Chapter Text
Fuck this.
Fuck whatever shiny, stupid, crystal-ass thing that exploded on him. Fuck Stolas and his well-meaning, self-pitying stories. Fuck the stupid mission that came right after, because of course it did, and those little angel shits and storks whatever they were called interfered.
He’d finally said sorry, meant it, and the universe had responded by dropping him somewhere that smelled like fucking cigarettes and proof that it fucking hated him too.
Blitzø stalked down the street, boots kicking a rock once or twice, wanting to strangle something as he tried to figure out where the hell he was. No hellfire. No demons. Just humans. Great, fantastic, ten out of ten.
His phone was dead, no signal, and no fukcing crystal in sight. Fuck his life.
He caught his reflection in a darkened shop window and snorted. Yeah, still hot. Even covered in grime and tan human skin that now appeared instead, he’d fuck himself. At least someone should.
For some reason he was a human, but that did not answer where the fuck he was or how the the hell he can get home.
“Hey there, sweet cheeks. You look lost.”
Blitzø didn’t even stop walking.
“Cmon, don't ignore me~ How about you spend some time with Daddy?”
Oh. One of those.
“Cmon, sweetheart, don't be like that, I can treat you so good~”
He turned, looking unimpressed but did give the guy a once-over. Human. Of course. Annoyingly taller than him yet has decent bone structure. Not his type but desperation made people flexible. At least he could do is get something out of this and figure where in the world he was.
“Hmmm,” Blitzø hummed, head tilting. “And how exactly are you planning on doing that, Big Daddy~?”
That got the reaction he expected as the man grinned widely with too much confidence as he boldly squeezed Blitzø's ass cheek.
“Oh?” the man purred back. “Not so innocent, I see, cute thing. I have my ways."
Blutzo hummed, straying his hand down the man's chest before trailing it downwards toward the belt.
"Oh? Well? Are you gonna back that up, or are you just loud?”
“We’ll see who’s loud.”
After a couple solid rounds, Blitzø was tugging his jacket back on, irritation soothed just enough to feel hollow again. The man, Randall, slipped cash into his back pocket like he thought it was subtle. Blitzø let him cup his ass anyway. Might as well get the full experience.
"Here's extra for the wonderful blow job.” Randall said, lighting a cigarette. “What's your name, sweecheeks? The name's Randall."
Blitzø pulled the money out and started counting it right in front of him.
“Blitzø,” he said. “The ‘o’ is silent.”
Randall puffing on his cigarette, looked slightly puzzled. "What 'o'?"
"Aww, thank you~"
Randall, still baffled, shrugged it off. "That's a weird name for someone cute. And mean,” he looped an arm around Blitzø’s waist, smoke curling into Blitzø’s face.“You know,” Randall said, amused, “it’s not polite to count the prize in front of the person.”
Blitzø coughed, waved the smoke away.
“Call me,” Randall added, slipping a number into Blitzø’s pocket before leaving.
Fucking asshole.
After several peculiar encounters, a FAT-ASS squish of cash stuffed into his pocket, and one near-miss with what he was pretty sure counted as a cult, Blitzø finally found something sacred.
McDonald’s.
He ordered like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, which, honestly, might’ve been true with the amount of ice cream he had been only eating. He ordered four burgers, extra cheese, nuggets, fries, and a soda the size of his head. And yeah, fine, a Happy Meal.
Why?
Because it came with a horse.
A purple sparkly horse.
The cashier gave him a look. Blitzø did not give a fuck. They can kiss his ass.
Blitzø tore through the food and pulled the slightly smaller green horse figurine from his pocket and set it next to the new one.
“You guys get along~”
He leaned back in the booth, surrounded by wrappers.
Okay.
He was fed.
He had money.
He had his horses.
Now… he could start thinking.
Which sucked.
Making a living in this world sucked absolute ass. Sure, he could kill, he was great at that, but without the crystal, without his contracts, without Hell backing him up, it wasn’t exactly a sustainable business model. And jail? Yeah, no. Humans were weirdly sensitive about murder.
And this body, ugh. He liked the human form, sure, but it wasn’t his. He wanted his damn horns, claws, and tail back.
A week passed and he found a place. And by “place” he meant a dusty, loud-as-fuck basement that smelled like mold and strangely fish. The pipes screamed at random hours too and rent still cost at least an arm and a leg. A fucking scam.
Finding work was worse. Who knew humans were so conservative?
“Who the fuck needs a degree if you’ve got skills?” Blitzø snarled a laptop he stole, jabbing the screen with a finger. “I ran a whole company!
In this world that resembled but wasn't quite the same as the one he had known before, he recognized the importance of learning and adapting.
He could fucking do it, which brought him back to the email.
The job offer or whatever the hell it had been had politely suggested he “improve his literacy and numeracy skills.”
They’d basically called him illiterate.
Blitzø cracked his knuckles.
“Oh, I’ll show you nerds.”
Three attempts later, the screen refreshed.
5%.
That was the grade for his third attempt.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT—” Blitzø screamed, slamming his laptop down again and again. “I KNOW HOW TO FUCKING READ!”
