Nightside 02 - Agents of Light and Darkness

television screens covered one wall, all showing different video games. A fifteenth-century hanging tapestry, depicting the fall of Lucifer, not quite long enough to conceal the old and recent blood-stains on the carpet below it, shut off one corner. Most of the floor was glass, presumably reinforced, so that we could all look down on the mortals below, going about their various painful pleasures in eerie silence. All they saw was a mirror, showing what they loved most: themselves. Somebody cleared his throat pointedly, and I looked down the length of the office at Mr. Blood and Mr. Bones, standing on either side of their heavy mahogany desk. They ran the Demon Lordz, as well as The Pit. Neither of them looked at all happy to see me.
    Unlike their fellow gang members, Mr. Blood and Mr. Bones had no time for the traditional street creed look. They both wore power suits, expertly cut and tailored. Their thick black hair was slicked back from their foreheads, and there were bright flashes of gold when they smiled to show off their pointed teeth. They looked sharp and keen and very businesslike. Yuppies from Hell. Mr. Bones was tall and slender, with wasted aesthetic features. His eyes were a pale, pale blue, and the only thing colder was his smile. Mr. Blood was large and ponderous, with red beefy features. His eyes were bright pink, like an albino’s.
    Both Lordz held themselves with the easy arrogance of accustomed power. Behind us, the rest of the gang had filed into the office. I counted thirty-two, half and half men and women. They lounged around in various cocky postures, trying to look hard. I ignored them, knowing that would upset them the most. Suzie still had her pump-action shotgun in her hands, pointed exactly half-way between Mr. Blood and Mr. Bones. It didn’t seem to worry them too much.
    “Good of you to join us,” said Mr. Bones. His voice was soft and effortlessly vicious, a mere breath of air. “You were beginning to disturb the dear patrons, and we can’t have that, can we?”
    “Indeed not,” said Mr. Blood. His voice was hearty with false cheer. “Can I interest either of you in a chilled glass of Moet & Chandon? We’ve just opened a bottle. A little caviar, perhaps? Or maybe something a little tastier to chew on?”
    He gestured amiably with a fat hand, and the hanging tapestry drew back of its own accord, to reveal a young woman hanging in chains, slumped in the corner. She was barely out of her teens, entirely naked, and quite dead. There was a big hole in her side, from where something had been feeding on her. Stubs of broken-off ribs showed in the pale red meat, and from the dark depths of the hole, it was clear that some of her internal organs had been removed. There were tooth marks on the broken ribs. Her hair was black as night, her skin was white as snow, with not even the faintest tinge of color in her lips or nipples. And then my heart missed a beat as the dead woman slowly raised her head and looked at me. Her body was dead, but her soul remained, trapped inside. Her eyes were focused on me, and full of suffering. She knew what was happening to her. Her mouth moved silently.
    Help me… help me …
    “The suffering on offer below wasn’t enough for this one,” said Mr. Blood. “She insisted on the real thing. And we were only too happy to oblige her. A tasty young morsel, eh, Mr. Bones?”
    “What fools these mortals be,” breathed Mr. Bones. “But they do make such wonderful snacks.”
    Suzie stepped forward and shot the dead woman in the head. At point-blank range, both barrels together blew her whole head apart, leaving nothing behind but a great crimson-and-grey splatter of blood and brains and bone fragments on the wall behind her. The headless body kicked a few times, then was still. Suzie pumped fresh bullets into position and looked calmly at Mr. Bones and Mr. Blood.
    “Some things I don’t put up with.”
    “Quite right,” I said, while the two gang leaders were still numb with shock and outrage. “You forget your place, Demon Lordz. You’re not at home now. Time for us to talk seriously, I think. So drop the illusions. We’re not tourists. Show us your real faces.”
    And in the blink of an eye, the gangsta street gang and their two yuppie leaders were gone, replaced by whole crowd of crimson-skinned medieval demons. Eight feet tall and overpoweringly brutal, they crowded together before and around us, scarlet as sin, stinking of brimstone, with