Approaching the hospital car park, Asmodeus spotted several police cars. Their lights flashing mythically where they had taken the Mustang.

‘Shit, the owner must have called the cops. Just our luck,’ he grumbled. ‘Never mind. I’ll park by the goods entrance. The way you look, it wouldn’t be a good idea to use the main entrance anyway.’ Asmodeus chuckled. He glanced at Pyriel whose head was lying on her chest. She was grinning broadly. ‘What are you staring at?’

‘Nothing.’ She chuckled. ‘I was just thinking. You look so much better from this angle.’

‘Oh, piss off. C'mon, let’s go. I’ll even open the door for you, how’s that?’ Pyriel, smiling, fluttered her eyelids.

‘Oh, my hero, my knight in shining armour.’

On the way to the door Asmodeus paused. He turned, casting his eye over the damaged Mustang. Smiling, he waved his hand. The sound of tearing metal and clinking glass broke the otherwise quiet night. Moments later the Mustang was as good as new. Still staring at the car, sad that he would probably never see it again, he heard Pyriel shout.

‘Hey, you coming?’ She was standing holding open a thick steel door.

Giving the Mustang one last nostalgic glance, he joined Pyriel, closing the door after him.

***

Minutes later they had made it back to the freezer without incident. Seldom would they run into people in the morgue at night. Usually, it would be a bunch of goth type teenagers who thought it cool to hang out with dead bodies. They often reminded Asmodeus of himself. A little weird, often misunderstood but otherwise lovable and harmless.

Asmodeus sighed. ‘I hate this part of the night,’ The meat box resembled a post-apocalyptic, naked battlefield. ‘Operation clean-up. I wish we could just wave and make everything return to the way it was.’ Pyriel, her head rolling about, let her silence speak for her.

Still contemplating where to start, he heard the rustle of plastic followed by movement. Two bodies wiggled about. Struggling to sit upright on their gurneys.

‘Really? Now we have squatters moving in on our stomping ground?’ Asmodeus strode about, shouting with contempt. He had never run into other angels or demons in meat suits before tonight. Now twice, in one night. Had he not been plagued by enough unforeseen events tonight? he wondered.

The bodies continued to struggle. Both moving in stiff, robotic-like motions. After several hit and miss attempts, both managed to stand on wobbly legs.

‘You bloody armatures. You have no idea how to drive a meat suit do you?’ With rising irritation Asmodeus watched as the two bodies continued to sway. ‘Look at you two rocking from side to side. You look like drunk pendulums. Go back to hell or heaven, I don’t care which. This is our morgue. Go find your own.’

One of the bodies took a wobbly step forward. It raised an arm, pointing at Asmodeus.

‘Oh, so you consider this to be YOUR morgue,’ the body said. ‘You really do enjoy playing with meat, don’t you?’

That tone, I know that tone. No, it can’t be? Asmodeus felt as if poked with a hot iron. The other body turned stiffly toward Pyriel

‘Ahh, I see the confusion on your face Asmodeus. Has it been that long that you’ve forgotten your good old pal Alastor? All the wonderful times we shared in the pits of despair. Turning the screws on souls while dancing around the fiery pits of doom.’

‘Who the hell is that?’ Pyriel asked.

He knew it was physically impossible, but Asmodeus felt the blood drain from his face as a cold chill washed over him. Alastor, his training mentor, here? On the earthly realm? In Chicago? In his morgue? In a meat suit? In his mind things were becoming more surreal by the minute. Overlooking the fact that they were four dead people standing around as if to get ready for a tea party. Before he could answer, the other body spoke. He addressed Pyriel directly.

