"I’m, er, wearing protective footwear." Hardhat attempted to gesture to a seat, but the room had been furnished according to the minimalist principles of poverty. He pointed out the floor. "Sit and calm yourself."

"We don’t have much time." The farmer twisted open a red tap on the wall and filled three clay mugs with boiling water. "With how much your boy was shouting off, they’ll be looking for you. Cup of tea?"

"Much obliged," said Hardhat, taking a sip. "Got any sugars? And he ain’t my boy, ain’t got a drop of good blood in him so far as I can tell."

"Yeah, well, you’re a fuckoff!" said Derek-Derek, splaying on the floor like rusty modern art. "Can I please have some milk, kind lady!"

"No sugar, no milk, and you’d best watch your words, both of you." She quaffed her drink--seemed to take it volcanic. "None of us are beyond redemption. Welcome to hell. They call me Chair."

"Only one in the room, by the look of it," said Hardhat. "Never liked me real name; Hardhat’ll do."

"Watch your words, villain!" said the obscure antihero, Derek-Derek. "Also, it’s not fair that you made me, the famous hero Derek-Derek, sit down on rotten floorboards when you’re standing up!"

"Quite the duo, huh," said Chair. "You both look strong enough--long as you can pull your weight, you’ll fit in alright. Well, I’m the one that ends up listening to everyone’s problems here. If you’ve got any questions, I’ll hear ‘em out."

Hardhat took a sip and smiled at the warming taste of a proper brew. "I oughta get back in time for tea, meself. Wouldn’t miss the missus’ toad in the hole for the world. How do we get back?"

Chair picked a chisel out of a toolbox and scraped a mark into the wall next to hundreds of similar marks.

"Everybody asks that first," she said. "Best sit down before I tell you."

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Hardhat sunk, slowly, to the floor.

Chair sighed and took several deep breaths, as if psyching herself up. "It never gets easier, saying this. I’m sorry it has to be me who says it, and it’s all I can do to ask your forgiveness beforehand."

"What?" said Hardhat, leaning in.

"Heroes do not fear the truth," said Derek-Derek, biting his nails.

Thunder boomed and shook the world. Rain opened like a curtain; built to a crescendo, pitters and patters blurring into themselves until all Hardhat could hear was the rain pounding the ground, a rumbling of dread.

"You’re never going to see your wife again."

Water trickled from the gaps in the ceiling and ran off Hardhat. The husband stared at a floorboard while twiddling his pencil, round and round and round.

"I’m sorry," said Chair, refilling his cup. "Roof’s a bit leaky, here, but that corner’s dry." She put an arm around him but he didn’t react at all and that just made it awkward, so she stowed herself away in the corner alone.

Thunder boomed like a subwoofer at a teenager’s house party.

"You see, HARDHAT!" said Derek-Derek, punching a hole in the wall. "You can’t trust demons like Lord Assam! He’s guarding the exit, I bet; he’s trapped you all down here! I’ll make him pay, thrust my poleaxe through him, once for every mark on this wall, for every human relation he’s broken!" A torrent of water rushed through the hole, hosing him down.

Hardhat kept staring at the floor.

"He’s powerful," said Chair, reaching for the tap. "A medieval weapon like yours isn’t enough."

"Then I’ll get a better one!" He smashed his mug on the floor. Suddenly his expression cooled off, as void of information as an unplugged telly. "A new playbook."

"How?" whispered Hardhat.

"That’s impossible." Chair had looked so stoic earlier, so dependable, but now, with her eyes wide like that, she looked helpless. "Unless… surely you can’t mean to?"

Derek-Derek laughed a rasping laugh, the kind that sounds like a knife being sharpened.

"That’s not funny, kid." She thrust the chisel in front of her like a shield. "There’s some things you just don’t joke about."

"Farewell, subjugated farmer," he said. "The next time we speak, you’ll be liberated."

He hacked the wall to pieces and stepped through, squelching off under the thick blanket of rain.

"Who ever said I was subjugated?" asked Chair, to nobody in particular. She turned around--Hardhat had stood up, cradling his clipboard.