FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Arise! part 7 (END)

The familiar sound of Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill album burst from the speakers breaking the contemplative hush and Rap reappeared from the shower still clutching his towel around him and promising breakfast as he excused himself to get dressed. Crispin thought it odd that Rap wore clothes when Rave did not. The buff angry dinosaur had not once had a single garment over his deep green scales. Nudity was clearly not an issue when you were a lizard so he guessed it must simply come down to personal choice. There were strict guidelines concerning clothing in the Underworld because of course there were; a whole pamphlet dedicated to the subject in the Hell Afterlife Services employee work manual binder that you were expected to read through and sign and conform to. Shades of black and grey were encouraged. Red was limited to shirts and jackets. A pink shirt would get you a stint in the basement for your trouble. Brands that used child labour in their factories were preferred naturally and any items of apparel that contained hide or fur would give you some well earned street cred. Unless you were a Demon who wore their own fur in which case that respect was automatically given and you were only expected to wear pants. Crispin wasn't sure if that applied to ladies too as they were so rare Downstairs. It truly was a mans world. A boys club. They would have to be something really special to prove themselves worthy of a position in HAS and continue to prove it every day as the Board would be itching to throw them out. Women belonged at home, not in the office. Unless they were a receptionist or secretary but surprisingly, not many girls wanted to be a secretary for a Demon. Maybe one day he could have his own secretary? When he was a bigwig and joined his dad for all those important meetings about which World super powers they were influencing this month and where the next oil spillage would be. All he needed was that disk. He watched Anar rise and stretch, grab his nearly empty packet of cigarettes and head out. “Where are you going?” he asked, trying not to sound peeved.

“Fire escape.”

“What?”

“I'm going for a fag break on the fire escape. Is that ok with you?” Anar snapped back.

“Er, well, yeah... but-”

“If the box grows legs and makes a run for it while I'm gone, just let me know yeah?”

Crispin eyed the pretty jewelled container on the table. Rave was watching him closely to make sure he behaved and didn't touch.

“Oh where's he gone now? I'm making bacon butties for everyone,” Rap said as he walked to the kitchen in a Global hypercolor tee and pair of denim shorts with a frayed hole for his tail.

“Gone out to the fire escape to think. Or jump. One of the two.”

“Don't be silly!” Rap scolded as Rave smirked, “he wouldn't jump off the fire escape that's not nearly dramatic enough for Anar. If he was going to get himself offed he'd go pick a fight with his dad. You want a bacon roll, Crisp?”

“Oh yes, please!”

“What lovely manners. You sure you're in the right place dear?”

Crispin blushed. He forgot he was meant to grunt and shrug and act disinterested all the time. Or scowl. He'd never got the hang of scowling.

Outside on the rickety rusted metal platform that was the last remaining piece of the so-called Fire Escape that once ran all the way up the High Rise Block, Anar could smell the delicious aroma of sizzling bacon drift through his large nostrils and felt his stomach gurgle. He'd concluded that the box must be some sort of puzzle. It made perfect sense as that was what he was good at – puzzles. All that time shouting at the television during Crystal Maze when he'd seen the patterns that the contestants had missed or instinctively knew the sequence of tiles they were seriously mucking up on the dusty floor of the Medieval Zone. It could even be like those closed puzzle boxes you got in your Christmas stocking that had to be twisted in a certain way a bit like a Rubik's Cube to allow an unseen piece to be revealed that would then slide over and your prize would be inside. Or you could take a pair of pliers to it after you got to your room. Either way you got your much anticipated walnut. He stamped out the butt to his Marlboro and the platform lurched. Who's idea was it to put a fire escape out here anyway? Did they really just take a mortal world blueprint and copy it with no real thought behind it? The dead couldn't start fires. Their temporary stay here was all an illusion. He could start fires, yes, but he wasn't meant to be here. The massive irony was that in Hell itself there were no safety measures such as this. Not even a sprinkler system. And that was a realm built entirely around a burning pit!

He returned to his breakfast rubbing his hands hungrily and digging in to the greasy goodness.

“Better?” Rap asked, taking the tarot cards off Crispin and shuffling them.

“Meff,” Anar replied, still chewing, “'ank 'oo.”

“You're welcome dear. See, told you he wouldn't jump!”

Rave simply grunted.

Anar gulped his mouthful, “wait what?”

Crispin watched Rap fan the arcane pack out and wiggle them in front of him, prompting him to choose. “Rave was just being silly dear. Making a joke about you killing yourself by jumping off the fire escape. I said it wasn't nearly dramatic enough for you.”

“Oh thanks! And you're meant to be my best mate.” He finished his food sulkily.

Crispin chose his cards and they were laid down on the table before him. Arcane arts such as this were not taken very seriously in the new digital age. There was too much of a margin for error with predictions and anyway, mortals couldn't be frightened with them these days. Ouija boards still had their creepy reputation but now everyone and their dog knew that the Reaper tarot card wasn't an omen of death after all it had suffered in popularity. Of course the grinning skeleton with the outdated farming equipment was the first to be flipped. A new beginning. Death to an old way of life. It was amazingly vague. 'I'm fucked,' he thought. “Have you ever done this for him?” he hissed, nodding towards the aardvark who was wiping ketchup from round his mouth with a sleeve.