‘Pyriel, Pyriel, Pyriel. Really? Just when I thought you couldn’t sink any lower. Was being disgraced as Archangel not enough? Taking pity on a deadbeat, worthless demon could be excused as poor, temperate, judgement. But choosing to hang around with the same shithead afterwards is worse than treason. What in heaven's name were you thinking? Were you thinking at all? And to think that you were destined for greatness. You could’ve followed the path of the likes of Michael and Gabriel. I’ve pondered long and hard but still, fail to understand what made you choose to throw it all away. Rescuing a high priest demon could be forgiven. But you choose to save the dredge of the pits. The one that makes scum look good. Even hell wrote him off as a complete failure.’ The body paused, letting his condescending words linger.

Asmodeus’s vexation exploded internally.

‘Excuse me, I’m standing right here. Yes, hello — Dumbass, shithead, low life, scum of the earth, hell outcast demon standing right here.’ Asmodeus shouted with discontent. He waved his arms about wildly. ‘Unlike popular perception, demons do have feelings you know.’ He continued, pushing his chest forward like a peacock. ‘And a little respect wouldn’t go amiss either,’ he added for good measure. Pyriel had earned the right to belittle and insult him, at times, but a total stranger? That was unacceptable to him.

With ruby glowing eyes, Alastor waved his hand as if swatting a fly. Asmodeus’s body became airborne, hurtling through the air. The gnarly sound of bone-shattering was almost overpowered by the tumultuous cannon-like boom that shook the wall and reverberated through the floor as Asmodeus’s body smashed into the metal wall. Pulverising every bone in his body. Dents, outlining the shape of his body remained, as Asmodeus slid, cartoon style, to the floor and lay still in a crumpled heap. Alastor, glaring at Asmodeus’s lumpy remains, roared.

‘Show you respect? You insignificant little maggot. You will beg for my forgiveness and a quick death before I show you respect. Do you know who this is?’ Alastor shouted as he pointed at the other body. His voice created an ear-splitting echo in the meat box as he continued, ‘This is Haniel, leader of the Archangels. High general in Heaven's army.’

Using all his power, Asmodeus regained some control over his body. He managed to rise into a seated position. What’s going on here then? he wondered. He knew that both Haniel and Alastor report only to the high council. Their standing ensured they only dealt with matters of highest importance. Them teaming up and coming down to the earthly realm made no sense to him. Unless…

Feeling like a rubber mannequin, Asmodeus continued to stare fearfully at Alastor. Anticipating the worst.

‘Thank you, Alastor, I’m glad that at least we still understand the chain of command and what respect means,’ said Haniel bowing to Alastor before turning his attention to Pyriel. She had not moved but stood hugging herself while balancing her head delicately on her right shoulder.

‘Pyriel, you know that since the ceasefire I’ve been less— um— hands-on, you might say.’ Haniel said while pacing on precariously wobbly legs between the gurneys. ‘But, since I’m still the leader of the Archangels— ’ Haniel’s head turned and he shot Pyriel a loathsome glance. ‘— and since you’re technically still an archangel, I get called whenever there are — how shall I put this? Abnormalities.’ Looking pleased with his word choice Haniel continued. ‘So, here I was, doing a little gardening when a messenger brings me a scroll. I’ve been summoned to the halls of justice.’ Continuing to pace, Haniel placed his index finger on his lips. Pausing dramatically, he turned toward Pyriel. He lifted his arm and pointed at her. ‘However, when I get there, I run into Alastor who has also been summoned. Nothing odd about that, yet. So, we talk. We reminisce. Then we learn that we’re to appear in front of the grand council, together. The plot thickens.’ Pausing again he gave Pyriel what Asmodeus would later refer to as the “Fuck me, Yes I am as stupid as I look” look.

‘The thing is, you two have been causing a lot of commotion on the earthly realm. Did you really think we weren’t going to hear about your shenanigans? All these—, these—, Walking Dead or Zombie related incidents? At first it was tolerable. When it was just the two of you. But it appears that word has gotten out. One may say that you two have become —, trendsetters of sorts. In the last year, reports have been rising. Angels and demons coming here to possess dead bodies for their own personal amusement.’ Haniel raised his voice further. ‘Now it’s become an epidemic of sorts.’ Haniel turned to Alastor who continued.

