Gone to Hell - 1. Chapter 1

For a change, the sun shone as Theo Godley entered the unknown part of his new morning commute. He took pleasure in the fresh-minted light which sliced its way through the city centre high-rise thicket with surprising efficiency. His new business shoes were rubbing already. Definitely not designed to be walked in, but he’d forgotten to locate his comfy trainers in the earlier rush. Idiot.

The shoes were black, as was his suit. All as per instructions for the new job. Weird for an office job that they were so picky about dress codes. His last place hadn't cared as long as he showed up and did the job. Theo shrugged slightly and strode out along the pavement, keeping half an eye on his phone and the slow-moving blob that told him he was still going in the right direction. For the money they were paying him, he’d even get used to the blood-red shirt and curiously-patterned tie.

He turned sharp left at the next junction, aware this was a part of town he’d never visited since it had been redeveloped. New office buildings loomed overhead, all steel, glass, and concrete. Same old, same old. Boring, soulless, utilitarian boxes designed by rote. Theo let his feet take over and wondered what there was left in the fridge for tea later. He was trying to wean himself off takeaways. Maybe actually use his kitchen for food preparation rather than simply a coffee station. He’d cooked up a great meatless chilli over the weekend - hot, spicy, and packed full of whatever his body was meant to need. The good stuff, in other words.

Pity he had no-one to share it with. Well, that was one of the reason for the change of jobs. A workplace romance? Hell, he’d settle for a sexy friend-with-benefits. Some guy with a devilish, devastating smile which hinted of fun spiced with whatever dark joy he – they – wanted. A vision of what might be possible began to form in his mind's eye.

Dragging himself away, Theo spent another few seconds debating the wisdom of joining a gym. Get some serious muscle onto his lanky runner’s frame. There’d be enough money now to join, but–

He jolted to a standstill, his feet having applied the brakes of their own accord. His jaw dropped as he took in what his subconscious must’ve registered. Ahead wasn’t simply another office block. It was a campus, Infernal Industries’ campus, a whole designed landscape which took his breath away.

Three low-rise, cylindrical buildings gleamed darkly in sunlight which seemed now to have the reddish tinge of late autumn afternoons. Theo squinted up at the sky over his head. Blue. Still that cloudless blue which promised a hot day to come. Yet, as his gaze settled on what was coming up in front of him, blue shifted to red. The red of fire and furnaces.

“Wow!” The word popped out without conscious thought. An understatement? Then, “Jeez, these billionaires have way more money than they know what to do with.” Admiration mixed with a measure of disgust. Didn't any of the buildings have windows? Was that even allowed?

He stared fixedly at the closest structure, trying to spot a break in the smooth, glassy outer finish. What did it remind him of?

“You're laughing at me again.” Marian sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by books on geology and minerals and her laptop. She was peering though a magnifying glass at some rock or another before putting it down and scowling up at Theo.

He shrugged. “That's what older brothers are for, isn't it?”

The scowl intensified. His sister pushed her glasses back up her nose and straightened, glaring at him with the ice-blue eyes they both shared. “Haven't you got homework to do? I heard Mum saying earlier on the phone you aren't working hard enough for your A levels.”

Another shrug. “Nope – no homework. And you shouldn't listen in on other people's conversations.” Theo winced internally as he parroted one of his mother's tellings-off. So what? It fit. A grin surfaced. “I thought I'd come and pester you instead.”

Marian rolled her eyes. “OK, pest, since you're here, take a look at this.” She waved a small, black polished rock or mineral or whatever at him. “Is this onyx or obsidian?”

His eyes widened. “And I should know cos…?”

She huffed. “Cos you've a brain when you choose to use it. And eyes.”

Grin widening, Theo took the black something and the magnifying glass. He spent several seconds comparing what he saw with the various images before declaring, “It's obviously obsidian.” He tossed the shiny volcanic rock back at Marian, turned on his heel, and left.

“Oi!” she yelled after him. “Why's it obviously obsidian?”