At the same time his door was being pounded on.
“Boy, you better shut the hell UP before I smack the sense clean outta you.” a voice barked. “Oh, Lord knows, I’m too old for this mess.”
Blitzø froze.
…The fuck?
Regardless of everything, months passed and his pride, his temper, and his general hatred of being told what to do, against all odds, he started getting it.
All the boring human bullshit that apparently mattered.
Only because his neighbor was a crazy old cat lady.
She had too many cats. No wonder the pipes were so loud. She spoke to them like they were coworkers, and absolutely refused to be intimidated by him. Blitzø didn’t care about cats one way or another, but he missed his Loonie. He hopes she’s okay without him.
Before he could continue to wallow further in his own misery, the old lady sat him down, corrected his spelling, and smacked his head with a ruler when he tried to bullshit his way through it.
He swears his head is gonna be a hill by next week.
His grammar was still abysmal. He knew that. He just didn’t give a shit right now. He wasn’t about to suck every dick on the street to survive. A sugar daddy would’ve been fine, honestly, but he wasn’t gonna work for some rich, saggy, asshole prune just to scrape by.
He’ll get his business, see to it.
Who knew that saving the old lady from getting her purse robbed came with perks. And by saving her, he means that he picked up her purse that was on the ground while she beat the shit out of the thief. Surprise surprise, she owned the goddamn building. Apparently anyone desperate or crazy enough to take the basement usually moved out in a week or so. Blitzø moved upstairs within the week he met her. The room and attic had real windows, some creaking pipes and still smelled faintly like cat, but whatever.
She also baked him cookies.
He absolutely did not say no to that.
They were delicious.
In her mind, he’d had amnesia. Or hit his head. Or been through something “terrible.” Blitzø didn’t bother correcting her. She even got him identification when he said he didn't have anything.
“Huh,” he muttered, turning the card over in his hands. “Neat.”
William Graham.
Age: 35.
Followed by DOB and expiration date and all that.
He did grin in the photo so yeah, he looked hella good. Blitzø stared at it a second longer than necessary, then scoffed.
“Damn,” he said. “I look good.”
Gran, unfortunately, did not let him enjoy that victory.
Yes, he started calling her Gran or she’d beat the shit out of him too.
She’d pushed him hard to take the stupid English proficiency exam. Why the hell he needed it was beyond him. If she hadn’t threatened to beat him over the head with her cane and take care of her hundred cat baths, he would’ve gladly done literally anything else. Like polishing the rifle he’d found while cleaning out her attic. It wasn’t like she was using it and it deserved the respect it deserved.
Still, there he was.
The moment he handed over his ID, the staff member checking it paused.
Then blinked.
Then looked up at him.
Then back down at the card.
Blitzø leaned in. “What? That’s clearly me! Never seen anyone this handsome before?!”
One of the staff women gave an offended look but allowed him to proceed, uninterested in dealing with his attitude. Not worth the paperwork.
“That’s right, bitch!” Blitzø called cheerfully as he passed. “Roll your eyes harder! Maybe you’ll find a brain back there!”
Incredibly, he had been kicked out twice before he finally managed to complete the test successfully.
Apparently “excessive commentary,” “verbal abuse,” and “threatening to eat the exam booklet” were not encouraged.
Oh, by the way. Had he mentioned Gran had also pushed him into getting a job?
A cashier job.
Something Blitzø had sworn on blood, fire, several very specific grudges, and his asshole of a father that he would never do.
Of course there had to be a Karen in every universe?
“Miss,” Blitzø said, already done, “could you maybe, just maybe, lower your voiceeeee… we got a hella lot of stuff on our back and your screeching is not helping.”
“My coupons won’t work, so don’t tell me to be quiet!” the woman screeched. “Do you know who I am?!”
“No. And I don’t really care.” Blitzø replied flatly.
“I’ll have you fired!”
“Now listen here, you bitch,” he started, leaning over the counter. “You’re like a broken record, going on about all these precious coupons of yours. No wonder nobody can stand you. Customer service is right fucking there, and maybe if you actually looked at them or listened, you’d know those fucking coupons expired half a damn month ago.”
Karen’s face went nuclear. She started screaming. Something about lawsuits. Managers. Her “rights.” She tried to swing at him over the counter while security hovered nearby, utterly useless, like decorative furniture.
A cough sounded behind him.
Blitzø turned, tuning out whatever corporate-flavored bullshit was being recited at him.
“With that,” the manager said, “you’re fired.”
Blitzø blinked.
“What?”
Then—
“Oh yeah??”
He grabbed his shitty, lukewarm water-coffee and dumped it straight over both their heads. The Karen shrieked and the manager gasped like a dying fish.
Blitzø flipped them off with both hands and stormed toward the exit.
“YOUR FREE COFFEE TASTES LIKE DOG SHIT ANYWAY–!”
THUNK.
His face smacked directly into the glass doors.
“…Fuck.”
He jabbed the button, the doors finally slid open, and then spun around just long enough to flip them off again.