Rap's eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently, “he won't have it. I've tried doing it on his behalf a few times but... it's always wacky shit. And with tarot that's saying something.”

Why did that not surprise him? “So is this good or bad or what?” he asked at his chosen selection.

“Hmmm,” Rap mused, “it's like a story really. Something changes, that could be getting the disk back. There's recklessness, well maybe that's having Anar around. I've no doubt he's influenced you. Some positivity but sadness too, I think you're going to miss him when he's gone but you're happy that he's happy. I see fire, a lot of fire-”

“We're in the underworld,” Crispin suggested. “Makes sense.”

“I'm not getting that, this is destruction.”

“I'm not going to destroy anything!” The human objected. “Is this another vague one where it means something else?” His eyes widened, “The Millennium Bug!” he gasped, “it destroys. When the computers all crash, nuclear reactors will melt down, failsafes will go kaputt, missiles will launch and civilisation will suffer. You'll be going back Upstairs just before the world is plunged into disorder. Maybe this is all a bad idea? You should stay here until it's all over.”

Rap smiled, “you worry too much. And that's coming from me! It will all work out, it always does. Hmmm Millennium Bug eh? In my tarot deck? It could be...”

An audible tinkling grabbed their attention and they all turned to look at Anar who was sat back with his ears pinned as the many beautiful gems on the mystery box rearranged themselves to be suspended in mid-air in front of him in a neat little glowing grid. He darted his eyes, nervously, “well I think I cracked it,” he squeaked.

“Ooooh, pretty!” Rap purred. “Now what do you do?”

Rave swiped a talon at the gem array and Anar smacked it away crossly, “this is my puzzle! Mitts off!”

“How is it doing that?” Crispin asked, clearly more interested in this than some stuffy old cards.

“Magic of course!” Anar snipped as though it should be bleeding obvious. “There was one gem that looked different, it was a rainbow square and was set proud. I gave it a press and this-” he gestured at the brilliant display, “- is what happened. Look the box is just plain now. Those lines that looked like vines are making up this cross-pattern grid that the crystals are sat in.”

They spun and shone brightly, a blue shimmer surrounding the whole board as a clear indicator of sorcery.

“Is it like chess? Do the different colours do different things?” Rave asked nosily.

“Maybe its a draughts board.”

“No no, there's no gaps, see?” Anar waved at it emphatically, “so I can't move them around.”

“Is it a code? Are the gems in that particular pattern for a reason?”

That was a good question. There were red square crystals, purple triangles, blue gem-shapes and green cut-gem shapes. “This is interactive,” he decided, “not a code. You wouldn't waste power on such a fancy thing just for some morse code or a transposition cipher.”

“Yeah,” agreed Rave, “totally.” He shrugged at the others indicating that Anar was a few wires short of a circuit.

Now that the initial shock of finding that trigger and watching the puzzle reveal itself was over Anar breathed carefully and ran through everything he knew. Rave had actually had a good suggestion but he couldn't admit that now could he? The spinning crystals wanted to be touched so he best make a start. He lifted a grey finger that shook only so slightly and tapped a blue in the corner. It lit up. That drew some murmurs. He selected another blue but they grew dim again. Colour-matching was pretty basic so he hadn't really expected that to work. He selected it again but didn't release his finger instead he dragged it to another blue in an attempt to connect them up. That didn't work neither. He tried to pick the gem from out of its square but it wouldn't budge. That left shuffling. He tapped the gem next to it to get them to switch places. They did! But switched back again. “Hrrr,” he growled. Now he knew what it was like to be under pressure. Having a group of mates watching you try to retrieve that crystal before your hourglass ran dry and Richard O'Brien locked you inside the puzzle room. Different shapes, different colours, they moved but wouldn't stay. And somehow when you did what was intended the disk would be revealed. Oh crap he hoped it was the disk inside or he was in so much deep doo-doo. He abandoned the blue and selected another colour. He moved a red across and a brilliant flash lit up as three red gems had been connected together and they vanished, their empty place filled by the gems above dropping down and fresh ones appearing at the top.

“Oh! Connect four sort of thing!” Rap clapped gleefully, “I like connect four!”

“That's easy,” Rave declared, “even I can do that. So much for top level protection! Gimme a go-” he shoved forward and moved some more of the spinning gems making them vanish. Their empty slots were filled again.

“Yeah that's all very good but how do you solve it?” Anar retorted to his smart-ass pal, “it just refills and you start over. There's no progress bar, there's no score, no timer. Nothing.”

Crispin was too excited to let a little reasoning get in the way, “just keep doing it until something happens,” he begged.

So Anar did. Bright flashes lit up the lounge and gems tinkled down with pretty sounds. It was all rather lovely really. The dinosaurs and Crispin pointed out where to go next and the aardvark humoured them good-naturedly as overall it was a good bit of fun and they soon begged to have a go themselves, lining up the colours and watching them vanish to be refilled.

With a bit of careful planning you could even get four of the gems to match up. That gave you an even tinklier sound. Was it possible to link up five? Anar's eyes scanned the magical vertical game board hanging in the air like something from Back to the Future. “Wait,” he insisted, “I've got an idea.”