‘Which brings us to tonight’s incidents and the reason for us being summoned.’

‘Um Sir, I may be able to explain about tonight.’ Asmodeus chirped. He was wobbling about like lumpy custard. ‘There were mitigating circumstances, which made our actions totally justified. —Sir.’ He managed a momentary vague grin before his jaw flopped back down.

Alastor sneered: ‘Mitigating circumstances? Really? Well then, this should be interesting,’

‘You see Sir, I had to do it. It was a matter of principle.’

‘Really? Oh please—, do go on.’ Not picking up on Alastor’s sarcastic undertone, Asmodeus continued.

‘The man replaced Johnny Walker Blue with something that tasted like horse piss, Sir. I had to do something.’

‘What or who is Johnny Walker Blue?’ Alastor shouted. Several stitches on his body’s torso popped.

‘It’s Whiskey Sir. The kind of Whiskey that makes eternity bearable,’ Asmodeus said in a dreamy voice. ‘It’s the finest blend of whiskeys. Matured to perfection. Lovingly nurtured over many years. I can only describe it as drinking heaven's nectar.’ He paused. ‘I know. The irony isn’t lost on me. A demon referring to something man-made as heavenly sounds ludicrous. But as I always say, give credit where credit is due. So why the hell not. You see, I’d been craving a good whiskey for about sixteen odd hours, which here on earth can feel like an eternity. So, you can understand, by the time we got to that bar, I would have bartered souls for a glass of the good stuff. So, I’m standing there, glass in hand. I can already feel the glorious amber nectar of the gods flow over my lips and tongue when I get a mouthful of horse —’

‘Yes, yes, I get the picture,’ Alastor interjected impatiently. ‘Now tell me, what happened to your second victim? The police officer. What mitigating circumstances can you tell me about with him.’

‘Well, sir, he was hardly a victim. With him, there was less mitigation and more justification.’

‘Oh? How so?’

‘Well sir, he pissed off Pyriel and then tried to lock her up. BIG MISTAKE! Fully justified—, Sir.’

So far, at least in Asmodeus’s opinion, things seemed to be going relatively well. Considering their rocky start and without knowing their true agenda.

***

Stunned and speechless, Alastor scowled at Asmodeus.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Unbelievable. I certified this buffoon as competent because my pride wouldn’t allow me to break my perfect pass rate. Then again, what does it matter now? We’re all floating in the same cesspit, Alastor thought. Shaking his head, he tried to re-banish some of those memories he had been fighting so hard to suppress. Memories from a time he had felt purpose. A time he had still felt in control of his own destiny.

I was a rising star in the underworld. A champion of sorts. I was the high commander. The master trainer of all demons. I even taught this abomination called Asmodeus a thing or two and fuck me, I deserve a bloody seat on the council for that effort. Maybe then they’d have taken me seriously.

Feeling his internal antipathy rise, Alastor recalled the days before the cease-fire when pride, dedication and commitment had been the cornerstones of his existence. The days when no job was too big. When he would tackle all orders with an unwavering can-do attitude. Serving hell’s supreme council without question, waver, or hesitation. He had been their ‘go-to-guy’ for millennia. He was less surprised than honoured when the summons came to present himself before the supreme high council. It was to be his moment. His time to shine. His moment in the spotlight. Bathed in nervous, buzzing energy he had stood before the great hall doors. Oozing with just the right blend of pride and humility. Afterall, he was well known for his arrogance.

The doors had opened.

‘Approach!’ Had echoed the supreme high council clerk’s thunderous voice.

Humbled, he had approached the supreme high council seated atop their alabaster thrones.

‘Before thee stands one Alastor, serving as high commander in the army of darkness.’

The clerk had continued to rattle off Alastor’s accomplishments over the millennia. Praising his dedication and selfless efforts to the forces of darkness and the demonic regime.