Theo spun round at the foot of the stairs and smirked at her. “You've a brain. And eyes.”

Theo smiled at the memory. Marian was forging a career as a volcanologist while he massaged egos and corporate personas. He shrugged. Yes, all the upright cylinders in front of him this Monday morning had that uniform black, glossy colouring of polished obsidian. They couldn't possibly be made of the stuff. The only other colour came from the lettering for Infernal Industries which glowed – flamed, almost – a hot, eye-popping red. There was a definite colour theme going on. They'd got the corporate branding on point. Now, they needed a thriving, inspirational, aspirational online presence.

That's where he came in. A job, a challenge, that promised to change his life.

As Theo approached, he couldn't help thinking the cylinders extended down deep into the ground. It was something about how the buildings seemed to grow out of soil as black as they were. There was no solid line that demarcated where building stopped – Theo ignored the existence of foundations – and the Earth took over. That puzzled him. Why would any corporation have buildings that possibly extended more underground than they did where everyone could see them?

Theo recalled part of his job interview which had been held in some random upmarket hotel in the centre of town.

“What made you apply for this job, Theo?” The lead questioner sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers, obviously expecting an extended reply. His skin colour was a weird shade of burnt something. Not the hue of someone from an African heritage but literally as if someone had carbonised the surface.

Theo had a difficult time trying not to stare. He spent an unproductive moment or two trying to imagine the injuries which might cause such catastrophic damage. He coughed to cover up the short pause. “In today's hyper-competitive online market, it's very surprising to come across a large corporation with no online presence. One might almost say, unique.” Smirks passed over the interviewing panel's expressions. Theo swallowed, wondering what that meant. He opened his mouth to continue with his prepared statement but instead, decided to ask his own question. “May I ask why Infernal Industries is only now venturing into the online sphere?”

The panel exchanged glances before the lead shrugged and answered. “We've had a solid, admirably solid, customer base up 'til now. In fact, you might almost describe it as guaranteed.”

Theo frowned slightly. Who had guaranteed customers? There again, he didn't actually know what II did, or produced, or sold.

He opened his mouth to ask the question but his opposite number got in first. “We are seeking new horizons. New adventures. We're on a journey in search of a new breed of customer. Future guests who share in our vision, whether they know it or not.”

OK – that did it. “What exactly is Infernal Industries' vision? Your story?” Theo plastered a smile onto his face. “For a successful, multi-national corporation, your ethos is somewhat–” He fumbled for a word. “Ehm… opaque?” He gulped. “If I'm to help you succeed, what II does currently, its worldview, will form the core of my decision-making. A world-class online brand like yours should be instantly recognisable. Focussed. The message to your new target audience has to be compelling.”

The smile from his chief questioner – Theo hadn't grasped his name in the initial intros – exposed gums which were preternaturally red. Maybe it was just the contrast with such bizarre skin. “Well, we don't tend to advertise our services,” he said. “Or, we haven't so far. To answer your question, Infernal Industries offers personalised, tailored experiences. Experiences which cater for every individual whatever their tastes and predilections. We guarantee our guests will have memories that'll stay with them forever.”

Theo's eyes widened. “Beyond their wildest dreams?” he ventured, trying not to smile.

“Sometimes,” another member of the panel, a smug younger man who'd spent a few too many hours getting burned red on a sunbed, replied. “Other times, our… plans appear to be a total surprise. The services we offer may be employed on our customer's behalf by a member of the family, a workmate, a rival. Someone they've never met, even.” He beamed. “You might think of it as a Secret Santa on steroids.”

“Oh.” Theo wondered at that. He changed tack. “II's employees must clock up huge travelling expenses. You know, going out to each individual, regardless of where they are.”

The panel stared at him, then at each other. They sniggered loudly, the sound reaching Theo oozing layers of smugness and entitlement. “Oh, no,” the lead questioner gasped out after a minute. “They come to us. They always come to us.”

