You knew good and darn well you were going to hell for this one. Wait a minute, you've already been to hell and the underworld of gastric and hellish proportions came bursting up a few months ago. A geyser blasting through the Bay, erupting all of the Realm’s misfits, attracted the delicious threaded souls that were attached to the heroes. You ingested their lingering perfume in the middle of a battle all for dominion rights and showcasing the rites of a passage. Trials extended above water, in the skies and near the harbor where both demon, foe, and ally combined tried to fight for their right. The right to be right and the right to push all back to where they belong. This idea was never above you nor will it ever be because being right and better became a game that you were now in for a win. The rights of boasting about trickery that which the other hell lords failed at, was your new m.o. For one soul in particular, it remained the strongest to him. A stench left behind so ripe that it would become shameful not to act upon it.

The trick in completing such a task left weight upon your shoulders. A piece of cake in all pursuits of the snare setting to obtain the soul of one Matthew Murdock. You go over the chances of this occurring right in the middle of walking the passage of crazy Greg, who just so happens to be the unofficial mascot of the Inferno hotel. Waves of misdeeds and unfortunate events surrounded the high rise hotel and casino. You play along by sending prayers to the sinful who arrive on the steps, understanding how easy it is for them to fail at fighting what their basic instincts screamed for. The dungeon of dreams, nightmares and abject pleasures, all presented itself behind the walls of the hotel. Many come far and wide to try their piece of seductive efforts lain for the taken at the gambling tables, to the slots and other forms where luck was on their side or slipping furthest away.

You were going to meet hell at a rate longing to be in the face of Asmodeus to tell him over breakfast burritos how you devised a play so splendid he had no choice but to give you all of the props necessary and an apology in writing for his miscalculated shot of setting him up on a trial. None of the end game mattered in the moment that you bummed over on the steps, wearing the face of an unclean man marred by war, hard times and bad luck. The mistakes of the past and recession part deux was your cause for being down and out, smelling of cigarette butts and 40 day old bologna. Unkempt, disregard and discarded was how you were viewed by the public. No home to call your own except for a dead bud's used '93 Cadillac Seville parked just four blocks from the hotel. The olde wheels was abandoned with clutter, collectibles and trinkets found on your city wide travels.

Only you've arrived after observing through the eyes of a liar. Peering down from your suite and former prison. You spotted the unsuspecting devil of Hell's kitchen, confused and also curious. As he would never come to understand how his curiosity, pressed by the invisible hither of the casino floor's doors, would get him sooner rather than later. Which led you to appear in the fashion of choice. Outfitted by the fairer and stubby build of a man. Walking with a hunch and a slight block of worn degrees of separation from a bath and stability. You scratch, dig into an itch that’s been the match to sell it all. Steaming words of basura shaped into fine judgments and philosophical jargon, was the introduction. You peered over, pointed, and suggested that he was looking for something and something was looking exactly for him.

In a 10 minute casually exploited conversation, the woven fixation of a mirrored reality began showing itself of what could be. Incantations of a tongue lined by deceit and dishonor was a craft of magical fortitude given the masked strength of your given demonic traits. A bippity boppity boo here and another one there carefully planted the seed of recreation to allow the pulse of the hotel speak it’s loudest. Playing at the whim's of the other devil, coaxing him to join the others in their discoveries of sins that could only find its comfort, all while you mumble about missing your rat pal and a good buzz. Luckily that buzz was met by a warm meal, something to hold you over for the time being as the part was subjected to be an airtight display of meddling around without scaring those searching to getting their jollies off just inside.

You nearly interrupt his changed direction, pardoning your sudden interest in the why the path of sin was to be taken. Reminding him that a new forged direction, could be for a lifetime and you grab his arm as a friend would. Giving off a look of both concern and deep gratitude. Shaking the wrapped sandwich, that anyone in your position could attack for. A flash of yellow reflected in your gaze before a summon normalized brown orbs stayed its course. You thanked him profusely, wafting the stench in close proximity but the stench of his soul had smelled better, even sweeter when you predicted where it would find its way. You let go, wishing him luck and endlessly hobble down the smooth concrete steps to saunter off. Patrons of old and new passing you by as if you didn’t matter nor was seen. The discounted and disregarded robe worn well, until vanishing between the midday crowd into nothingness, leaving behind the wrapped Rueben on rye for the vermin to peck at instead.