“Aww,” Rave grumbled as it was his turn that Anar had disrupted. He mumbled something unkind and sat back down on his special sofa.

“There's two lots of two purples down here,” Anar explained, “and if I can get that lone one down I can get five in a row.”

“Then what happens?” Asked Crispin.

“I don't bleeding know. I haven't done this before have I?”

“Sorry mate.” He always managed to say something stupid.

Alanis Morissette carried on warbling in the background about rain on a wedding day as the friends hushed and let the administrative Demon do his thing. There were no promises that his idea would work but he did have luck on his side didn't he? They watched as the gem drew closer and closer, building anticipation. They held their breath as Anar touched it and moved it down into place. With a 'whummm' the five gems melded into one and there spinning in glory was a square rainbow cube flashing and pulsing and looking thoroughly important. Now what? No one moved. No one had any smart ideas or suggestions. Anar's ears drooped. He wasn't always the confident cocky strutting arsehole that he portrayed. Sometimes he doubted himself, sometimes he worried that his actions may have undesirable consequences and sometimes he even thought he wasn't all he was cracked up to be. A brief moment of self-doubt landed in his stomach like a a yawning chasm. What if he messed up? What if this was all an elaborate trap and touching this sent him whizzing off into the far-flung depths of the Abyss?

“Don't think, do!” A voice yelled at his overly sensitive ears and he grabbed the magnificent cube from out of the puzzle and slammed it into the empty slot from where it had come. The rainbow cube that he had pressed to activate the puzzle. It started all this and it ended it too. The suspended crystals flowed back to their previous places on the curious container and the glowing grid once more became metallic vines that snaked around its edges. With a creak, the box lid lifted up and Anar was almost sent sprawling at the pats and claps and hugs he received from his audience.

“That was brilliant!” Crispin enthused, “it would make a great video game. Maybe I should go into computer programming like my dad? Gem matching, who'd have thought?”

“I saw you pause,” Rap tutted to his mammalian friend, “I knew you needed a prod.”

“Thanks mate. You're the best... even if you do think I'm rather dramatic. Well, I guess we'd better see what's in the box...”

Anar carefully lifted out the square floppy disk. It had 'Millennium Bug Project' scrawled in black Sharpie on it. He'd done it. He'd successfully stolen back the item that would give him back his freedom, his youth, his life.

As if on cue, a ringing sound filled the air. Crispin dived for his jacket and pulled out his pager. He swore.

Rave shook his head, “I knew this was going too smoothly. We've hit a snag, just you see.”

Rap and Anar hushed the pessimistic velociraptor. “What is it, Crisp?” Anar asked though he'd rather not know.

“The Wraiths have took my dad in for holding. They don't want him going anywhere before Monday's meeting.”

Anar frowned, it would be routine to do such a thing of course, no Demon wanted to be demoted and running away was what they were good at. Unless you were Anar in which case you charged full speed into trouble and damned with the aftermath.

“Doesn't matter, surely?” Rave said, waving a hand dismissively, “we've got the disk. We can give it to daddy dearest down at the clink.”

“Have you lost your singular brain cell?” Anar groaned, “are you seriously suggesting us – the three misfits that Law Enforcement saw magically vanish from Matlock's destroyed front gate – waltz on down there and ask if Jez can come out to play?”

“What? I've missed some bits here,” Crispin said, “what did you do?”

“Never mind!” They replied in unison.

“We can't take the Ferrari anywhere, neither,” Anar added.

“I could go...”

They turned to the small-horned human. He gulped. “I could go to the... place and give it to my dad.”

Anar held the disk up and twiddled it in his fingers, “I'm not letting this out of my sight sonny-Jim!”

“He's got a point,” Rap nodded to Crispin, “he'd be a prized idiot if he just handed that back without striking a deal. Hell isn't built on pinkie promises.”

“Give me a minute. I'll sort this. How much more trouble can I get in anyway?”

“Anar, you are not...”

“Yeah, you're not...” Crispin watched him leave. “What's he not doing?” he asked.

Rap threw his hands up, “I'm going to worry again!”

“Oh no, not more whale music!” Rave groaned.

He descended the steps yet again and flung open the old door that led to the outside wasteland. Hell would be on High Alert for magic use now and he was severely pushing his luck going back there but wasn't that what he did? The Ferrari lurked under its shelter looking in an even worse state here in the cold light of day. That vehicle was going to be a lamp that drew moths if the moths were magic-wielding trigger-happy pointy fanged horrors. He was right when he said he couldn't take it out on the metropolis streets again. But that didn't mean he didn't have transport.

Opening a portal to the Astral plane was not an easy feat; he had done it twice before – once to summon Guen when he needed a pesky rogue Demon taken care of and once when he had the bright idea of traversing the Astral plane in the hope of finding the mortal realm at the other end. It hadn't quite gone to plan. The Astral plane was just a big loop stretching on and on forever. He closed his eyes and stretched out his large grey palm to pull apart the very fabric of existence. It split with a crack and a howling wind whipped through, pulling dust and debris from the floor of this desolate place and sucking it through into the vast emptiness of the gap between worlds – Guen's playground. He had another guardian too out there, one who was loathe to come unless explicitly called. A creature of untold age who had served Anar's ancestors until the Council of Sorcerers had called time on their magical reign and imposed sanctions on the Warlock family tracking down and slaughtering the wonderful beasts that had thrown their lot in with them as steeds and allies. He bellowed into the void; “Destroyer!” his voice carried along the gale and he stood patiently, feet planted firmly and wings outstretched to remain in one place and not succumb to the incredible vacuum of space. Thunderous hoofbeats shuddered along the ground sending ripples through the sand around him and the familiar form of the Nightmare cantered through with a scream and a rear. His outstretched bat-like wings swept and his terrible curved horn at his muzzle jutted menacingly. He swung his head from side to side, saw there were no foes to impale and stood in a dignified stance. “Humph. This had better be good.”