Blitzø couldn’t help it.
He missed them.
His precious daughter, Loona. Millie. Even Moxxie. Fizz.. fuck and they just started getting better too. His shitty apartment and the Hell coffee that tasted like burnt asphalt and regret. And—annoyingly—the bird. The stupid, complicated bird with the big eyes and bigger feelings that Blitzø didn’t fucking understand nor was able to get his own feelings across properly because he always fucks shit up.
He was not going to spend the night crying about it. Absolutely not. Nope. Not happening.
So he went out.
And yeah, sometimes his extracurricular activities weren’t about the money. Some nights he just went out to get hammered or did other stuff but tonight, the cash didn’t hurt. Hell no, he wasn’t about to mooch off Gran. He had standards. You respect your elders. Unless they’re assholes. Then you piss in their coffee and wish them a happy birthday for being another year closer to death.
Currently, he was at a club in a private room. He was there with one of the previous guys he’d hooked for the night, Thane, apparently, and three of his friends. They wanted lap dances in a classy setting.
They’d wanted lap dances. Blitzø wasn’t entirely sure why he was there since no one needed anything from him right now, but he was getting paid to sit and drink, so fuck yeah.
The guys were indulging in their lap dances while Blitzø declined a lap dance when one of the girls offered, just wasn’t in the mood, and instead nursed his whiskey. Free booze was free booze. Duh. And the cocktail came with a tiny umbrella, which he absolutely planned to take home and stick on one of his horses.
He glanced toward the dance poles.
Blitzø leaned toward the woman currently spinning. “Hey,” he called over the music, “does that thing just twirl by itself, or do you have to control it or some shit?”
The dancer blinked, surprised.
“It spins on its own,” she said, arching a brow. “But you need control to stay on it.”
“Oh,” Blitzø perked up. “So I just hang on and twirl or something?”
She smirked. “Something like that. You’re welcome to try, handsome. Name’s JC.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?” Blitzø grinned. “Blitzø.”
“Maybe,” JC said, amused.
Well. A challenge was a challenge.
Blitzø rolled up his sleeves and hopped onto the empty pole only to immediately slide down, jeans betraying him completely. His wide-eyed look earned a laugh from JC.
“You need grip,” she said. “Hands or body.”
"Right!” Blitzø snapped his fingers, displaying his trademark confidence.”Yeah, I knew that!"
Blitzø shed his skinny jeans and long-sleeved shirt without ceremony, revealing a black tank and snug boxer shorts that left very little to the imagination. On his second attempt, he managed to hold on as the pole spun.
“Hah!” he bragged.
When the pole slowed, Blitzø hopped down, kept a hand on it, and jogged a playful circle before launching himself back up. His choice of attire also left his booty, thighs, and part of his stomach on full display, much to the amusement of the onlookers. The music thumped. Someone whistled. JC laughed.
As the night went on and more drinks disappeared, Thane’s friends lost themselves in the ladies. The guy he came with, Blitzø forgot his name, took the opportunity to slip Blitzø’s payment into the front of his shorts, adding a very deliberate squeeze at his thighs.
"You put up quite a show up there today," he commented. “Maybe next time, just you and me. Dance for me?”
His friends protested. The guy shut them down immediately, reminding them they were the ones who’d insisted on the night’s plans so they should just shut the hell up.
When it was time to leave, Blitzø waved an exaggerated, jazzy goodbye to JC.
JC and Blitzø also exchanged numbers. Strictly for business. Totally not because she offered a discounted pole and free lessons.
Definitely not.
Totally fucking worth it.
He spent hours spinning his brain out on that pole, spinning around until his brain went static and threw up.
He learned actual moves and techniques on the pole. Damn, why hadn't he done it much sooner. JC gave him some lessons when he came over. She was a fucking angel, he’d decided. A terrifying, graceful, brutally honest angel who laughed her ass off every time he wiped out.
And yeah, he looked fucking sexy doing it.
If anyone claimed otherwise, Blitzø was prepared to fight them in the parking lot.
This human body was different from his imp form. The balance was off. The weight distribution was weird. Gravity felt like it had a personal vendetta. But not that different. Different rules, same chaos.
Eh. He’d get used to it.
Nothing he couldn’t handle.
He went for one more spin and then launched himself off the pole and bumped into the couch, then the wall.
“Ow, fuck—”
“BOY!” Gran’s voice boomed from upstairs. “DON’T YOU DARE DAMAGE MY FLOORS!”
Blitzø groaned, sprawled dramatically on the carpet. “I DIDN’T! I HIT THE WALL”
“LORD HAVE MERCY,” she yelled back. “I DARE YOU TO BREAK ANYTHING IN THIS HOUSE.”
Blitzø cackled.
He placed the long carpet there for a reason.
Blitzø decided he needed something more stable. Less… public. Less likely to get him arrested by humans with badges and itchy trigger fingers.
He doesn't wanna get shot, definitely not now.
That was when he stumbled across a YouTube video warning people not to go digging around the dark web.