Theo stood in the weirdly flaming sunlight and sized the buildings up again. Each cylinder sat within three concentric circles of formal planting, all placed and lined up in patterns just the way his mum hated. Even here, the colour scheme predominated with foliage in greens and purples that verged on black, punctured by drops of blood-red from roses, carnations, and other flowers he didn't recognise.

Where would anyone who wanted an outdoor's experience go? Mountain climbing or an ocean voyage? Or even a day at the seaside? Theo tried to ignore how mundane his own experience would be. Building sandcastles at Tynemouth? He considered. Maybe, if he pushed it, his dreams would stretch to watching Newcastle play at Wembley. God, he was hopeless.

Giving himself a mental shake, he briefly inspected that morning's new clothes. Satisfied, he strode – painfully – towards the central building of the three.

Theo leaned over the reception desk – black with red, glowing trim – and tried to peer into the back office. He was almost certain someone lurked there. Someone who should be out front dealing with customers. “Excuse me! I've been waiting here for at least five minutes.” Theo rolled his eyes. Score one for classic English passive aggression. Returning to his side of the desk, a cracked piece of laminate caught his eye. Then a dark section of trim. Was that a mouldering piece of gum stuck to the side?

Nobody appeared. Theo breathed in deeply. OK – if that's how they wanted it. He was a senior player in Infernal Industries' management team now, though part of him felt like the new boy at school. “If I don't get served in the next thirty seconds–” His voice was firm, edged with an authority he was mostly bluffing. “I'm going to recommend each and every one of you lurking in that office gets fired.”

A brief, poorly-suppressed argument involving at least two people was followed by a sullen appearance at the reception counter. Theo sized up the face of II, the first representative any visitor or client would meet upon entering. The guy – balding, unfit, and reeking of cigarette smoke – turned a world-weary expression in Theo's direction without actually meeting his eye. He wasn't sporting a name badge.

“What?”

“Hi, I'm Theo Godley, new director of Engagement, here for my orientation–”

Gasping and wheezing, the other guy burst out into spluttering laughter, his sweaty face turning alarmingly red.

Theo stared at him, not bothering to continue. The man opposite slowly regained control, wiping his eyes.

When the man could speak, he turned away from the desk and addressed whoever was left in the office. “Hey, Ash. I've a right joker here.”

“Yeah?” came back the muffled reply.

“Yeah. Says his name's Theo Godley.”

“You're kidding!”

“Nope. The genuine article.”

“No way.” The speaker, a youth whose face seemed splattered with acne scars, leaned out of the office and gaped momentarily at Theo. “I mean, I know Old Nick was whining about declining this, flatlining that, and some other shit in the general Zoom call yesterday, but–”

“How d'you get to see that?” Indignant, the older guy pointed at an outdated desktop terminal. “This blessed pile of crap got no further than giving me the 'Waiting for…' message.”

The youth shrugged. “Only saw half of it. Pinched a top-of-the-line tablet from some bozo in Greed but then I got called to Six and the screen melted. You know how hot it can get in there.” He shook his head. “It's what happens when management don't give us the right tech. Sign of the times.”

“Too right.” With a despairing shake of the head, the older man turned back to Theo. “Everything's going to shit, it is.”

Theo's blood pressure was climbing steadily but he breathed in and out through his nose, keeping a hold of his temper. Everything was definitely going to shit if this encounter was anything to go by. He smiled. “Maybe I'll have a better idea if I could get my promised orientation tour.” He waited. “Now would be good.”

The other man dragged an old-fashioned rotary phone within reach and dialled a number, while still watching Theo. The call connected. “Hey, Beel. How're things? … Yeah, I know. It's crap. Anyway, I've a new guy here, one Theo Godley–”

A peal of laughter exploded out of the handset, raucous and cackling. Theo's lips thinned. What the fuck was wrong with his name? He thought he'd left the idiotic taunts behind at school.

The blaze of mirth gradually faded, occasionally threatening to flare back into life before subsiding again. Theo felt his face and neck warm, the redness all too visible through his pale skin. Bastards.

