"If it was any hotter, I would boil from the inside out."

Samael lay sprawled out on the hot desert sand. The sun has become his mortal enemy, torturing him with minute amounts of pain and discomfort. As he lay there, pitying himself, intrusive thoughts began to plague his heat stroked mind. "If I just bury myself under the sand, I won't feel the heat anymore. If God is real, I'll kill myself right now, just so I can hit him in the jaw. I should shoot a nuke at the sun." Samael continues to fight the demons in his mind while locked in his own personal sun-soaked hell. Beads of sweat begin to pool between his eyes and the edges of his goggles. He lifts his head to shake out the liquid and musters just enough strength to get up. Samael dusts the dirt and sand off of his long black overcoat before making his way towards his motorcycle.

The bike had broken down on him during his trip down the old desert roads. It's old, rusty, and ugly. Handlebars that were slightly too long for his small frame, a lumpy oversized back tire, and his name etched into the side of the gas tank. Truth be told, Samael has the means to buy a more reliable vehicle. At the very least, something that would be more comfortable to drive. At the end of the day, he just couldn't bring himself to finally get rid of the barely functioning motorcycle. It's the closest thing he has to family.

"Please, for the love of fuck, just work."

Samael says to the bike, almost as if he is praying to it. A prayer he has said nearly everyday for as long as he could remember. Samael takes a deep breath before throwing his leg over the top and getting on. After a short exhale, he makes an attempt at the ignition. As if his prayers were heard, the bike sprang to life. He revs the engine a few times before finally setting off to his destination, an abandoned gas station about a 100 miles away from Neo Vegas.

Speeding down the long, cracked roadway, Samael spots a shabby building in the distance. He is positive that he finally reached the place he was told to go to. Samael pulls the rusty bike into the gas station parking lot and parks next to a crumbling gas pump.

Two large men exit the building upon hearing the sound of Samael's motorcycle turning off. They approach Samael slowly at first, but pick up their pace after noticing his small stature. Large smiles adorn the two men's faces. They were obviously excited about what they were going to do next. Samael, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about how much he hated the heat. He barely even acknowledges that the two men exist. He just stares blankly at them. Completely lost in his own thoughts.

"You lost? From what I hear, it's not too safe around these parts."

The larger of the two men says. Clear hints of sarcasm in his voice. Samael doesn't respond. He just continues looking at them with a blank, slightly annoyed expression.

The two men are now directly in front of Samael and his motorcycle. The slightly smaller man places his hands on the handlebars and leans forward, "Do you need help? You look like you might need some help." He began to giggle a little while the larger man pulls two rubber surgical gloves out of his pockets, quickly pulling them over his hands. He looks over his hands, checking to see if they were placed properly, before suddenly lunging at Samael. He grabs Samael by the neck and brings him in close. Samael remains silent. Continuing the blank look on his face.

"You're lucky, you won't be able to feel what we're gonna do to you next," the large man whispers into Samael's right ear before swiftly snapping his neck. Samael's body goes limp. His blank face, no longer looking at the two men, but now at the sky. They check his pulse to make sure they properly executed the young man before dragging his body into the building behind them.

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The inside of the building is, for the most part, empty. To the center of the building sits two crates. To the right of the entrance lay two cots, barely large enough to fit the large bodies of the two men who owned them. To the left, a small hallway, leading to another door that houses a freezer. The two men drag Samael's body to the left and into the freezer. After getting his body inside, they threw Samael into a pile of other corpses. All corpses of young men and women that share similar bruising on their necks.

"Alright, since I did all of the work, I get first dibs with the new product," the larger man says to his companion. The smaller man agrees, "Fine by me. Just make sure you let it chill long enough this time. We don't want another accident to happen again. I don't want to lose any more money than necessary."

The two men leave the freezer and head to the crates. They sit down and further their discussion of the products that they had acquired over the last few weeks. Their talk's long and serious. They were so absorbed in their conversation, they didn't realize that the sun had already set. The larger man motions to the freezer. The two of them get up from their makeshift chairs and head back into the freezer.

Upon opening the door, they are met with a peculiar sight. Everything is just as they had left it earlier, except the newest product is nowhere to be seen. They stand in silence for a moment before hearing the door close behind them. Standing in front of the newly closed door is Samael. He is very clearly alive. Not just alive, but he looks to be in better health then when they initially met him. No bruising on his neck, no sun burnt skin, nothing. The two men turn to see Samael, who meets them with that same expressionless face they had seen earlier. They began to feel something they had never experienced before. A feeling of fear and dread that is foreign to them. A type of fear you only get when facing some kind of unknown situation. A feeling that could only properly be described as looking into the deep dark depths of the ocean.

"Harrick Hopkins. Age 36. Height, 6 feet 4 inches tall. Weight, approximately 265 pounds. Hair color, blonde. Eye color, blue," Samael speaks while looking at the larger man. Samael turns his gaze to Harrick's partner and continues, "James Hopkins. Age 35. Height, 6 feet 1 inch tall. Weight, approximately 230 pounds. Hair color, brown. Eye color, green."

"Due to continuous mishandling of products delivered, Brimstone Associates has decided to terminate your employment, effective immediately. Any and all assets the two of you have accrued will be repossessed and redistributed to the cleaner on site," Samael says while pointing to himself. "I hope neither of you have any last words, because I really don't care and no one will miss either of you anyway."

A brief moment of silence follows after Samael finishes speaking. The sound of the desert wind hitting the building is the only thing any of the three men could hear. At the drop of a hat, Samael raises both hands, arms straight, palms down, and points his middle and index fingers at the two men.

"Bang!"

As the words leave Samael's mouth, two small bullets of highly compressed air leave his finger tips and meet the skulls of the Hopkins brothers. Clean, marble sized holes appear on their foreheads. The two men dropped dead onto the floor, with heavy thuds. Samael walks to the fresh corpses, squats down, and inspect his handy work.

There isn't a speck of blood to be seen. From the entrance, to the exit of the holes, is a smooth tunnel of brain matter. Samael, clearly pleased with his own performance, lifts a hand to his left eye. He slowly begins to pull the eye out of the socket. After pulling it out, he aims the eye at the two deceased men in front of him and presses a small button on the back of it. A small clicking noise is produced as the cybernetic eye takes a picture of the two deceased men. He moves around the room and continues taking pictures of the scene in front of him. As he finishes, he moves back to the two freshest bodies to take one last glimpse of his own, personal handiwork. He happily nods his head before placing the cybernetic eye back into its housing socket.

Without anything else to do, Samael leaves the building and makes his way back to his motorcycle. Lifting his left leg and swinging it over the bike, Samael places himself on top of it. He places his key in the ignition and gives it a turn. The machine comes to life underneath him. He leaves the abandoned gas station and makes his way back to Neo Vegas. The grand city that housed the one and only, Brimstone Associates.