Swatting the Roach Ver.2 part 1

from /hhg/ Helluva Hotel general #619, #620, #621
-------
>The door to the room closes and you start to march down the corridor. Your fists clench so hard you feel you might draw blood. In fact, you nearly ripped the door handle off.
>You just came from Angel Dust's room. Angel. Your friend.
>It wasn't pretty. You were keeping an eye on his pet piglet, Fat Nuggets, while he was at work.
>If you can call shooting porn, 'work'.
>He's mostly blase about the work he does. From what you could gather before this morning, it wasn't too pretty, but it paid for his expenses of dope and alcohol.
>Board was free here in Happy, on account of the head honcho, Charlie, not wanting to price out potential patients.
>Not now though. Now, you were on the warpath. And nothing in Hell was going to stop you.
>You rounded the corner, and started to descend the big flight of stairs to the main lobby.
>Angel came home at the dead of night, around 2AM, and you caught him spiking a drink before he went to bed:

>'Night shift, huh?'
>'Yup.'
>He chugs his drink in one go, then he turns around from the sink to face you. His face is angry, his face stained with streaked mascara and... are they tears?
>'Angel... A-are you alright?'
>'Save it.'
>His voice is cold as ice. Well, as cold as ice could be here in Hell.
>He rubs his eyes and turns with vigor to go
>'Bed.'
>'I'm sorry?'
>'Bedroom. NOW'
>He jerks two hands to point behind him.
>'Please.'
>He looks at you like a wounded animal.
>'I don't want to be alone tonight.'
>You go to say something, but decide it not to be wise. There's obviously something going on. Something VERY wrong. He never lets his facade slip like this.
>You wordlessly nod and follow him.
-
>You were nearing the bottom of the stairs into Reception now.
>You put long strides into your step, wanting to reach the desk faster.
>You had a particular person to talk to.
>DING DING DING DING DING DING
>You press the bell over and over again, your muscle memory taking over, continuing to press it. Ceaselessly.
>'ALASTOR!'
>'ALASTOR!'
>'WHERE ARE YOU, I KNOW YOU HARDLY SLEEP, SO COME OUT OF HIDING.'
>The grinning demon in question pops up from behind the counter.
>His eyes and microphone light up simultaneously and the low hum of radio static and white noise disturb the silence of the lowly-lit lobby.
>Twilight hours.
>'SO, ANON MY GOOD MAN! What is it you want with my immaculate self at this ungodly hour?'
>'Must be very important...'
>His grin grew by at least 3 inches
>'Any idea how to get past an Overlord's security detail?'
-
>'My my... That's a very... irregular request for a class of demon such as yourself.'
>'I'm an irregular kind of person, Alastor.' You scratch the back of your neck. The self-proclaimed Radio Demon always gives you the creeps.
>'STILL!' He throws his arms up in what you can only assume is a philanthropic gesture.
>'Who am I to deny a request from such a strapping young chap like yourself? Overlord security did you say?'
>You nod
>'Excellent.'
>He begins to walk across the hall into the side annex where he has his office, but turns on his haunches to face you again and points a finger.
>'You better know that you may be in over your head, young man. Just a word of caution.'
>'I'll take my chances, thanks. I need to do this.'
>You cross the threshold as the door snaps shut behind you.
>Alastor sits at his desk, beckoning you to sit opposite.
>You lower yourself into the seat, taking in his office for the first time. You've never wanted to come in here, truthfully.
>All sorts of nick-nacks are spread across his desk, broken bits of circuitry and wiring, busted in old cathode ray tube television sets with their innards gutted for the parts. A radio. How predictable.
>Alastor sets his microphone against his desk and settles his gaze on you.
>'Quite homely, don't you think? Why it reminds me of my first place of employment back on Earth. Tiny little place, just enough for me to get started in my radio business. Always remain humble, Anon. Reminds you of where you came from. Reminds me of my mother actually. She....'
>You nod, somewhat listlessly, tuning out of what he's telling you. You've heard enough of him talking about his mother to last a lifetime. Or, uh, eternity you guess, considering you're six feet under. Wrong turn of phrase. You really should take him to task about his obsession. Why didn't he marry his mother if he loved her so much? Provided she was down here, of course.
-
>Your thoughts drift back to Angel, and what he told you.
>His boss. Valentino. Val. Fuck that. He doesn't even deserve a proper name.
>The 'Roach' messes his employees about something rotten.
>And by 'mess about' you mean...
>You can't even finish the sentence when thinking about it.
>Makes you sick.
>And you need to do this. Not just for the sake of Angel, but for the sake of others in his employ too.
>He needs the proverbial curbstomp
>And he does it to Angel.
>Non stop. Without reprieve sometimes.
>Your friend.
>What passes for blood down here begins to boil as your expression slowly grows more lines and your look hardens towards Alastor who's still pratting on about some anecdote, laughing like a maniac. Your eyes catch his, and he stops mid-sentence.
>'...non? Were you even listening to me?'
>You slowly bring him back into focus and repress those... baser thoughts of what you'd do to the Roach when you picked him up. All in due time, Anon. The best revenge plans take time to concoct. And, hopefully, the foresight of a frightful being of similar power.