Finally, the line fell silent. Smirking, the man in front of him continued his interrupted sentence. “As I was saying, Mr Godley is here for his orientation tour.”

A pause followed as Beel – whoever they were – vented. Theo couldn't distinguish any words but the tone and cadence were unmistakable.

The lead interviewer came back into Theo's mind with his comments about a guaranteed customer base. If this was how it translated across II's teams, no wonder senior management were worried about any softening in customer demand. Any serious change and II were fucked. And him as well, with his shiny new job.

He tried to distract himself by inspecting the entrance area. It was spacious but the vibe was more dark and cavernous than airy and welcoming. The corporate colour scheme didn't translate well into large-scale interior decorating. Theo spotted various areas where the black wall paint didn't match the existing colour or texture. Every now and again, red LEDs in the walls and ceiling had been replaced with orange or yellow, or not replaced at all. The corporate art collection – taking the two specimens in view – seemed peculiarly focussed on… bondage? Kink was all well and good. Theo didn't expect to see representations of it in a corporate headquarters though.

The man in front of him finally managed to squeeze words in through the tirade which then petered out. “Yeah, Beel? … Well, I don't give a holy fuck about your deadlines. You're listed as today's guide. Get your angelic arse down here so I can be doing something other than baby-sitting.”

Theo took that as an invitation to sit on one of the uncomfortable-looking sofas and wait.

Fifteen minutes later, he surfaced from a light doze to find a short, squat, clay-brown individual standing in front of him. Theo blinked. “You Beel? Hi, I'm Theo Godley.”

His guide grunted, looked Theo up and down, and turned to go without a word. Theo assumed he should follow. Standing up, his gaze snagged on something sticking out of Beel's back pocket. Was that a whip? Flail. Cat o' nine tails? Theo's eyes widened. Maybe the art wasn't that out of place. Just what kind of experiences were II offering?

They headed towards the lifts. Beel summoned one to go downwards. Not up; down. Theo revisited his belief the buildings extended far underground. This was turning weird. He cleared his throat. “We not visiting the upper floors first?”

Beel shrugged. “Why? Nothing to see.”

“Must be something there.”

His guide spat on the floor. “Only those tossers who wouldn't last a second down on the shopfloor.”

Theo deduced that probably now included him. He decided to explore later on his own.

The lift deposited them on a level that was dark, very warm, and with a distinct background odour of sulphur. A large crimson sign, hung over the entrance, declared, 'Welcome to Hell!'

Every one of Theo's promotional instincts rebelled. You didn't badmouth the product to paying customers. Not if you wanted to stay in business. He pointed. “Is that a joke?”

Beel swung round and stared at him. “No. You stupid or something? It's where we are.”

“Pardon?”

“Hell.”

“What?”

“Hell.” Beel's head shook a couple of times in stunned disbelief. Evidently, Theo had rendered him almost speechless.

Theo scrambled to catch up. “You mean it's a metaphor. Something deep and meaningful to get our guests into the right frame of mind.”

“Sweet Jesus Christ!” Beel's clay-coloured skin darkened as red flooded into his face and neck. “Don't you fucking know who you're working for?”

“Infernal Industries.” Theo's stomach did a half flip as he answered. It couldn't mean–

His guide pointed to a smaller sign hung beneath the other. It looked like one of those cheery, welcoming, 'we're all in this together' motivational sort of thing, only the text read, 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'. Theo gulped. Shit. Really? No wonder the senior management team had been so coy in listing the job and person specs, never mind describing what II did.

But Hell was a concept, a theological big stick to keep any wandering parishioner or priest in line. Not a failing corporation with employees who needed several hefty kicks up the arse.

Theo took in three breaths, holding each for a second for two before letting the air out slowly. His head still felt light. A buzzing in his ears added to the sense of dislocation.

With a huff, Beel gestured for him to follow and marched in through the entrance.