“Sorry Des. Extenuating circumstances and all that. I need a lift into Hell city.”

With a shake of his long mane Destroyer blew through his lips unhappily, “of all the places you could have gone...” he stamped a dinner-plate sized hoof and left a divot in the ground. “Where are the green fellows?”

“Rap and Rave aren't coming with me this time. It's just us,” Anar explained.

This seemed to cheer the curious horse up some, “marvellous! Just like old times.”

“Sure,” Anar sighed. The Nightmare was convinced that he and his ancestor were the same person and it made for interesting conversation sometimes. He'd tried to insist otherwise until he realised he was wasting his time and just let the creature believe what he wanted to now. After having Crispin read that excerpt from the Book of Warlock it was even something he should maybe encourage. Who knew what Destroyer might remember and be able to reveal? With a jump he clambered upon the huge beast's back and held on tight as he galloped off across the barren land, stretching his wings and soaring up high. A fear of heights was luckily not one of the aardvark's flaws or having him for a friend would certainly be problematic!

Saturday afternoon in the bustling city of the dead was full of activity and noise and excitement. Demons used their downtime for leisure and indulgence. Thronging in dense crowds through the arcades and malls and various bars they spent their money as fast as they earned it on short-lived pleasures and distractions and this was all good and fine. Air-conditioning flowed through every building. Music blared. Lights scrolled and flashed to grab attention and encourage the exchange of cash. There were plans to move into a cashless society but for the moment a full wallet was a thing of beauty. Imps on every corner provided entertainment for the throw of a handful of coins and their handlers whipped them eagerly for added viewing pleasure. Occasionally a placard-wearing fiend would burst through a crowd declaring that Salvation was nigh and all would point and laugh at the deranged lunatic as he frothed at the mouth insisting that everyone would be saved in the end and everybody was promised a Happy Ending. There would always be at least one passerby who would try to steal his sign and make him cry.

On this Saturday there was an increased presence of Wraiths patrolling the old crumbling roads in their blaring modern mortal vehicles. A natural-magic wielder had been spotted twice now and they weren't about to be fooled again. All optical devices were scanning for a bright red Italian sports car – a Ferrari Testarossa with the funny vents in the doors straight from Magnum P.I. and a grey demon who looked like the result of a donkey and a rabbit having an illicit liaison driving behind the wheel. They had two accomplices; green reptiles, one of which was some sort of yoga instructor and the other had more muscles than was good for them. It wasn't the most bizarre Persons of Interest sheet they'd had distributed but certainly was in the top ten. They'd taken the usual steps: posters on lamp posts and various bribes for information but there had been no bites. Whoever they were had either friends in extremely High Places or they were utter nobodies that weren't on anybody's radar. It was certainly an embarrassing sequence of events and if they showed their funny-looking face here again there would be Hell to pay, as it were.

A shadow covered the sun (though it was only a digital representation of the burning ball of hydrogen) and clouds were not a thing Downstairs so immediately a thousand curious Demons looked skyward as a screaming monster hurtled from a lofty peak, wings flapping like some portent of the Apocalypse and they dived for cover in fear of a Final Reckoning that they all would suffer for. What was Hell coming to these days? All that funding for security and the bloody Horsemen were charging around without a care! A blinding flash of brilliant blue lit the air, piercing eyelids and summoning spots in the vision of every undead creature for miles across. The Wraiths scrambled seizing their chance for retribution but just as suddenly as the intruder had appeared it swept back up again and flapped off into the distance. The sirens blared for the third time that week. Some poor damned soul would be getting fired over this!

Jez Huttgart had not been having a good day. On reflection and if he was forced to compare he would confidently say it had been the most rotten day he had ever had so far. Pulling all-nighters trying to break into the computers of the American Security Office and fire nukes into China had proved futile. His precious virus software was still in the twisted claws of his ex co-worker whom he was terrified of and his son was off who-knows-where doing goodness-knows-what while sitting at Numero Uno on Frank Matlock's hit list. Then when he had sincerely believed that things could not get any worse he had had a knock at his door. Well no, it hadn't quite been a knock. His door had been melted into a sticky pool and he'd been forcefully dragged into the Security Wraiths Range Rover upon promise of Deletion if he did not comply.

His holding cell had not been comfortable and the food was not edible. He'd sat miserable and far too hot as his name had been uttered aloud followed by sniggering and derision. It had almost been as bad as that package holiday to Benidorm he'd taken in the seventies. No sooner had he found a spot on the provided bench that wasn't full of splinters a bright blue flash had appeared and the roof of the Detainment Centre had been blown off and he'd been scooped up and whisked off into Purgatory of all places by some funny looking grey Demon dressed in an Adidas tracksuit with buttons down the legs riding a winged beast fresh from a fever dream.