“…Wait, is that where humans go to do all that fucked-up weird shit?”
Curiosity won.
He dug a spare laptop out of the attic, apparently one of Gran’s son’s old ones, and booted it up.
Huh.
Well look at that.
Humans were shockingly pliable.
“…Wait. I’m human now too,” he grimaced. “Shit. We’re pliable.”
Still.
Business was business.
Blitzø created a profile and posted an ad just like he did back in Hell. He even added some imp-style drawings he made himself and titled it IMP.
Maybe that’d help them find him. Eventually, if anyone in Hell was even looking for him...
Fuck he’s all sad now.
Fuck it.
He wore a mask.
“Welcome to IMP,” he chirped. “Are you a piece of shit who needs a job done? Or an innocent soul who got screwed over by someone else?”
As an example of their work, Blitzø included a testimonial with his drawings.
“Well, lucky you! We can take care of your unfinished business by dealing with the assholes who fucked you over! Ignore the screaming, and the very real possibility this makes things worse, and enjoy the show!”
He sang the last line, then cut it off with a cartoonish imp scream and hit upload.
“…Damn,” Blitzø nodded. “Still got it.”
After locking down his location, disabling every camera and tracker he could find, and paying through a chain of digital nonsense to do it for him.
“Boring, boring, booooringggggg,” he kept browsing until he stumbled upon a live video that appeared to be about cute dogs.
“Awwww. Finally, some people with good taste. Let’s see what cutie patooties they— WHAT THE FUCK?!”
It was not cute. It was a horrifying scene of torture. With puppies. taking orders from the disturbing comments.
He didn’t watch, his hands moving fast before shutting the laptop, changed his clothes, and grabbed his mask once again.
He told Gran he was heading out for a bit.
“Get butter while you’re gone,” she called.
“I will!” he said automatically.
He tracked the guy down because the bastard was close. Same city. That alone was reason enough.
How’d he get the location?
…
Acquaintances.
Well. Not really. He asked a random stranger lurking in the same digital sewer and the guy asked what the payment would be. Blitzø offered entertainment.
That was all it took.
The stranger did some digging real quick, like he’d been waiting for an excuse and came back with a name, an address, and a message.
I’ll do it for free if you kill the piece of shit.
Well, perhaps there are some saints on the platform.
Lucky Blitzø.
That’s exactly what he did.
The camera didn’t survive more than a heartbeat after he arrived. Whatever followed didn’t need visuals as he proceeded to inflict torture upon the perpetrator before ultimately ending his life. The comments in the chat were going wild, questioning what was happening and why the camera had gone dark.
Blitzø wiped his hands, sat down, and typed on the dead man’s keyboard.
Run if you want! Cardio’s good for you. I’ll still enjoy the screaming part. Merry early Christmas you sick fucks - I.M.P.
(Say hi to Hell. I’ll be there soon.)
Then he smashed the laptop with the bat beside it until it stopped being a laptop at all.
As he prepared to leave, Blitzø heard a faint whine that made him pause in his tracks.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”
He searched fast, panic clawing up his spine. He knew there had been no survivors when he’d arrived. He’d checked as soon as he hit the guy upside the head.
The whine came again.
From a black plastic bag.
Hands shaking, Blitzø ran to tear it open.
Inside was a tiny puppy, perhaps a few weeks old, weak, wrapped up and left to suffocate.
“Fucking piece of shit” Blitzø snarled as he took it out. “Oh, hey.. hey… I got you.”
The pup whined more, probably in hunger as it wiggled. Blitzø wrapped the pup in a towel he’d brought. Then he searched again. Every bag and box and corner and even looked for any remaining female dogs. Anything he might have missed. Nothing.
Just this one.
The puppy settled, warm and breathing now, snorting as Blitzø tucked it carefully into his bag, his hand hovering over it the whole time as he went on his way back.
He left without looking back.
Because he knew that if stayed any longer— he’d break.
guest2735: LMAOOO okay but why is the song actually catchy??
xX_MUKBANGKING_Xx: bro you’re gonna get yourself killed posting shit like this
throwaway_44901: If this is legit… I’ve got a few names. Just saying.
lolwut_777: Is this satire?? I can’t tell if I should laugh or delete my browser history.
griefcase: As an “innocent soul who got screwed over,” yeah… I’m listening.
skullz4life: this is 100% a 12 year old with too much free time
sadboy1994: Signing up. There’s a piece of shit who ruined my life.
NopeNopeNope: This has to be fake. People don’t actually do this, right?
mynameisjeff: funniest AND most disturbing thing I’ve seen today, congrats
CouponBandit: calling BS but I won’t lie, this guy can’t sing but the song slaps
.
.
.
b4rk3r: I can’t believe this. We watched that sick stream and now THIS shows up??
Error_404_not_found: What stream? Why are some of you freaking out?
b4rk3r: You don’t wanna know. Trust me.
_lurker_998: ohgodohgodohgodI saw it too why is this happening
guest1638: hey guys, I just joined, what’s happening?
ilovecereal: uihfouwefhubwehoifbjkyou don’t understand. We’re fucking waitlisted.
curiouscat88: Can someone explain what IMP even is??