Yes, yes, yes, I’m your champion. I will make you proud. I’m ready. Bestow upon me hell’s highest accolade, an invitation for membership and a seat on the council. Nobody is more deserving, he had thought.

The silence that followed the clerk’s acclamation had felt stifling to him.

What are they waiting for?

Nothing could have prepared him for the universe shattering announcement that followed. Along with the gruelling disappointment he had felt in its wake.

He was to be relieved from all duties, pending reassignment after the cease-fire announcement. His type of services would no longer be required.

Change he understood. But being dismissed with no more than a hand gesture did not only leave a bitter taste but had felt like the worst, most excruciating punishment he had ever endured. Trivialising the millennia of suffering he had bestowed on others. Training demons was his purpose, his essence. Having spent millennia honing his skills in training demonic offspring, the prospect of such radical change did make him appreciate that he too was expendable.

After several years of contemplation research and deliberation, he had decided to train frogs. Without prior experience or any understanding of the challenges, he had charged into the unknown with a colossal dose of positive mental attitude and highly intuitive creative gusto. Three hundred years later, and without any official standards to compare to, his degree of success depends on who you ask. Along with how much they value their own survival.

Quitting had never been an option for him. Nor was he one to walk away from a challenge in fear of being perceived as noncommitted, or worse, weak. He would enlighten anyone who asked about his progress that he was taking a sabbatical of sorts to do further research. But he did not walk away empty handed. If asked what had learned, he would summarise all his acquired knowledge and experience he had gained in one simple statement: “Frogs are slow, slimy and stupid.”

However, he never had a baseline to measure a frog’s stupidity against, until now.

Why didn’t I press the issue? Why, why, why?’ he wondered. His thoughts tormenting him anew. I should’ve appealed their decision when they voted against implementing a QA department in Hell. He glanced across to where Asmodeus was still wobbling about like raspberry jelly. Grinning like serial killer after another kill. If we’d a proper QA department, we could have implemented a much tighter vetting system. Holding one-to-one assessments and personal improvement plans once a millennium is insufficient and poor management. Just like judging a demon’s performance based purely on the quantity of souls they procure. It just wasn’t good enough. What good is a demon when he or she has the mental acuity of a peanut? They need to embrace the culture. Work as a team. Too late now. It’s all gone to shit already. Fucking cease-fire.

Alastor’s focus returned to the present where everybody stood staring. Waiting for him to continue. Fortunately, at that moment, the freezer door opened and a young man wearing a white lab coat followed by a young lady dressed all in purple entered.

‘And here we are.’ The young man walked in confidently, switching on the lights. ‘The dea — da — da —.’ Choking on his words the young man froze in mid-stride, causing the girl to bump into his back. Turning four shades paler, his facial expression cycled from cocky confidence to surprise, then incredulity, finally pausing on mild terror as his head nodded, counting the bodies either standing or wobbling about.

Asmodeus and Pyriel stood grinning. Pyriel even gave a shy wave.

Alastor, his head turning at the speed of a freaky doll in a horror movie, stared at the newcomers. His illuminated eyes glowing a rich ox blood colour. He hated being interrupted.

The youngster winced as the young lady, who had sought shelter behind his back, dug her fingernails into his flesh. Several attempts to speak, caused small puffs of vaporous warm air to escape his mouth, leaving him looking like a fish gasping for air.

Feeling the need to regain control, Alastor bellowed:

‘GET OUT!’ The walls shook before he continued in a more restrained tone. ‘We’re having a meeting.’

Closing his mouth, the young man nodded apologetically. Shuffling awkwardly backward, the duo left. Slamming the door behind them.

‘Where was I?’ Alastor’s eyes had returned to normal. He focused on a spot on the floor as if searching for his train of thought which had slipped under a gurney to hide.

‘Uhm, I was telling you why I felt our actions tonight we're justified and why this has all been one huge misunderstanding,’ Asmodeus piped up. ‘No foul no harm, right? I think we should all just have a good laugh and forget these little incidents ever happened.’