“Pardon me, if it isn't too much trouble...” he stammered but was once again ignored. “I do get terrible travel sickness you see...”

They alighted on the ground and his abductor turned to face him, “you do go on don't you? I can see where Crisp gets it from.”

Jez gave a gasp, “my boy Crispin? Is...?”

“He's fine. You'll be fine. Come on in.”

“I wish I hadn't convinced him to work here. He could have been an investment banker, a confidence trickster, a member of parliament!”

“Yeah, yeah, hurry it up will you?” Anar ushered the older Demon up the many stairs to the apartment while he carried on wittering. Destroyer took a standing leap into the void and he was gone once more.

Anar opened the door to their humble abode as Jez looked worryingly at his unfamiliar surroundings. “Your house got turned over. It's this or that Detention centre.”

“Oh! Oh that's... this is... rustic,” he gulped. “Yes. Shabby chic. Very good.”

Crispin turned from his place in front of Mario Kart on the new television and leapt up with a relieved gasp, “dad! Awww man, It's so good to see you! Look, I've made some friends. They're not all Demons-” he added quickly, “- these guys are familiars. They're all right. They're sound. We've got your disk dad, you're not gonna believe it. It's totally far out!”

Jez's dark eyes bounced from the green lizards to his son to the funny grey Demon and back again. “My... disk?”

Anar flicked it out of his pocket and held it up in all its glory.

“My disk!” he went to take a step.

“Not so fast pal,” Anar growled. “I give you this back and you owe me a favour. A biggie. A whopper. I hand this over and you're back to playing with the big boys. I want something from you first.”

Rap tutted at Anar's dramatics and offered the senior Director a chair and a biscuit.

“Of course, anything,” Mr. Huttgart agreed taking a pink wafer, “what can I do for you?”

Anar told him.

He blinked and adjusted his spectacles. He took a moment and then said, “aren't you Peregrin's son? Peregrin Warlock?”

“Pssst! Don't talk about his dad, dad! Keep it on the down low, yeah?” Crispin hissed urgently.

“He's a very nice man! For a Demon Director anyway,” he rambled, “Perfectly respectable. Very untrustworthy and sly, my word yes.”

Crispin covered his face in anguish, “daaaad!”

“He's chair of the Endangered Dinner Club you know, we had panda curry last week...”

“Do you want this blasted disk or what?!” Anar roared, his eyes glowing.

“Eep! Yes, yes, I can arrange for you to meet with The Dragon. Absolutely. Not a problem. Sure thing. Mmhmm,” he nodded eagerly.

“I'll remind you you're being canned Monday morning. When I get my appointment then you get the disk and not a moment sooner. The board will all clap and cheer at your marvellous work and I kiss the Underworld bye-bye.”

Jez gave his son a look and Crispin assured him that the aardvark was quite serious.

“You can't escape servitude to Hell without repercussions,” Jez pleaded with a groan, “I could make your un-life here very comfortable. You've clearly protected my dear boy and done good things and that can only mean that you're now in a whole heap of trouble. I can protect you from the consequences of your noble actions!”

Anar gritted his teeth, “I don't want protection. I want out.” And my revenge, he thought to himself hopefully. Can't forget that! What kind of troublemaker left employment without something to remember them by? “And not a dickie-bird to my failure of a father,” he added firmly. “You haven't seen me. Haven't interacted with me. I don't exist to you!”

Mr. Huttgart would agree to just about anything right now to get some security back and his cushy job on the upper floor. He pulled out his Nokia 3310 work mobile and carefully pressed buttons. This technology was constantly changing and older minions found it hard to keep up. It was clear he was struggling to navigate the menu. Eventually it connected and he walked to the window speaking in secretive hushed tones.

Anar and the others waited in anticipation. It was lucky they were still in range for cellular activity.

With a beep the call ended and Mr. Huttgart turned flashing a sharp smile, “The Dragon will see you straight away. He seems to be expecting you.”

“Huh. Sounds about right for a dragon. Magical mystical pains-in-the-arses they are,” Anar breathed quietly. Typical. Here he was a wanted Fiend and he was going back into the war zone. Again! At least the offices would be empty. Alexis wouldn't be waiting for him. What a weekend this was turning out to be!

“You can't go back on your own. You'll be toast!” Rave announced not sounding concerned at all about this in the slightest. “You said yourself you can't use the Ferrari. Can't see you walking neither, though it might do you good.”

Anar growled. Rave was always being a cheeky fecker! “I'll manage just fine thank you very much.”

He slinked off to his room and kicked a pile of clutter in the corner. Thanks to having The Bag and it's never ending array of available items he had a marvellous collection of junk. Things that seemed like a good idea to pull out at three a.m. after sinking a few too many beers. He grabbed his desired item and tucked it under his arm, walking back out into the main living area.