Error_404_not_found: From what I found, I think it’s like a dark web hitman service
joker03: Karma’s a bitch. Maybe log off while you still can.
_IMP666_ (Host): :)
b4rk3r: nope nope nope nope nope
delete_me_now: I’m deleting my account. This isn’t funny anymore.
xX_MUKBANGKING_Xx: whoever’s running this is enjoying this WAY too much
sadboy1994: oh hell no, IMP GET THEIR ASSES
Meanwhile Blitzø carefully gave the tiny pup a warm bath first, testing the water twice like he actually knew what he was doing. The pup squeaked, then settled, small body relaxing under the warmth.
After the bath came food and he made sure the small one wasn’t choking. He stared at the little thing for a long moment.
“…Winston,” he decided.
Gran absolutely lost it.
“Oh, Lord” she cooed, leaning over him. “Look at that baby.”
Blitzø pretended not to smile as he cradled Winston, watching him eagerly drink.
With the cash, he had saved enough to keep them afloat for a while. Blitzø decided he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Winston needed care.. and well so did he in some way. It’s not like he found any way of returning back.
Besides, Winston needed protection, especially from the cats.
Those little murder machines had claws.
“He’s mine,” Blitzø hissed, eyeing one suspiciously as Winston wiggled and explored. Blitzø stayed close, ready to scoop him up at the slightest hint of danger.
Life settled into something… strange.
Blitzø continued to work on various fronts. He spent time pole dancing to relax and unwind, helping gran, and he also focused on his IMP activities, stating that things would begin in two weeks. He carefully reviewed the messages and files sent by those who had signed up, taking notes on how to track them and manage their requests.
Blitzø kept busy. Pole dancing to burn off stress. Fucking and getting fucked. Helping Gran around the house. Laying groundwork for IMP, announcing that operations would officially begin in two weeks. He reviewed messages and files late at night, learning how to track people properly in this world.
Human rules were different.
Between jobs, he cooed at Winston and his growth, reorganized his growing collection of My Little Pony figures, and added a few others he’d picked up along the way.
Horses stayed. Always.
When IMP finally went live, Blitzø didn’t waste time.
One client. Two days.
Done.
Blitzø severed their connection, marking the end of service.
sadboy1994: I had my doubts, but this feedback and evidence speaks volumes. 11/10 would order again
Damn, now if he could get ten more these, it would be nice.
Blitzø was heading home after one of his usual stabby-stabbies, riding the leftover adrenaline, when he nearly collided with someone familiar. One of his hookups. Somehow, that turned into dinner and a handjob under the table and then some other things not worth mentioning.
Now they were walking past a pet store, and Blitzø stopped and face-planted into the glass.
He stared.
Just… stared.
“Umm, sir” a voice said behind the glass, standing by the counter. “Need some help?”
Blitzø blinked, then looked at the employee staring at him awkwardly.
“Yup,” Blitzø said, already opening the door.
Inside, he immediately drifted toward the puppies and kittens, crouching slightly to get a better look. They are so small, and fluffy, and smelly, and such curious little shits but still cute as hell.
His companion couldn't help but tease him with flirtatious remarks.
His companion snorted. “Heh. Thought you weren’t into animals, you cute thing. Want me to buy you one~?”
Blitzø shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. Not what I’m here for.”
With a basket in hand, Blitzø began to gather supplies for a special furry friend. He selected a medium-sized soft bed, some soft toys, a small hard toy, soft purée puppy food, kibbles, milk, and treats. To top it off, he added a squeaky soft horse toy.
Obviously.
As Blitzø was about to pay for the items he had selected, the guy stepped up behind him, handing his card to the cashier.
Blitzø glared in protest, "Hey! I can pay for my own shit, y’know!"
“I know,” the guy said with a grin. “But indulge me. You refused every gift tonight—let me at least get this.”
Of course Blitzø didn’t accept the given gift because there was no way he was gonna wear that while fucking the tall twink. Also because Blitzø had zero interest in fucking him or getting fucked into a mattress later by someone with absolutely no dick game.
“Fine. Thanks.”
“So… you got a dog?”
No way.. what gave it away, genius.
Well.
Let’s just say he had actual testimonials now.
Not live ones anyway, obviously, but hey, good service was good service.
Another week rolled by, and IMP stayed busy as he completed numerous client orders.
I.M.P — New Post Uploaded
As you wish
Username: ILoveDogs93728
Request: Twist a limb.
Attachment: Image032.png (A man with a snapped neck and limb.)
Commentary
sadboy1994: serves them right, honestly. btw thank you for ur service
guest3825: I deleted my account but this is giving me chills
Error_404_not_found: What goes around comes around, I guess.
guest4729: Why does it feel like they’re watching us read this.
creepyP_rp: no way, that's fake
mynameisjeff: I was too scared to request now.
The vet’s waiting room smelled like medicine and animals.