>'So. What makes you want to talk face to face with an Overlord, Anon? Fancy yourself having 'intimate relations' with one of them, do you? Why, I think that dame Velvet and you would make a nice couple.'
>He winks, baring his yellow teeth. Static pierces your ears. Clearly determined to unsettle you. And it's working.
-
>'Stuff.'
>'Only stuff? Demons usually have a reason for getting, 'up close and personal as it were.'
>His gaze shifts, and his hand goes up to his mouth, in thought.
>'Or, maybe you want to work for one of them and want me to put in a good word, eh?'
>He leans across the desk and pokes your shoulder with his microphone. A jolt of static goes through you. 'A glowing reference from a distinguished Overlord would do you wonders in addition to your unearthly Curriculum Vitae, I would wager.'
>'How about that most amiable chap, Valentino? I'm sure he has openings for a person of your distinguished talen-'
>You've heard enough. You don't want to hear that son of a bitch's name uttered by anyone.
>'CERTAINLY NOT.'
>'Young man.'
>His words are laced with venom, as he stands and takes his monocle off of his right eye.
>Oh shit. shitshitshitshit.
>You saw this face before, when he took Sir Pentious' Zepplin down with those... tentacle things that he conjured from nowhere.
>His eyes change to resemble, dials, as he cocks his head like a dog, and reality begins to warp and change around him, with a howling wind coming from somewhere unseen, and a screaming whine emitting from his microphone making you cover your ears in pain, along with jolts of electricity emitting from his body, scarring the desk, and encroaching on you.
>'I STRONGLY suggest you do not take that tone with me again. Are we clear?'
>If your pants weren't both simultaneously brown on the bottom and green on the top, they are now, because you're pretty sure you just shit and pissed yourself in the same nanosecond.
>You can't bring yourself to respond. The words are stuck in your throat.
>'ARE.'
>'WE.'
>'CLEAR?'
>'YES, YES YES!' You scream and cover your eyes, terrified for your life.
>Alastor spins his microphone, and slams it on the floor.
>'Just so long as we're above board, Mr. Anonymous.'
>You slowly bring your eyes away from your face, unconsciously flinching.
-
>He's sat at his desk again, rooting through it.
>He brings out a thick file, twice the size of your head, labelled, 'INTELLIGENCE, PROPERTY OF CHARLOTTE H. MAGNE'
>'From our ever illustrious host, you see. With a little input from myself, naturally.'
>He's flicking backwards and forwards through it, absentmindedly.
>Rosie... no.
>Stolas... not that one.
>Lucifer... oh dear god, why was her Dad's name in there?
>He flicks through the next one so quickly you barely notice it
>VALENTINO
>'Hold it there.'
>'Ohohoho! So it's old Acherontia, eh?'
>'Y-yes.' You look down, too ashamed to look Alastor in the eye.
>He smiles one of those insatiable grins that scare you so much.
>'This should be interesting, my dear fellow. Why, I can see the headlines now!'
>You begin to root through his file, discussing plans of the Porn Studios he calls his workplace, the detail of his guards, his hours in office, his schedule, when he's overseeing productions. The time he spends off the clock. What he does then. What lunch he eats. You wanted everything. Every single facet of his daily routine, down to his bathroom breaks and the time of the day he jacked off, if damn well possible. Because you were going to deliver one almighty kick up the backside to the industry.
>You've orchestrated the plan. But to do this, to pull it off. You needed help. You thanked Alastor for his assistance.
>'Anytime, and anything to help out a fellow resident.'
>You need to make a phone call.
-----------
Continuing from last time. More Swatting the Roach.

>You restlessly jingle the change in your coat pocket.
>Funny thing about Hell, they have all these technological advances on par with the living world upstairs, TV, mobile phones, a version of the internet, and yet, they still have rotary phones.
>The previous caller reconnects the handset, and goes to turn away, out of the alcove and down the street. A bounce in his step.
>You turn to look at him as he goes. Odd fellow, even in this cesspit of a city. Light-ish hair, long coat. You go up to the phone, take it from the handset, and start to dial the number of the person you need to speak to the most right now. You glance for a another look at the 'demon'. Gone.
>You shake your head as the phone rings.
>RING
>RING
>RING
>RING
>'Come on. Pick up, for Lucifer's sake...' you curse, under your breath.
>RING
>RING
>'...Oh thank goodness you picked up. Listen...'
>'...You've reached Bad Bitch, Cherri! Can't get to the phone right now, probably because I'm doing blow or blowing shit up! Hahahaha!'
>Your heart sinks into your chest. Answering message.
>'Anyway, drop me a line and I'll pick it up soon as I can. Fuck you and speak to you soon!'
>'You're not seriously going to set *that* as your answer message, are ya, Sugartits?'
>A familiar voice, just out of shot of the phone. Angel.
>'Course I am, Angie! You really need to learn to lighten u-'
>The line goes dead.