Rap shook his head and Rave said what no-one else dared, “are you taking the piss? You're going to skateboard into Hell?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I can think of a million reasons! One you look like a prat, two you'll stick out like a sore thumb, three you are not twelve years old nor Bart Simpson, four you look like a prat-”

“It's the last thing they expect,” Anar insisted, “they're on the lookout for flying horses and a bright red sports car. News channel can't even get my description right; according to them I'm some kind of grey hairless dog. Look I've got my coat with the extra big collar that makes me look like Count Duckula and I'll stick my wings up so you can't see my face properly.” He flicked his coat collar up and spread his wings to prove his point.

“It is a major improvement I must say.”

“I knew you'd say that!” Anar grinned. Rave couldn't turn down an easy insult.

And so once more Anar found himself headed into the very centre of Hades, towards the great Pit and the towering building of Hell Afterlife Services. The contract dragon was not on the regular working floors, rather he was based in the extension out the back. Well it was referred to as the extension but that wasn't quite accurate; it was the original building that had been erected eons ago and the modern structure that the demonic workers currently occupied was the add-on. But that didn't sound as impressive. Anar had a mission however and this meant sliding into Floor twenty two and booting up his computer. It was a daring excursion. He didn't have the luxury of looking like every other worker down here, he was too unique. He stuck out like a sore thumb. His blood pumped through his delicate ears as he typed quickly and quietly. The disk drive hummed and blinked, the progress bar creeping along far too slow for his liking. When he was done he would leave the display turned off and the machine running. When he was finished it would be a countdown to glory. He listened for footsteps, for the lift to run, for a distant 'ding!', anything to tell him he was not alone. He could duck under the desk if he had to or hide behind a potted plant. Maybe the behemoth of a photocopier would disguise him for a minute or two? It was all he would need. He had The Bag slung over his shoulder and that trusty cricket bat was still inside waiting for another victim. What would the Security Wraiths think if they knew that far above them the natural-magic user that had given them the run-around was here at his desk plotting obscene levels of mischief? Finally the download was done and he set a timer for the programme to run. He thanked any deity currently available that there had been no Blue Screen of Death and his PC had actually done as it had been asked for once. He turned off the monitor and gave it a farewell pat, “stupid piece of shit,” he mumbled, “you deserve what's coming to you.”

He rode the lift back down to reception, keeping his wings wrapped close to him as the doors opened, just in case. The door leading through to the extension was only around the corner. There was no undead soul about. Security should have been stationed at the front double doors but you can always rely on bored guards to wander off or just not bother turning up. He stepped out onto the logo'd carpet and breathed out. Contract incineration time.

The old Hell building was dimmer, dustier, threadbare and crumbling. It reminded Anar of the high rise block he called home. Exposed bits of wiring from where the electrics had been updated hung down and at the far end of the gloomy corridor was the dreaded Basement door. The point of no return for many a disgraced minion. He had no wish to go there! It gave him chills simply being this close to it. It glowed with sigils and runes, barriers for those both coming and going. He pulled his gaze away and knocked at the door labelled 'Contract Department'.

There was much shuffling beyond the door and a fair bit of muttering. The old wood creaked open and a scaly snout peered through the gap, “yes?” it asked.

“I have an appointment,” said Anar quietly.

“Name?”

He paused, best give him his proper title; “Anarchy Warlock.”

“Anarchy!” the door was flung open and a clawed hand grabbed his tracksuit collar and hauled him inside. The Dragon looked very happy to see him, clearing space from a chair and wriggling talons to seal the entranceway to his domain with some unknown hidden power.

Anar had never met a dragon before. They were exceptionally rare. Large, scaly, winged noble beasts breathing fire and reigning terror from above. This one was man-sized, walked on two legs, had a black leather jacket draped over his shoulders and a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. He wore faded Levi jeans. He had on a massive pair of motorcycle boots. Forget Hell's Angels this was Hell's Clerks. He grinned widely and encouraged Anar to take a seat, chatting away, “I've been waiting for you for such a long time,” he was saying, “of course time doesn't really mean anything to me but for a mortal such as yourself its frightfully important. Would you like some tea? I can make black tea, herbal tea, blooming tea. Oh! Silly me, you're a coffee drinker, of course you are. Now where did I put that jar of Nescafe?”

“I'm here about my contract,” Anar prompted as the peculiar creature started diving in his cupboards.

He turned, still smiling, lots of sharp teeth on display, “but of course you are. This is the contract department and I'm the contract dragon. No good coming to me for anything else.”

The mystical creature swung his tail and knocked a pile of files onto the floor as he flicked a kettle on for hot water. He filled a mug with coffee granules and reached for a mini fridge; “you'll have to remind me, Anar, do you take milk?”

“Um, yeah. With two sugars.”

“Right! Well I must say it is lovely to see you, it's been quite a long time since we had a nice chat. I think.” he paused, “has it been a long time?” he asked, waving a spoon in the air.

'Don't say 'we've never met', that's not going to help', Anar thought. “Oh yeah, sure. Forever,” he muttered.

Coffee was stirred and The Dragon turned to face him, sitting down at his desk and pushing the mug forwards. He rubbed his pointy chin. “You look different. When did you get the horns?”

“Oh for goodness... my contract! Up in flames! Please!” Anar begged. “Jez Huttgart arranged this. He said you were expecting me!” he tried not to get too cross. This was a dragon, after all.