Blitzø sat hunched in one of the plastic chairs. Winston tucked securely against his chest, nipping at the front of Blitzø’s shirt while his one hand absently rubbing the tiny pup’s fluffy back.
The door chimed, a sign of a customer. Blitzø glanced up and immediately regretted it.
That guy.
One of his another random hookups. The one he’d been deliberately ignoring after the dude started showing up in way too many places. Of all the fucking locations.
The guy noticed him instantly and, of course, walked right over, his husky in tow.
“Hey,” he said, way too loud, like he was announcing himself to the entire building. “Why haven’t you been replying? I know you’re busy but I wanted to ask if you wanna go to this place, I’ll pay, of course.”
Blitzø shot him a glare and muttered something evasive, hoping that’d be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Christ on a stick, could he yell that any louder? Because apparently the President missed the part where Blitzø had been fucking this guy.
“Oh,” the guy added, peering at Winston, “I didn’t know you had a puppy. That’s kinda cute of you. What’s his name?
Blitzø’s jaw tightened, already planning his escape. He just needed one excuse.
"Winston! Mr. Will Graham and Winston! I'll have you next!"
Blitzø froze for half a second.
…Fuck.
Then he perked up, plastered on an awkward chuckle, and stood immediately. “That’s me,” he said, already stepping away. “Gotta go.”
Before the guy could say anything else or worse, Blitzø slipped past him.
Great. Name blown. It wasn’t the end of the world. “Will Graham” wasn’t him. Blitzø was still Blitzø. Still IMP. But it complicated things.
Blitzø hated when things get complicated.
Inside the vet's examination room, Winston let out a sharp yelp as the vaccine went in.
Blitzø soothed instantly, pressing his cheek to the pup’s head. “I know, it’s okay. All done.”
At least this was nothing like Loonie’s vet experience, waiting five fucking years for an appointment was no joke.
He swears at some point there were about seven needles sticking out of his ass at some point.
Paperwork done and thanks, Blitzø didn’t linger. He slipped out of the clinic as soon as he could, timing it perfectly to avoid the waiting room altogether.
“Oh, fuck me and my little hole for picking up every single freak just because I wanted a dumb piece of plastic. Like I’d want to write some depressing-ass goodbye note to a shitty situationship anyway. Fuck that. NOT ME, BITCH!" He yelled before grumbling. "Shouldn’t have gone along with that dipshit for a stupid-ass phone!”
An emo-looking woman nearby stared.
Blitzø whipped his head toward her.
“The fuck you lookin’ at?”
It had been a whole fucking year and Blitzø’s patience is running thin.
There's no hope for him at all. Say goodbye and make a grave for him because he's sure there's no way he’s getting back to his time and place.
Someone also had to fuck everything up.
And that guy from the vet? Yeah. Apparently, he’d gone and spread Blitzø’s “Will” nickname to his friends. Great. Now everyone was calling him by a human alias.
Fuck him and all his monster fucking friends.
Blitzø considered moving. IMP and the continuous meetups had given him enough cash anyway. Where to, though? There were some nice apartments around but there was no way he’s betting as lucky as he was now. Neither does he wanna travel all the way to the west or south. Gran suggested Virginia, saying her nephew lived there and even offered to get him a place to stay.
Still, she did say that she would revoke it if he didn’t call.
Gran’s threats were not to be ignored with the “Don’t test me” Blitzø admitted with a salute.
So he moved. Somehow, he ended up with a security job, and, almost accidentally, landed a spot at the FBI Academy. Gran had pushed him into certification in self-defense, which he nailed, after seeing him snap a guy’s wrist outside a bodega one night without so much as blinking.
“You’re wasting your time doing nothing.” Somehow, that turned into paperwork and Virginia.
Virginia. Wolf Trap.
Why here he wondered. Honestly? Kinda sad-looking but he won’t pass up the offer. He fucking needed it. It’s not like he has an idea of what he’s gonna do any time soon. For now, he can just buy expensive shit to decorate if he likes it.
“Daddy’s home!” Blitzø bellowed as he kicked the door open with Winston in his arms, bigger but still a puppy in his eyes.
The house was huge, much larger than his old basement, the attic and the room, or even his old apartment back in Hell.
Bliss.
He got a bed for Winston. A shelf for his My Little Pony collection. His pole? Yeah, that went in the living room. Maybe he’d make a whole playroom for Winston. Kitchen renovation? Eh. His skills in the kitchen were… decent now but he could make hell of a good cake. HAH! TAKE THAT MOXXIE!
Blitzø couldn’t help but get nostalgic though, every time his mind slipped to his former home. He missed them.
How long was he gonna be trapped here anyway?
Winston broke him out of the thoughts. Blitzø followed by spending hours tugging toys with him. Winston growled as he pulled with all the enthusiasm he had, getting very excited for the tug of war they settled into.
Blitzø laughed. “HELL YEAH! GET IT!”
Then came the adulting with the night shifts as a security guard.
Boring as hell.
Self-defense classes and substituting on the side when the regular instructor mysteriously went on leave.
Sometimes boring.
Did Blitzø ask questions? Sure.