Feeling a strange wave of emotions flooding over him, Alastor came to a resolute conclusion. There was no punishment known to hell that equalled having to put up with a dumb ass like Asmodeus, in his opinion. Strangely, he also found new respect for Pyriel.

Maybe I should check out one of these meetings for depressed angels and demons. I hear they’re all the rage now, he thought. But changed his mind quickly, recalling seeing some memo that had been leaked about a survey deeming the meetings to be a complete waste of time. But since both Hell and Heaven were receiving a lot of positive PR, a decision had been taken to let the meetings continue. The memo had also mentioned a request to change the wording on the entrance banner to ‘Welcome all who have not been banished’, but this was still under discussion. Its political correctness had been questioned.

Bewildered, Alastor stared at Asmodeus for a solid minute without speaking.

‘So, you believe we should just forget about tonight and let the two of you continue as before? Am I getting this right?’ he asked.

Asmodeus nodded partially.

‘So, we should just let any angel or demon roam the streets in re-animated, dead human bodies, killing each other while interfering with humans and causing mass hysteria?’

‘Sir, mass hysteria is a little harsh. Granted, we’ve had one or two minor incidents where some humans may have questioned the existence of roaming undead. But I can assure you—, sir, those were isolated and quite rare. —sir.’

‘Really now? So, you think setting yourself alight and running the Boston Marathon while throwing burning body parts at terrified spectators is subtle? Or my personal favourite, when you decided to remove your head and replace the football at the 2004 world cup final. Do you really think that nobody would notice a twelfth man on the field dribbling his severed head because his team was losing?’

‘Well, sir— umm, if you put it that way I can kind of see how some of our actions could be misinterpreted.’

‘Misinterpreted? Really? So, in your divine wisdom, what do you think we could do or say to make things a little less ambiguous?’ Out of the corner of his eye, Alastor could see Haniel smiling. He knew how much Haniel loves to watch as he, a high priest demon and master manipulator, sets up all the pieces like dominoes. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Just to send them all tumbling back down.

‘— um — um.’ Alastor’s leering glare seemed to have succeeded in turning Asmodeus’ brain into gooey toffee. ‘Maybe we need some rules or guidance around using dead bodies?’ Asmodeus said in a low, husky voice.

‘What do you think, Haniel?’ Alastor finally broke his stare. He turned to Haniel who began to pace.

‘You know Alastor, it strikes me that we’re not dealing with an isolated incident. Yes, it was embarrassing to stand in front of the grand council being interrogated about why one of my archangels is killing other angels, or why some of my angels and your demons are going around interfering with humans. Especially, as you told me, before the cease-fire the same damn demon refused to interfere with humans at all and considered himself a conscientious objector.’

‘Ahh, Sir, that’s not quite accurate’. Asmodeus interjected sheepishly. ‘I was quite willing to do my demonly duty, Sir, but I never saw the point?’

‘Oh, really. And why would that be?’ asked Haniel with raised eyebrows.

‘Well— sir, humans don’t need demonic encouragement to do evil. Left to their own devices, they will kill, rape, murder— you know, all the good stuff, themselves. Isn’t that why Heaven and Hell declared the cease-fire?’

Glaring at Asmodeus, Haniel changed the subject. He returned to the matter at hand.

‘Alastor, I believe we’re facing a much more complex problem than just these two imbeciles. A problem that needs careful consideration before deciding on the most appropriate solution.’ Haniel paused to let what he said sink in.

‘What the hell do you think is so funny?’ growled Haniel, giving Asmodeus, who was still wobbling about and grinning from ear to ear, death stares. Asmodeus’s smile disappeared. With an expression of intense concentration, Asmodeus raised his arm. He pointed at Alastor’s body whose stitches had come loose completely, causing body parts to fall out of his chest cavity and litter the floor.