Inside, it was surprisingly bright. The black and red livery was kept to a border along the walls and ceiling. The rest of the décor comprised softened, more diffuse versions of the same colours. Theo noted the huddles of soft furnishings, complete with side tables and jugs of water. It was weird. Where was the hell of eternal damnation and suffering? Another thing Theo noted as he looked round was the distinct lack of customers.

Beel coughed to get his attention. “This is a kind of waiting room. Customers are summoned when everything's ready for them.” Theo ostentatiously swung his head through one hundred and eighty degrees without comment. His guide flushed. “It's a quiet patch. Some customers can take quite a while to prepare for. Others decline to take part once they've arrived. They end up being stuck here.” Beel pointed at a couple of elderly gents chatting away in a corner.

Theo frowned. “Can't they get a refund? A 'no fault' escape clause?”

An exasperated side-eye from his companion told him the answer was 'no'. As they stood there, a klaxon sounded. Inner doors burst open and a rush of half-clad II employees flooded into the room. They were chattering and gossiping like a swarm of house sparrows, voices hard-edged and lacking emotion. The first tranche spotted Theo. Almost as one, they pointed at him, swinging round to make sure everyone else noticed. Then the cackling started. Ribald and raucous, it swept across the horde in waves, building and building until the sound seemed to be the only thing Theo was aware of.

He felt himself turning bright scarlet. Fucking bastards.

The smirk on Beel's face could hardly be any wider. “Seems word's got out,” he half-shouted in Theo's ear. “Strange that.”

Unable to do anything that wouldn't give the impression of retreating, Theo fumed. Standing there didn't stop him from watching the II employees as they passed through. It lessened the humiliation to concentrate on something other than himself.

He noted several items of interest. There were hardly any women. The men all seemed to be the same hard-worked, gone-to-seed, middle-aged specimens with spreading waistlines, flabby upper arms and not a six-pack in sight. The topless look might be practical but it wasn't remotely attractive. And, more to the point, it spoke of days or weeks spent lounging around, waiting for custom. Even the whips, pitchforks, and other painful-looking implements they carried lacked the gleam and glint of well-honed tools.

Theo pursed his lips, mind seizing on the opportunity to think some things through.

Beel poked his arm. “Wanna see more?”

“Of course.” A frown covered up Theo's uncertainty. “If this is genuinely Hell, I want to see some action.”

“Some action,” Beel repeated. He turned one way, then another, evidently trying to make his mind up, before heading back out to the lifts. “Level Three's a mid-range experience – punishment and suffering all right, but not in the same ballpark as Levels Six or Seven.” The guide winced. “They're proper hardcore.”

Theo wished he possessed a map or layout of the Infernal Industries campus. “Are those levels elsewhere? In one of the other buildings?”

“Nah – they're all the same. Nine levels. Some idiot redeveloped the campus in time for the millennium, thinking there'd be a surge in numbers.” Beel rolled his eyes. “Building Three's already mothballed. Two's heading that way. Next year or two, they reckon.”

“Really?” Theo wondered how soon he'd need to revisit his CV. II was going to need some superhuman shit to turn it around.

This time, as they emerged from the lift, the corporate livery was on full display. Even just looking at it made Theo feel hot in a number of ways. Beel opened the inner doors wide and gestured Theo to go inside. He strode in, the facade of confidence a little dented by him favouring his right foot. The left felt like one huge blister. He was never going to wear those effing business shoes ever again.

He stopped and surveyed the scene in front of him. It didn't exactly match-up with the mediaeval wall-paintings. One bored individual was desultorily whipping a guy pinned to a St Andrew's cross. The… victim was letting out howls of pain as least as fake as anything Theo'd heard on porn vids. Everyone else lounged against the walls, chatting, comparing tattoos, or playing games on their phones. The background hum of tinny, repetitive muzak already irritated him.

Beel coughed loudly and pointed to Theo. The vibe changed instantly. Half-a-dozen II employees marched off into the reddish darkness and returned dragging customers who didn't give the slightest impression of being scared. A couple even cracked jokes as they were propelled forward. All the remaining loungers made a performance out of getting equipment ready for whatever pretend punishments were lined up.