Did he care? No. He filled in anyway.
He was really, really bored.
Turns out he was good at it, or good enough the academy kept him. The temporary gig became permanent, and eventually self-defense became his main job. His way. No sugarcoating.
He deserved some form of entertainment didn't he?
Though, yes, he did get warnings for behavior, the vending machine was at fault here. Stealing his snacks and money? Totally their fault. He should sue whoever designed that thing.
Some time later, someone asked him to substitute for a class, simply because he had nothing else to do and was walking around peeking into classrooms before getting taken hostage.
Okay, over-exaggeration. But… still, hostageyyy. Because Blitzø had no idea what the hell he was doing.
The actual substitute.. Loom, Boom? Whatever– never showed up and he personally didn't give a damn so….
“Okay, class. I’m Substitute, TA, whatever the hell you wanna call it, Will Graham. Call me Will or G, I don’t care.”
He dropped a bag of random junk onto the table with a heavy thud and gestured toward it.
“Come up. Look at the screen and the pictures. Make your own theory. Figure out what was used. Take your notes. Hand it in at the end of class. Tick tock. Use your brains– if you got ’em.” Then with a grin he added. “Or… you can even write what you hate about this class. Or a person. Or how you’d kill them using any of these. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Tea’s on me.”
Then he lifted Winston slightly by the paws. “By the way, this cutie here is Winston. He’ll be joining us for today’s lesson.”
Winston woofed at the sound of his name.
And it worked.
Near the end, Blitzø clapped loudly, making several trainees jump.
“Alright! Hand it in!”
He started collecting papers five minutes early, immediately stressing out half the room as pens scratched faster.
“These notes tell me where your head’s at,” Blitzø said casually. “How freaky you are or not. Filtered or unfiltered. But if you do plan on murdering anyone, do it outside. Class dismissed.”
In the following substitute sessions, the students didn’t really learn much except how to get away with murder.
Blitzø was promptly kicked out of teaching profiling.
The students were very disappointed.
Blitzø, half-listening to the news on his phone while juggling his own chaos, didn’t give a single fuck about the latest serial killer or petty crime report. He’d seen worse. Way worse.
Today, he was suited up. Not casual, nope, full IMP with his usual suit attire, can’t have anyone missing out on this baby before their last breath. And of course signature masquerade-style imp mask over his face. Very terrifyingly stylish. He missed his horns.
He stepped into the house of his latest client’s targeted victims, Thomas Benjamin. Rich doctor type. Probably had more money than sense. Blitzø’s gaze flicked around automatically, already half-expecting to spot something obscene and gold. A horse statue, maybe. Rich pricks loved horse statues. If there was one, he was absolutely stealing it.
And… oh, oh no.
Blitzø froze just inside the dining room.
There was another guy there. The dude wore a suit and some plastic suit like a garbage-bin serial killer cosplay, standing there with some blood smeared, standing stiffly towards him.
“Oh, come onnnnnn,”Blitzø whined, shoulders sagging as his eyes flicked to the table.
Yep. Lifeless target, just like the client ordered. Job already done. No fun, no flair.
Hannibal found himself running low on certain cuts and circumstances had presented him with an elegant solution with a swine going by Dr. Thomas Benjamin. Hannibal recalled his previous encounter with the rude doctor, during which he pocketed the man's business card, foreseeing the possibility of this very moment. With precision, Hannibal began the preparations for his savory feast, intending to harvest the liver and other delectable cuts while making it appear as the work of another.
As Hannibal placed the barely conscious doctor on the table, he was about to commence his work when he heard unexpected footsteps. Hannibal froze in place. Had he missed someone during his inspection? Impossible. He had pre-planned every step and move for this moment.
He turned toward the direction of the footsteps, ready to cease, when a groan followed by whining was heard.
“Oh, come onnnnnn.”
That was… unexpected.
Hannibal took in the sight of a man dressed in black and red attire, complete with boots, and a mask. The mask he wore bore the resemblance of a devil, or perhaps an Imp, which hid his face entirely. In his hand, the stranger held a bat with nails and spikes followed by a shotgun on his back.
Hannibal's demeanor remained outwardly calm, but internally he was very aware to respond as needed when the time was right. He would have sworn the house had been empty moments earlier but with this new guest’s appearance, it surely appears that he was here for different reasons if not, similar, just with different motives.
“You seriously couldn’t wait for at least five minutes?” the masked man said, gesturing lazily toward the body on the table. “I had this whole thing planned with the entrance and intimidation. Maybe even some monologue. And now?” He waved a hand dismissively. “Completely ruined it”
Hannibal said nothing, studying him instead, tilting his head.
“Well,” the man continued, apparently unfazed by the silence, “since you already started without me, guess we need to have a little chat about who the hell you are.” He pointed at the corpse. “And do you need him? Or are you, like… done here?”
Hannibal’s gaze narrowed a fraction. Despite the rising irritation, his curiosity is rising in an equal peak.
“’Cause I’m here for him,” the man added, tone casual, almost bored. “And if you’re finished, do you mind if I take care of the rest and then I’ll fuck off outta here. No offense.”
