perked up. "There's a whole room fulla evangelists, homo-hatin' Baptist preachers and Catholic child-molesters down in Level Six! Anytime you want, we can go down there and let off a little steam. Maybe with a baseball bat..." Jesus looked horrified. "Please, Beelzy! You know darn well I was just venting! I don't think I could *ever*..." Satan smiled knowingly and reached over to pat his friend on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, J.C. Just teasin' ya. You know you leave yourself wide open all the time." Jesus chuckled. "Yeah, yeah..." He gave the Devil a look that perfectly encompassed the fact they were two good friends who both understood and respected each other's differences. Bartleby found all this fascinating. "So, lemme just make sure I understand; God had you crucified... because you were telling people to be nice to each other!?" Jesus shrugged. "That's about it." The devil took a swig from his mug. "Just about makes ya wanna puke, don't it, kid?" "Yeah, it does!" Bartleby said forcefully. "That's mean!" Jesus laughed gently, smiling at the young child's perfect understanding. "Yes, Bartleby. It was mean. I accept that now too." Bartleby felt like his whole being was soothed just by Christ's loving glance. But still, his brain was buzzing. He'd gotten used to a lot of twisted-up stuff since arriving in Hell, but this was, to put it mildly, a doozy. "You never did say why you wanted to see me about," the Devil mentioned to the bat. Bartleby's cheeks got red hot. "Oh! Um..." He looked terribly embarrassed. The devil looked concerned. "Aw, geez, you can tell me. Problems? Questions? You know I don't mind nice kids like you comin' around and distracting me from all those damned personnel files I gotta write day and night for all eternity." "Yeah but..." The bat glanced at Jesus. It suddenly became clear. The Savior chuckled in understanding. "If it's something sexual in nature, don't worry. I won't disapprove. I got used to that centuries ago. And I'm sure you remember the story about 'casting the first stone'. I'm not one to judge someone else by what they do to make themselves happy." Bartleby felt relieved. Jesus just about radiated sincerity. He turned back to Big Red. "Okay. Well, um, Xander mentioned a while back that you sometimes have, um, these big yiffy parties after you get off work and..." The Devil nodded understandingly. He got asked this several times a week. "You wanna know how to get an invitation?" Bartleby shyly nodded. The Great Horned One let off a great big belly laugh. "Nothing to be ashamed about, little guy! Just hop a portal like going anyplace else! Stick your finger in the air, think about me and you're there!" "It's that simple? Man, I thought I'd have to sign some papers or go on a waiting list or something." The Devil guffawed at the very idea. "Naah! It's not like some snobby nightclub. Just my way of unwinding after a hard day... by basically fucking everything that moves till it explodes." He grinned. Bartleby grinned too. Xander had told him that Satan's cock was so big it made you explode when he came. He was very interested in finding out if that was true or not. Guessing correctly where Bartleby's thoughts were at, the Devil chuckled lewdly and flopped three feet of jet-black, spiked meat onto the table, practically making the whole room shake. "Son of a bitch!!" Bartleby shrieked in alarm. "Say hello to my little friend," the Devil quipped. Not even hard, it still looked bigger than Bartleby's whole body. Razor- sharp spikes studded the entire length like rose thorns. It was making the table smoke just from touching it. Molten lava seemed to be leaking out of the tip. At the base was a canine knob the size of a pumpkin. Jesus winced. "Could you, um, put that thing away?" he asked gingerly. "Oh, whoops! Sorry 'bout that!" The Devil hastily tucked the giant black anaconda out of sight again. "Forgot you were there for a second." "It's not that I'm against yiffing," Jesus was quick to point out to Bartleby, "I just prefer to keep my personal desires ...a little more private." "You're so vanilla," Satan teased. Jesus shot him a good-natured frown. "Really, Jeeze, you should come to one of my orgies sometime too. Loosen up. Have some fun. Bone some babes. It'll do you a world of good." Jesus was trying hard not to laugh. Satan delighted in ribbing him like this. "No offense, but I think I'll pass." The Devil tossed up his hands. "Suit yourself!" Bartleby thought they reminded him