>BEEP
>'Bomb. It's me, Anon. Listen. Call me back as soon as you can. I need your help with something. It's about Angel, but you can't tell him. I swear. I'll explain everything when you call.'
>You reconnect the handset and turn out of the alcove.
>Damn.
>Looks like you're doing this on your own for now.
-
>Back to the Hotel. You need to get your intel Alastor gave you up on the planning board.
>You tuck the folder into your coat, and move back towards home.
>You eye Pentagram's skyline, as the rain falls, peppered by the occasional flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder.
>You scan the silhouettes of buildings, looking for the one.
>-PORN STUDIOS- A seductively positioned succubus demon poses on a sign that reads, 'Hot Girls!'
>You bet.
>Lights on. Awake. Still open for business.
>While everything around it is asleep, that damned building is alive.
>Seems to have been damaged in the recent Extermination, too.
>Scaffolding scales the bottom third of the building, and it seems holes are being rudimentarily patched up.
>All the more easier to break in.
>Just as you're ruminating, you hear the chime of the clock.
>BONG
>BONG
>BONG
>BONG
>BONG
>BONG
>6AM. On the dot.
>And... it's late.
>Oh no, there it is.
>CLICK
>363
>363 days until the next one.
>Scary stuff.
>You exhale sharply, and your mind turns back to your current predicament.
>Home.
>Breakfast.
>A cup of tea.
>Then you can figure out what to do next.
-
>You skip up the steps to the front door of the Happy Hotel, now dubbed the 'Hazbin Hotel', thanks to Alastor and his power, the neon sign welcoming you home like a soft blanket and a warm fire.
>You try and silently slide the lobby door open, and close it, not wanting to arouse suspicion at this early hour.
>Charlie is manning reception as you take your coat off, and stretch your limbs, yawning.
>'Morning, Anon! Nice night?'
>You utter wordless vocalisations, not wanting to engage at the moment. Then, you realise, you don't have the key.
>'Listen. You uh, got the key to the briefing room?'
>'Yes, Anon. Why?'
>'Alastor said I needed to set up some things for a project me and him are working on.'
>'You and him? Working together on something? Never thought I'd see it. Alright, if you say so.'
>She goes into her jacket pocket, and brings out a big loop of keys
>Slides 3 or 4 keys across, fishing through them, and unhooks one.
>She passes it to you.
>'Here you go, Anon. Don't make a mess? Niffty just cleaned it last night.'
>You take the key. 'Thank you.'
>You turn to go, pacing across the lobby, and putting the key into the lock.
>'Oh, and Anon?'
>'Si?'
>'Two things. Angel wants to see you, and breakfast is at 7:00 sharp today. You'd better be there. 45 minutes now.'
>You nod.
>'Tell Angie I'll see him at breakfast.'
>'Right.'
>Charlie goes to take the reception phone, presumably to ring up Angel's room and tell him about you.
>You turn the key in the lock to the briefing room, and open the door. And close it behind you.
>You forgot. Breakfast.
>You duck your head back behind the door.
>'Charlie?'
>She's talking to Angel on the phone, and holds out a hand, silently telling you to wait.
>She cups her hand over the reciever.
>'Yes?'
>'Tea, Earl Grey and a Full English, for breakfast, for me, if you please?'
>'Gotcha.' She winks and throws finger-guns at you.
>That lady.
>You smirk and shake your head, and close the door again.
-
>Musty.
>Plenty of dust in here, old blankets.
>Probably some rats for authentic charm.
>This room hasn't been used in years.
>Niffty's slacking.
>You flick the light switch on.
>The main light blinks on and off and starts to flicker consistently, the light bulb needs replacing.
>You flick the second switch, and the warm wall lights come on, bathing the room in a orange glow.
>You make your way across to the board, and look at the previous planning on there.
>HAPPY HOTEL CLOSURE PROCEDURES
>Plans of the Hotel
>Numbers running up several of the employees' income and severance pay packets they were receiving.
>Red crosses through 4 employee profiles with TERMINATED and PAID stamped across them.
>You flip over to a new board page.
>OPERATION:
>Hmm.
>Operation.
>Operation. Operation...
>Nothing yet.
>OPERATION: BLANK
>For the moment.
>You start pinning up your information that pertains to your process.
>Plans of the building.
>Photos of the recent Extermination damage from the Exorcists.
>Layout of the hardware the guards are packing, from an inside man Charlie presumably knows.
>Prints of the Press Passes you'll need to get IN there.
>You're going to pose as a journalist for Hell's top smut magazine.
>You're going in there.
>The plan.
>Store some essential kit in some quiet place in the building, should you need it.
>Get in there.
>Get to Roach.
>Right under his guard's noses.
>And show him what happens when people mess with your friends.
>And then?
>You haven't really planned that part.
>Fight your way out?
>There's a compliment of 23 elite guards looking after Valentino's suite on the top floor alone.
>Along with hundreds of others down the other 499 floors.
>Your life doesn't really matter anyway.
>Even if they kill you or keep you and torture you.
>You did what you went there to do.
>You sent them a message.
>The dinner gong.
>Grub's up.
>And you're famished from all this secrecy and scheming.