<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The Void was a neutral place. Free from judgement, outside interference, noise. Free from... everything. In the very literal sense, nothing existed in the Void until there was a need. And there was almost never a need. Not since the debacle in 1504 when a soul intended for Heaven ended up downstairs, a rare occurrence resulting in the necessity for a neutral mediation zone where the exchange could be made - sans the chorus of angels or the fire and brimstone. Neither faction held any dominion over the Void, and they operated under the unspoken understanding that neither ever would. It existed as a place of necessity, nothing more, one that built up in a blink and came down just as quickly.<br/>
<br/>
And on that particular day, there was a need. Representatives of both Heaven and Hell had taken part in negotiations for some months preceding this most recent meeting, yet still neither side had a complete sense of trust in the other. The matter at hand had forced them to cooperate, though their respective Overseers had some hope that now, as they took their first steps toward the newly proposed arrangement, the begrudging cooperation would blossom into a more fruitful coexistence. <br/>
<br/>
The Committee of Overseers in Hell had made something of a bold proposal to their counterparts in Heaven, one that would put a vastly different spin on their role in the afterlife - facilitating the redemption of damned souls. Never once in the history of the universe had it been in a demon's job description to redeem a human whose soul had been cast into the Pit for his sins. On the contrary; since time immemorial, it had been their task to exact eternal punishment. Dante had gotten a good bit of it right, with the various Circles and poetic justice serving as torture methods for the condemned sinners. What he had missed was the bureaucracy. The paperwork. The hierarchy of demons destined for various pieces of the job, from the designing to the actual execution of various means of torture. But perhaps more than any other detail, he had missed the very real problem of overcrowding, the vastly skewed ratio of demons to souls - and eventually, the severe lack of manpower.<br/>
<br/>
Naturally, it had taken more than one enthusiastic pitch to sell the idea to the angelic Overseers. Over the past months, if time mattered at all to creatures unaffected by the notion of it, the Void had seen more use than it had in the preceding centuries. They had gotten this far, but Heaven would not ratify the agreement without proof of its merit. Concrete evidence that the methods proposed by the demonic Overseers would produce genuine, good-quality souls, rather than slightly altered and potentially faulty stock. It was to that end that the two factions returned to the Void, each with their own representatives, to finalize the conditions of a trial. A test of the full program to be witnessed by an angel of infallible virtue and good judgement, who would report to his superiors on the program's successes and failures.<br/>
<br/>
For their part in the developing proceedings, the demonic Overseers had sent Zazel. Owing largely to his stubbornness, his refusal to follow blindly, and his contrarian nature, Zazel had not been Hell's first choice. Not even their second - or third. His presence in the Void that day served as a shining testimonial to his persistence in the matter, for though his superiors had tried time and again to reject his involvement, he had won the battle with the argument that for all his perceived faults, he had been the one to revive the long-dormant idea. Above all of his peers, and indeed most of his superiors, he believed in the program. It only made sense that one with the strongest conviction should carry out the trial and in so doing, convince Heaven's representative to push it along.<br/>
<br/>
And they sat waiting, in a perfectly square white room, at a large, perfectly square white table, two Overseers and the Architect Zazel, anticipating the arrival of their angelic counterparts.<br/>
<br/>
"Did they give any indication who they might send?" asked the wrinkled, snowy-haired Overseer to his peer. <br/>
<br/>
"No," came the reply. "But I imagine one of rank."<br/>
<br/>
To this, Zazel all but scoffed, crossing one long leg over the other, an arm draped over the back of his ivory chair. "I doubt it," he countered. "Sending a higher-up into the Basement to work with us wretches? Very unlikely. Even if this arrangement meant half as much to them as it means to us, they'd still send a cast-off. One less likely to be missed, just in case we got hungry and ate him alive."</span>