“Ah. Hmm. So you're thinking of retiring? You'll have to promote someone to take your place of course. The Kaos Army must have a General. I'll be sorry to see you go...”

This was it, the breaking point; Anar flattened his ears and bared frightening teeth all of his own, “my Hell Afterlife Services contract,” he gritted, “up... in... flames!”

The clearly confused creature blinked, though this was partially hidden by the reflective aviator sunglasses across his dragon snout. “Yes!” he cried, slapping the table, “of course! How could I be so absent-minded? I'll fetch it right away.” He got up again, knocking more paperwork to the floor that was already littered with the stuff. “The trouble with being an aeons-old magical being such as myself is we do tend to get our pasts, presents and futures mixed up. Not to mention all those pesky alternative realities with their branching 'choice consequences'. I don't know whether I'm coming or going and that's not good when I'm meant to be everywhere at once! Anarchy... Anarchy...” he flicked through filing drawers, “I knew your ancestor you know. He was a nice man. When he wasn't being unnecessarily noble and getting himself stabbed by a Tricorn horn that is.”

“Wait-” Anar slammed his mug on the table, “what do you mean 'stabbed by a Tricorn horn?'”

“Ah! Here it is. Now you want this incinerated, yes?” The Dragon's long face turned to him looking suddenly serious now. He held up faded yellowing parchment crammed with Infernal writing and containing Anar's signature at the bottom in his slender scaly claws.

“You know what happened to my ancestor?” Anar asked, ignoring the contract for now to satisfy his curiosity.

“Oh yes. I resurrected him after he upset that power-hungry rat, Nisgarant. I wrote your little book too that sits at Warlock Court. I was there when the Council of Sorcerers placed magical sanctions upon you all after your feuding got out of hand and the world was almost destroyed. Looking after your family has been a sort of hobby, if you will. You Warlocks are such fascinating things.”

“Fascinating?!” he was very offended at that! They weren't zoo specimens for crying out loud!

“But of course,” The Dragon insisted, “Your natural magic comes from me after all. It was a rather unforeseen side effect of aiding the General after his injury, some of my essence got passed along to him. Well I'd never done that kind of sorcery before so how was I to know? It's been passed down through many generations and now you have it. That's why you're lucky, it's because you have some of my dragon powers mixed in your blood. And the Council of Sorcerer's magical sanctions are finally coming to an end which is why you have that tiny little bit of power that you can't do anything with.” He seemed rather pleased at all this.

Anar's head throbbed. He hadn't expected this! He had dragon in him? This mythical creature waving his paperwork at him was responsible for writing the Book of Warlock? Brought his dead ancestor to life and hung out with his family for hundreds of years? He flapped his mouth uselessly but couldn't form words. He'd always wanted answers to the many questions he had about his family troubles and the origin of the whole natural magic business but he'd never have guessed a dragon had been involved. It seemed so fitting, though, didn't it? Meddling creatures. Always one step ahead of you and playing games no-one knew the rules to! He'd suffered all that humiliation and social rejection for being Naturally magic, had fallen out of favour with his father and been literally thrown out of his own family home and it was all this rotten dragon's fault!

The Dragon's shoulders sagged, “I'm sorry. On second thoughts I shouldn't have told you all that.” He lifted off his sunglasses and Anar felt himself pulled into a pair of mesmerising eyes, a mental fog clouding his thoughts.

Anar blinked. Oh look what The Dragon had found - he'd found his contract! “That's mine!” he cried, lifting off his seat triumphantly.

“Yes, it is,” The Dragon smiled. “Would you like me to dispose of this for you?”

Anar nodded, filled with euphoria. This was it! This was the moment he had waited for. No longer would he be confined to the realm of the dead. He could pass through the Abyssal gate and go see his uncle again. He had so much to catch up on and so much to look forward to.

The Dragon held the formal sheet of parchment in front of his nostrils and blew, gently. Golden embers curled at the corners and a burning trail travelled along it's edges. Fine ash floated down to the waste bin as the contract was fully consumed by dragon fire and was now no more.

“I'll just arrange your papers for the gate...” The Dragon said and he turned to punch together some official looking sheets. He handed them over to the aardvark solemnly. “You're all set. You're free to go.”

Anar's heart leapt. He trembled. He held his leaving permissions like revered treasure. The Dragon's glowing scrawl shone from the last page. Completely illegible but nonetheless what was required when the gate officials demanded 'paper's please!'. He was in a daze as he found himself back in the rundown corridor. Well that had gone smoothly, what a helpful dragon! Maybe they weren't so bad after all? He had looked rather strange though, but he couldn't remember why. They'd had a conversation too, but he couldn't remember what it was about. He shook his head and flapped his long ears, it didn't matter! He was going home and that was all that was important. Wait until the guys saw this!

Anar kicked his board out from its hiding position behind an overflowing bin and he set off back to Purgatory with the precious paperwork stored in his bag. They were getting out! They were getting out right now. Not another moment to waste. It didnt matter if they were in the middle of a television programme or halfway through a lap in Mario Kart they were bundling their things and saying adios to the underworld.

Back in the apartment Anar handed the Millennium Bug disk over to Jez Huttgart with a grateful bow and gave the good news to the raptors so they could pack their few precious belongings.