Hannibal lifted an eyebrow slightly despite the man’s primitive form of expression.
“None taken,” he replied evenly. “And yes. I do need him.”
The masked man groaned, tipping his head back. “Ugh. And whyyyyy?”
“Though I believe,” Hannibal interjected gently, voice smooth and deliberate, “that we can reach a compromise.”
There was a pause.
“Seriously?” the masked man said. “What’s the compromise, then?”
“I require specific portions,” Hannibal said. “The remainder can be yours.”
The man shifted his weight side to side, perhaps in thought before deciding.
If it were up to Hannibal, he would have preferred to get rid of the anomaly here but would not want risking getting his own blood anywhere, therefore, compromising might be a way to avoid the unforeseeable confrontation.
“Alright,” the masked man said at last. “But don’t you change your mind later. I’ve already got enough bullshit following me around.”
Hannibal set himself back to work, placing what he required into his prepared container. Ignoring the “fuck, hes alive?” comment from the masked man as the swine on the table groaned and coughed before screaming.
Eventually the other man perched himself on the edge of the table nearby, boots swinging slightly, watching with open curiosity.
He let out a low whistle. “Damn. You a doctor or some shit?”
“Quite close,” Hannibal replied without looking up.
“Huh…. You gonna sell that on the market or something?”
Hannibal paused, finally allowing himself a sidelong glance. The light from the balcony window caught the contours of the man’s mask, highlighting the wild grin painted across it. Curly hair framed the edges, but it was the eyes that caught his attention. Deep blue, sharp, and almost cunning, burning through the shadow cast by the mask, flecked with a reddish hue in the right light.
Hannibal returned his focus to the task at hand. “It isn’t for sale, I can assure you.”
The man snorted behind the mask. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Sooner or later, the masked man grew restless or maybe curiosity just got the better of him. He wandered off, exploring the rest of the house, leaving Hannibal to his work. Hannibal could hear the rummaging of cabinets, the fridge opening and closing, and even a faint gasp of excitement.
When he returned to the room, he was munching on a handful of Rice Krispie treats he’d found along the way. He seemed indifferent to the other contents of the house, but clearly amused by this small discovery. Hannibal continued his work, sharing the space with a peculiar yet oddly entertaining stranger.
He had to admit, this was easily the strangest scenario he’d ever found himself in, and he spent his days formerly in the Emergency Unit and now as a psychiatrist.
Once Hannibal finished, he confirmed that the other man could proceed.
The masked man squinted, voice cautious. “Hey… are you sure about this? You won’t get offended or, like… cause any complications? My kills are probably definitely different from yours, so this guy’s form might look… different from what you planned.”
Hannibal might have found the whole situation rude under other circumstances, but instead, he was quietly amused and oddly curious. How could this man know what he had planned at all?
“Oh, I'm quite certain.”
The masked man shrugged, a grin apparent in the way his eyes squished upward before bowing slightly.
“Well, if you say so~” he said, voice teasing.
With that, he moved forward to finish the scene, Hannibal watching, intentions hidden behind an impeccable facade of cooperation.
Then, without warning, he snapped a photo of the deceased man and in the next instant, brutally smashed the top of the head with a bat filled with nails and spikes, causing the head to cave in, and blood splattered in all directions.
The man also paused to draw a quick IMP initials followed by a small imp doodle over on the walls while humming a little tune “do do do do do~.”
The man grinned and snapped one last photo, holding it up like a trophy. “Mission complete~”
As the man then turned toward the window, ready to make his exit, Hannibal inquired him about the photos, clearly stating his requirements and compromise. Though his true intent was to get more intel about the other man for an upper hand.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Blitzø chirped, tossing his hands behind his head, “I haven’t snapped any pictures of you~ I have no reason to.”
Hannibal did not look convinced, his silence prompting the masked man to groan. He whipped out his phone and held it up. “Here. Legitly! Nothingggg.”
Hannibal nodded, noting the photos with detached curiosity. He hadn’t expected the man to hand them over so readily. Naive, yet… informative. As he observed, he memorized every detail and even the phone itself. It revealed its design, a printed photo of a dog and even a small note on the screen, an address scribbled down, potentially useful intel for the future.
Before he could voice his inquiries further the man was hellbent on leaving as he waved “Baiiiiii~!” and leapt toward the window with a flourish.
What followed was pure chaos. He tumbled out of the window onto the side of the house, howling in pain and frustration.
“OW HOLY SHIT FUCK!”
Hannibal froze, ears pricking at the commotion. The crash of limbs hitting the ground was immediately followed by a loud, angry meowing.
Far too loud.
“YOUR FAULT, YOU BITCH! OW, YOU LITTE—HAH! YEAH, RUN, BITCH, YOU BETTER—OH SHIET!”
A sharp, heavy clang echoed and then the house alarm blared, piercing the long silence.
Hannibal felt dread flicker, as he had anticipated variables, but not this particular obstacle.
Perhaps, he should have removed him moments ago.