of two old college buddies; the archetypical odd couple. Jesus stood up and did a few back stretches. "Actually, if that's all you wanted me for, I should probly be going now. Gotta check my emails. And Mary and the kids are probably worried I really *have* decided to try out one of your orgies!" He and the Devil chuckled. Bartleby looked perplexed. "But I thought..." "Adopted," Jesus clarified. "Ohhh," said Bartleby. "And I'm sure they miss their daddy by now. I've been gone all afternoon." He started off towards the door. "Thanks for the coffee, Beelzy. You still make the best cup in Hell!" "Hey, I should be thanking you! I never in a million years thought you'd agree to help me so easily!" Jesus shrugged. "What can I say? You're absolutely right on this! Good luck, and call me when you need me!" As Jesus walked off, Bartleby noticed that the minor imps were actually getting out of his way and keeping silent as he passed. And normally they were the rudest little creatures in the whole abyss! Bartleby looked back to the Devil, curious about what that last bit had been all about. The Devil smirked like a naughty little boy. "Sorry, kiddo. Top secret stuff." "Ooh, really?" Bartleby said, excited. The Devil nodded. "All will become clear soon, my dear boy. Let's just say for now that I'm as mad as here and I'm not going to take it anymore." "About what?" Beelzebub considered his words carefully. Not that he didn't trust the sweet little bat seated before him, but he didn't want anyone else but Christ to catch a whiff of his true plans just yet. "Kid..." he said finally. "You know what came across my desk a few days ago?" Bartleby shook his head. "Some guy died. Nothing new. But this guy was just about the most devout Christian you can imagine. Went to church every day of his life. Knew the Bible practically word for word. Volunteered in homeless shelters. Gave away most of his money to charity. Loved by his whole community. A perfect candidate for Heaven. "...You would think." "God turned him away?" Bartleby asked. The devil nodded. "Yup. And guess why?" Bartleby made a little 'I dunno' sound. "Because, once in his whole life, he had an impure thought about a woman and didn't confess it. He simply forgot. And for that, his loving God sent him to burn forever in the fiery pit." The Devil's face was lined with deep, deep anger. "The poor guy was crying his eyes out when he got here. So heartbroken you wouldn't believe it. Wouldn't let us take his heart; said he'd rather not even exist knowing that all he'd believed for years was nothing but a lie. We finally got him calmed down. Told him there was always good works he could do here, that just because God didn't care didn't mean we didn't either. He eventually gave up his heart. I'm not sure where he is now. We gave him a nice house, just what he always wanted. I can almost picture him now; lyin' in bed and still crying." The Devil's words died to a whisper. The room was silent but for the crackle of flames in the fireplace. Bartleby thought he might cry. "You know what the worst part is though?" Satan asked. Bartleby said no. "That we get cases like that not just every day, or every hour, but every minute and almost every second!" He pounded his fist on the table in rage. "Good, good souls, cast aside like garbage. Makes me sick. I'm fuckin' tired of it. I'm tired of sitting here doing nothing to stop it." He realized suddenly that he might have said too much. Bartleby stared. "Forget I said that, kid," Satan said. "Please, don't tell anyone I said that." "I won't," Bartleby pledged. The Devil took his face in one mighty paw and massed his temples. "You can't begin to understand the stress I'm under. How much it hurts to do what I do. To have to play out the role of the bad son, taking his punishment for all eternity, never able to rebel. It's my torture. I'm really the only one here being tortured. ...Well, that's melodramatic, but mostly true. Even the poor schnooks in the lowest levels are at least given the chance to improve themselves and ascend. Me? I'm stuck here where I've always been. Watching Him punish good, good souls." He sighed. "Look at me, tellin' all this to a kid... I'm goin' nuts here." Bartleby got up out of his chair and walked over behind the Devil's desk. He placed his winghands on an arm thicker than his own chest. "Don't be sad," he said softly. The devil turned to him and smiled. He lifted the boy up and sat him on his lap. He hugged Bartleby with amazing gentleness. "You're