Theo despaired. Jesus wept. Did any of the senior management team ever set foot on the lower levels? Did they have the faintest idea how much shit II was in?

His gaze returned to the original pair. He watched with a sinking feeling as the one with the whip performed a fancy lead-up pirouette ending in a hop and a skip. The guy landed a showy, useless stroke that would've struggled to flick dust off a shelf. His victim giggled. Whip in hand, the employee turned to Theo and gave an exaggerated bow, a broad, mocking grin splitting his face.

Theo turned to Beel, ignoring the provocation. “OK – I've seen enough for now. Let's go.”

Beel shrugged. “OK.” He paused to blow kisses at the room at large before trailing out after Theo.

Two weeks later, Theo got to his feet in II's boardroom. Here, the corporate red and black possessed an opulent, indulgent feel. He'd noted velvet, silk, brocades, and rare, exotic woods. The art though? That was more of the moody, monochrome depictions of kink which threatened to drag his mind off in unhelpful directions.

At the head of a black, polished, oval table, his boss stared back at him. Theo still hadn't grown used to the blackened, calcified skin of II's head of operations. He thought it a sign of power, of wealth maybe, but he wasn't sure. Lucifer Fallen Angel, or Luc FA, as most people referred to him, wasn't someone you could walk up to and ask such a question.

Theo wiped both hands on the back of his work trousers, gulped, and cleared his throat. Eight heads turned in his direction, most giving the impression of attention unwillingly given, phones reluctantly put away. Great start.

He coughed. “Hi. This presentation, important though it is, won't keep us long. We all lead busy lives.” A pause. “How many of you–“ The tone was conversational. “Know the phrase 'gone to hell'? Anyone?” Heads shook. “No-one? Well, it means everything's fucked. It doesn't work. It's a complete mess.” Theo glanced round at a series of blank expressions. “OK, so why am I wasting your time with pointless trivia?” His tone tightened. “Because it describes many aspects of Infernal Industries' current operations, particularly those which are customer facing.”

Sharp intakes of breath followed. Theo didn't meet anyone's eye. He looked down at his notes, more to centre himself than to correct any lapses in memory.

The workforce rep, Leonard, thumped the table with one fist before starting to rise from his seat. He'd turned, Theo observed from under his eyelashes, a curious shade of red with black undertones. The colour gathered under Leonard's cheekbones and pooled at the base of his neck. At the head of the table, their boss cleared his throat. Nothing else. A sense of dread bloomed in the boardroom. Theo gulped.

Leonard seemed to take it in his stride. He resumed his seat, only pausing to take a breath. “What the fuck do you know about how this place works? You've only been here two seconds.” Another thump. “How long's Infernal Industries been in business? Millennia. Yet, here you are, a know-it-all policy twonk if ever I saw one, laying down accusations like you grew up in Hell.”

Theo remained standing and waited – best to hear it all before responding.

“You ever given someone a flogging?” The black undertones in Leonard's colouring were spreading.

Theo mentally gave himself a tick. He didn't answer, assuming the question was rhetorical.

“An impaling? Flayed a man alive?” Leonard's eyes flared red.

Theo's stomach lurched. Really? Gross.

Leonard leaned across the table, glaring at Theo. “Of course, you Jesus-loving haven't. You have no idea how we do things here.”

Exhibiting an outward calm that owed nothing to his roiling guts, Theo bent and clicked once on his laptop. He turned to watch the pull-down screen come alive, conscious that everyone's eyes were on him and they weren't friendly. After a couple of seconds, a video loaded and started to play.

Theo kept his gaze on the screen. “This,” he said in the same conversational tone as before, “is Level Three the day before yesterday.” Without a member of the senior management team around, the place was dead. A couple of guys sat in a corner, playing cards. The equipment stood around, unused. Off-camera, there came sounds of singing. Not the riotous, tone-deaf offerings of the intoxicated, but a disciplined, organised harmony. A male-voice choir singing 'Myfanwy'.