Rave sulked; “but I like it here!” and Anar only just stopped himself from clonking the lizard about the head. All those years of non stop whinging about having to live in Purgatory and now he was reluctant to leave!

“I'll get you a new nice sofa when we get home,” he sighed.

“Well all right. Are we going to live with your uncle? In the big fancy house?”

“Sure,” Anar nodded, “that's the plan.”

They all agreed it was a good plan. The best plan. It was just vague enough that it might work. Crispin shook Anar's hand and they clapped each other on the back, chummily. Making friends in Hell. Who would have thought? Next thing you know it would snow. Again.

Jez gripped his disk tight to his chest and offered his sincere thanks once more - that Monday morning meeting was certainly going to be interesting! Frank Matlock was in for some basement time and his dear son could enjoy all the privileges of having an influential Director dad like nothing had happened.

The aardvark ex-Demon and the two dinosaurs set off from the High Rise Block one last time and they waved to the new friends that they were sadly leaving behind.

“What about the Ferrari?” Rap asked as they began the long walk to Hell's boundary.

Anar patted The Bag, “it's on the paperwork. Vehicle Department will make sure It'll appear when we cross through. I've got the keys. Guen's gone back to the Astral plane, he'll come find me soon enough. Destroyer too.”

“I can't believe you actually did it you know,” Rave rumbled. “I expected you to fail again. Feels weird, having something go right for once.”

They nodded.

In time the Abyssal Gate loomed. There was a massive queue as always. Security Wraiths stood guard. Anar didn't have to worry about that any more. He didn't exist to them now. Not without a contract. They'd look straight past him. On the dusty ancient clock that hung overhead it showed Hell time. He watched the minute hand creep down and smiled to himself. Of course his luck had come into play once more; he was in the perfect place at the perfect time. Rap and Rave were discussing holiday destinations and shopping trips to London or New York. Spending his money of course! They were very excited to get their lives back too. Life in the land of the living...

“Papers, please!” came the growl.

Anar handed them over and held his breath. The official flipped through the pages of text, read The Dragon's scribble and nodded. Anar breathed out again and took them back.

The official nodded to the dinosaurs, “names, title and class?”

“Rap and Rave. Familiars. Class one,” Rap replied proudly. Class one was the lowest, akin to having a cabbage for a magical helper.

They were waved through with a numbered ticket to hold, like being in a deli waiting to be served for cold cuts.

The minute hand on the clock touched the next digit. The hour rang out. Showtime. Up high on Floor twenty two a PC hard disk spun up and began to process data. It had been set to run a specific programme at this exact time and it dutifully did so, reading lines of code crammed with instructions that it obediently followed before powering back down, never to function again. The computer next to it woke up and received this programme through the local network, read it and passed it on before also ceasing to function. Chinese whispers in an empty office. Soon every intelligent machine in the HAS office block had been corrupted with this strange information source and now it began to spread itself out into the city, promptly shutting down the public services and utilities. It affected not just the PCs, but the mobile network and the Security systems. One by one they took themselves offline until there were no bright lights shining in the necropolis, no shop tills ringing up customers, no coffee machines grinding beans. Angry voices rose up as frustrated Demons found their fancy toys dead and unresponsive. Air-con units failed to blow chilled air. No phones rang. No pagers beeped. Still the programme travelled along the wires and through the networks until it reached the power station linked to the National Grid where it over-rided the operating system and sent a massive surge of electricity running back along the path it had just taken. All the way back to the Hell Afterlife Services office building. In a moment a thousand tiny electrical fires started up as power outlets sparked and crackled. Years of overloaded sockets and extensions running off extensions, things that wouldn't fly in a properly ran business that had an insurance company to satisfy before being covered, but Hell had never been a properly run business. Spits of fire dropped onto thick luxury carpet. Flames licked up wooden bookcases. So much flammable material stretching away in every direction. Everything would burn. After all, there was no sprinkler system in Hell.

The Abyssal gate lay before them as their number came up, activating the Gate for their final destination. A plume of thick black smoke curled high up into the air behind them, darkening the sky and growing at an alarming rate.

It had immediately grabbed the attention of onlookers and those in the queue system, with excited phone calls going out full of shouting and disbelief.

“You're not gonna believe this, mate, Hell is on fire! Yeah, yeah, I know it's supposed to be but listen, listen – the bits of Hell that aren't meant to be on fire, yeah? They're on fire!”

Rap nosed into one of Anar's very long ears, “I don't suppose this is all a big coincidence, hmm?”

But he said nothing, keeping his glee to himself as he soaked in all the chaos and confusion around him. It was everything he could ever wish for.

It would take the magic users days to get it sorted out. When it was inevitably traced back to a virus on his PC, well... what could they do? He didn't exist anymore did he? His colleagues would remember him but officially... he was gone. And who knows? Maybe after all the drama was over and multiple meetings had been held with Important Questions being asked by the Big Bad Guy himself, maybe that Millennium Bug wouldn't be utilised Upstairs after all? The old boys didn't much like technology did they? And deep down they would all be scared that this would happen all over again.

The city blazed behind him as Anar looked to his two best pals and nodded, taking a final step into the shimmering vortex of the Abyssal Gate. Dutifully they nodded back and followed. Wherever Anar went, they went too.

End of story.