one of those good, good souls I was talking about, you know that?" He 'beep'ed the boy's nose. The little bat giggled. "Thanks." "No, thank *you*. You really have a special knack for comin' by just when I need cheering up." He sat Bartleby back down again and stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "I still have about eight hundred billion souls left to process, so I won't be off work for a few more hours. If you want, you can stick around the place till then. That is, if you're still interested in that orgy." Bartleby made it clear he WAS still interested! "That'd be fine. I can't wait to get yiffy with you!" "Aww, you're a sweetie!" Satan ruffled Bartleby's hair with a paw bigger than the boy's head. He grinned. "Tell ya what; while you're waiting, I'll have one of the demons show you my chopper. You ever seen it before?" Bartleby shook his head, intrigued. "Xander said he thought he saw it once." Beelzebub beamed with pride. "She's a beaut. I call her 'Czernobog'." Bartleby attempted to pronounce that and couldn't. The Devil pushed a button on his desk and a door opened behind him. "You rang, boss?" said a skinny seven-foot demon with green fur, walrus tusks and black bat wings. He looked like something Big Daddy Roth would draw. "Give this kid a guided tour of the garage. Let 'im sit in the seats if he likes. And get him some ice cream. Kids like ice cream." The green demon nodded and extended a clawed, lizardlike paw to Bartleby. The little bat was practically vibrating in excitement. This sounded like a real adventure! "You ever been to a monster truck show?" the Devil asked him. "Nope," Bartleby said. "I collect 'em." "Wow!" "Even got one that turns into a three-story tall dinosaur! How 'bout that?" "Sounds cool!!" Bartleby gushed. "Great! Have fun, little guy. I'll see you later!" "Okay, bye! I'll see you too!" The green demon led Bartleby through the door, saying, "Ever seen a hearse with tank treads?" Beelzebub turned back to his work. His inbox had swelled to elephantine proportions during his little break, and he groaned. He banged his fist on the desk. "Someone bring me three large pizzas, a roast alligator and six bottles of whiskey!!!" he roared impatiently. As the imps scrambled about getting his snack ready, Satan's hand went back to processing forms practically by itself. If you do something long enough, it takes less and less conscious thought to accomplish it. The forms flitted past at a speed of a few hundred thousand a second. And still, there were always more. The boredom was crippling. Satan thought about what he and Christ had discussed. How maybe it might be time to shake things up. Make some mischief. Cheat like bastards. After all, he was the fuckin' _Devil_, right? Who could blame him for deciding to try a little dirty fighting now and then? "Yeah..." he said to himself with a growing smile. "...Why not?" The End for now... * * *

Author's notes: Okay so, yeah, I kinda just went 'Wheeeee!' with this one. I hadn't written in months. My latest novel, 'Dangerous Lunatics', had stalled like a car on the side of the road in Sunburned Testicle, Arizona. Writing had just ceased to be *fun* for me. I was feeling overwhelmed. Then the image came to me of Satan on this bigass motorcycle. And I said, 'Why not do something extremely out of left field and hopefully make writing interesting again?' It seems to have worked! Huzzah! Hopefully, this will be the start of a story arc I never really thought I'd actually see. I've always had an idea for the Bartleby continuity I thought I could never use because it'd just be too big and overdramatic and not like the series at all. But what fun is there in having everything always be the same? Why not have a sixty year old Batman kick Superman's ass? Why not fuck stuff up for fun? I'd rather get into some Josh Whedon territory than just write jack-off stories all the time. This is not to say there won't be cute, fetishy little Bartleby stories too. Just that some of them will follow Satan's path to a much-deserved revenge. No details now. Just know that some interesting shit is being planned. So, my big hope here is that, not only have I tantalized you, but hopefully I've also tantalized myself, and that this will give me some push to sit my fat ass down in front of the computer a little more often to create stuff. See y'all later! P.S. Thanks to Kuma-kun for a lot of ideas about stuff here, and for whoever gave me the idea for the freeway bit. Hope ya liked.