In the boardroom, hisses and snarls started to drown out the music. Leonard bellowed, “That's lies!”

Theo shook his head. “No, it isn't, and it shows how out-of-touch the senior management team has become.”

The workplace rep jabbed a finger in Theo's direction. “Just because my mates had some fun the other week, you couldn't take it. This is revenge porn. A deepfake. Discrediting our most loyal, hard-working colleagues who've been with the company since the start.” He looked round the table. “This… bishop isn't worth our time.”

Again, the cough came. It quelled the row instantly.

Their boss wore a smile, hard, reptilian, and blood-red. “Do you have anything else?”

With one click, the video resumed. Theo tried to master his voice. “This is Level Six last week – the date and time are visible in the top left-hand corner.”

The level, once described by Beel as hardcore, featured a massage table centre screen. A queue of II employees waited quietly while one of their mates was worked on by a young, fit guy. The masseur ticked a number of Theo's boxes. Watching him in action made Theo wonder what a massage would be like. Glorious, probably. Sexy as… hell.

There were no customers in sight. Not a single one. The workforce looked slack. Demotivated. Unfit.

The director of human resources, Orobas, spluttered, “This is angelic disinformation–”

“Concerning the people I'm here to represent.” Leonard continued over him. “I call on our Lord Satan to hold a public inquiry into these slanderous fabrications.”

For a few seconds, Luc FA gazed at nothing, evidently lost in thought. Theo shuffled nervously, uncertain whether to continue or sit down.

Then his boss surfaced. “Must take a certain kind of courage to stand up and do this.” He cocked his head. “I take it you have more to add? A solution?”

Theo gulped. “Yes, sir.” He stooped to the laptop, clicked through a couple of pages, then started a different presentation. “Here is my proposal.”

A chill wind nipped at Theo's fingers, hinting that winter wasn't far off. He strode through the Infernal Industries campus, heading towards the previously mothballed Building Three. In his plan, this would be a space for women. Inclusive, welcoming, and just as full of punishment and pain as the other two venues. For now though, it served another, necessary purpose.

Inside, a blast of heat caught him full on as one of the smiths cranked up their furnace. A huddle of attentive II employees watched the woman create the metal tines for a pitchfork. It was part of a session to inform everyone who worked at II about the implements they used. The day getting off to a gentle start. A different object came under scrutiny each time.

The next area was rather different.

Theo tried to hide his grin as one of the instructors start yelling, “Dear baby Jesus! Didn't I just show you that?” The man took his student's arm and went through the motions of wielding a whip. Theo, looking closer, recognised the reluctant receptionist from his first day at II. That guy was sweating hard. His arm and shoulder probably hurt; Theo didn't give a toss. Nearby, he spotted Beel struggling to maintain his wax at the right temperature to sear but not maim. His technique needed work. He splattered wax over another demon – Theo still had difficulty in accepting the reality of demons – and stood back, a wounded expression appearing on his face when his subject writhed and swore like a sailor.

Still, they were learning. Theo sighed. Slowly, ever so slowly. Customer demand was improving. The message out on socials told of a new Hell. There for everyone – inclusive, responsive, and customer focussed. Embarking on a new journey – Theo loathed that word in a PR context – learning from past errors and positive about the future.

Taking one last look at the activity, Theo headed off to his favourite part of the day. He had no need to join a gym elsewhere - on the next level down was the best-equipped workout zone he'd ever come across. Everything was new and shiny, apart from the swarm of II employees. They grunted, heaved, and stretched under the watchful gaze of numerous trainers. Leonard, the workplace rep, sat resentfully on the edge of stationary running machine, arguing with the guy next to him. Theo smirked. The incentive scheme was working well - bonuses earned, not taken for granted.

"Hey, Theo." A young, fit guy approached, cleaning oil off his hands. "If you need a massage later, I'm available."

They exchanged a quick kiss.

"Thanks, love. That's something I can always find time for."

"Whether things have gone to Hell or not?"

"Yep. Even more so, if everything's gone to Hell."