‘He’s leaking,’ giggled Asmodeus. Pyriel, whose head had rolled onto her chest, picked up her head to see what was going on. On seeing more bits of Alastor’s intestines drop to the ground, she too began to chuckle causing Asmodeus to shake and wobble uncontrollably like jelly on steroids.

‘SILENCE!’ shouted Haniel so loud that the walls shook again. ‘We’ve assured the high council that we will deal with this matter personally. They’ve also demanded some type of assurance that this type of behaviour will never be repeated.’ Haniel paused. Pokerfaced he glanced at Alastor who continued.

‘So, we’ve decided to set an example to everybody who likes to possess dead bodies.’ Alastor, still dripping, looked from one to the other. The corners of his mouth twitched, turning into a smile. Then a cunning smirk. Finally, he burst into an evil, hollow, graveyard laugh that, to his delight, made Asmodeus quiver.

‘We have decided, since you two enjoy playing with meat so much, and since you evidently love being around humans, we would sanction your little fetishes by giving you—' pausing dramatically, Alastor raised his arms above his head. More bits fell out of his chest. Grinning like a serial killer clown after a killing spree, he soaked up the tension before dropping his arms and shouting: ‘Your very own— wait for it— LIVING, human bodies.’ With an expression of an executioner reliving the French revolution, Alastor glanced from Pyriel to Asmodeus. ‘Yes, there are the looks I was hoping to see. And just to clarify any potential misunderstandings or confusion. No, you won’t be able to slip in and out of these bodies as you like. You two numb-nuts are about to experience what it’s like to be human; with all the good, the bad, the ugly—’ Alastor grimaced as he sniffed the air. ‘And of course, the smelly, that human bodies bring.’ He nodded at Haniel, who was grinning like a chicken who had just laid an easter egg.

‘Oh, but Alastor, you forgot to tell them the best part.’ Haniel said. His voice oozing sarcasm and taunt. Asmodeus turned several shades of ashen.

‘I was just getting to that my dear Haniel,’ retorted Alastor in the most sickly-sweet tone. ‘Should you fail to keep your new bodies alive. At least until they die from natural causes. We will see to it that both of you are executed.’

Glancing from one to the other, Alastor tried to remember when last, he had so much fun. Watching Asmodeus’s and Pyriel’s tortured expressions, the excruciating terror in their eyes for him was like reliving the dark ages. A time he was most proud of and had produced some his best work.

‘Oh, but not before we’ve had our fun with you.’ Haniel interjected. ‘I’ve heard so much about the legendary Alastor and would not miss an opportunity to watch him have his way with you two.’

Feeling immensely better about the universe, Alastor smiled at Asmodeus. Relishing his helplessness and terrified demeanour.

‘Your new bodies will not be ready for another three hours.’ He looked about. ‘That will give you plenty of time to clean up this pigsty and get your affairs in order. Not that you have any friends to say goodbye to anyway.’ Haniel snickered with a beaming smile as he waved. ‘See you soon.’ His echoing throaty laughter faded as his body dropped lifelessly to the floor. Alastor, smiling, winked at Pyriel as he said:

‘See you soon.’ Then his body too fell to the ground.

***

An eerie silence hung in the air. The type that bullies other sounds into quiet submission. Confused and conflicted, Asmodeus, having let his body crumple, contemplated what had just happened and more importantly what would be happening to them in a few hours.

Us human? Alive? The concept seemed so farfetched, so absurd, it lacked credulity.

‘What the hell are we going to do now?’ he asked. Pyriel appeared to be deep in thought. Asmodeus found it hard to tell from the angle her head was hanging at. She remained mute. ‘What if Armageddon starts while we’re human,’ he continued, letting out a nervous laugh.

‘Screw Armageddon, we have real problems,’ Pyriel said solemnly.

Still chuckling, Asmodeus smiled as he remembered that he still had half a bottle of decent quality whisky. There was no way he was going to let that go to waste.