The two women sat across from one another with eight feet of lacquered oak conference table between them. They had been at something of an impasse for some time, both on their cellphones. They spoke rapidly in a variety of languages to a variety of people, their tones always all business. This had gone on so long their espressos were stone cold from neglect. At last, as if by some silent agreement, they snapped their phones shut simultaneously, and silence took hold in the private room.<br/><br/>It did not last long, interrupted by he sound of a monster truck running over a row of clown cars to the dull roar of the frantic crowd. The occupants escaped with barely moments to spare, all the way down the row, stunt clowns scrambling from the tiny cars like ants.<br/><br/>The Mayhem Monster Truck Rally was in its third day, the corpses of over eight hundred vehicles piled about the course for the amusement of the spectators. Sylvia did not care for such events, as they rarely ended in bloodshed, but the location was important to the other woman.<br/><br/>The woman had teeth that were a shade too white as she smiled, and her skin the dark olive of a Persian, though her accent was distinctly Italian. Her suit coat was a moss green Louis Vuitton that hugged her as only a custom tailored garment could, highlighted with a pale pair of cuffed hide shorts. They had no brand name, but Sylvia knew her fashion almost as intimately as she did the sport of murder...<br/><br/>They were from a small village in Poland, an exclusively small release, made from the most taboo of leathers. Judging from how soft they looked, likely this was a special order pair, made from less "distressed" animals. Children. The woman wore nothing beneath her coat, bearing her cleavage in a manner that was tasteful and tantalizing...<br/><br/>She broke the silence after a long sip at her cold espresso, the black liquid boiling at the touch of her forked tongue, "I have always been a great admirer of your work, Sylvia. I appreciate you assisting me in this endeavor."<br/><br/>Sylvia smiled thinly at her guest, "Thank you. Forgive me if we get down to business. I have so many responsibilities, Miss Morningstar."<br/><br/>"Lucy, please. Of course you do. I entirely understand. I keep a lot of plates spinning myself... We'll get down to it, as you say." There was a slight rattle to her voice, like a serpent as she pushed a slender slip of paper towards Sylvia.<br/><br/>Sylvia shivered, though it was not from fear. She had made the acquaintance of Lucy over a decade ago, and in her experience, the Devil was considerably less frightening and more business like than many of the assassins she had employed in her day.<br/><br/>No, she was shivering because as always Lucy had insisted they lower the temperature to a few degrees above a meatlocker. Apparently air conditioning was hard to come by in the pits of Hell. Outside their private box, the was a dull roar of the crowd, followed by the sound of twisting metal and glass. Slyvia examined the paper curiously, reading it twice, before taking out her pen, "And... this is?"<br/><br/>It was not a contract for her soul. She knew already that Lucy had a fairly legitimate claim on her "essence", since the age of five. There was an inherent trust between the two of them that came from Lucy having her by the balls... spiritually speaking. It made them excellent business partners when mutually beneficial deals sprang up.<br/><br/>"Just a receipt, confirming your acceptance of the delivery, Mayor Down."<br/><br/>Sylvia paused , wagging a finger at her guest, "I... prefer my maiden name."<br/><br/>"Do you really?"<br/><br/>"I would not have said so, eef it were not so." She replied, masking her irritation with professional grace. Travis, like his brother, was addictive and desirable when they were in the heat of competition. A God of death, spreading blood across a canvas of pain... Travis was not nearly so attractive when he was watching cartoons and playing with his cat.<br/><br/>"You say that now. I think you may find yourself damp again once your little champion puts down his cock and starts playing with his blades again."<br/><br/>"Thank you for stopping by. I will work out a way to reintroduce your client into the public eye before the rankings start up again."<br/><br/>Lucy took the document, exposing a supple breast crowned with a small black nipple, as she slid it into the inner pocket of her coat, "Oh that should not be necessary... I am a great admirer of her work as well. I have every... faith in her that she will be able to retintroduce herself." There was a roar that drown out the combined din of five nitro charged hemis and a truckasaurus. the stadium floor buckled outwards as a gout of flame exploded from the basement area, the steel struts curling from the heat as something massive rode up the flames.<br/><br/>Black as the abyss itself, it was a motorcyclist covered in ichor and bone, massive wings extending from its back. It rode across the flames, peeling out onto the field, only to crash headlong into a monster truck. The truck parted like tissue paper as the rider blew through it without slowing. The bike wheels spun like a banshee, digging up a furrow that was a full two feet of rock and dirt as the rider swerved to a halt. Panic had ensued amongst the drivers, though the crowd was still convinced everything was just part of the show.<br/><br/>The survivor of the collision with the rider was dragging his broken legs uselessly behind him as he tried to escape. The rider would have nothing of it, getting off the bike to stoop over and pick him up. Encased in flame blackened bone and gore, the rider was massively armored and terrifying as its fingers sizzled against the screaming stunt driver's flesh. It held the mortal at a distance, smoking eerily in the spotlights for a moment before it brought the man face first into its filthy black helmet.<br/><br/>There was a sharp crack as the protective helmet and the man's skull began to give way at the same time, a nauseating sound that was repeated again and again as the rider headbutted the man over and over. By the end, his face was hardly recognizable as one as it collided one last time with the helmet. The rider let the man fall as the helmet shattered, long blond curls spilling out as she shook out the debris from her hair.<br/><br/>The crowd grew silent as the camera men in the upper deck zoomed the jumbo tron monitors onto the rider, flames crackling behind her as she turned around as took her first breath of air in years. She extended her middle finger to the cameras, shouting out shrilling, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT?"<br/><br/>The cameras detonated with hellfire, consuming the operators in white hot fire. It about this time that the crowd decided this wasn't all part of the show, but it was far too late to escape. The blond gripped at her blackened chest plate, stripping it off to reveal her pink frills hidden beneath the gore and sizzling bone armor. The clowns from the previous stunt were in a panic, sprinting in circles around the field, finding no means of escape from the flames as cars were launched into the air by geysers of magma.<br/><br/>The girl held out her hand expectantly, feeling something stirring deep in the bowels of the stadium. Her familiar stirred to life, shaking off years of dust and disuse like an eager puppy. Like a comet it shot up from the sub basement, punching through eighteen feet of reinforced concrete and a minivan before coming to her outstretched hand.<br/><br/>Stroking the Louisville slugger up her inner thigh with a moan that was equal parts relieved and wanting, she was amazing that the much weathered bat was still warm to the touch after all of these years. It was welcomingly rough against her creamy skin as she opened her eyes again, and reluctantly removed it from between her legs to hold it aloft. She pointed the business end at a particularly irritating clown, something about his neon pink comb over and plaid slacks pissing her way the fuck off. Whispered under her breath like a curse were two words, "... batter up." She stepped into the swing, her bat impossibly light and heavy at the same time, feeling all too alive in the fleeting seconds before the wood made contact with skull.<br/><br/>"Homerun!" She shouted as the bat exploded in a shower of splinters, the clown igniting upon contact as he was sent hurtling into the stands. Like a camera trick, her bat reassembled itself in her grip almost immediately, the wood shards putting themselves back into shape as the clown rocketed towards the spectators. Detonating like a missile as he hit, rows h-k seats 12-89 were immediately swallowed in a mushroom cloud, sending bodies flying.<br/><br/>The hellspawn kept on swinging, sending flaming clowns in all directions, her battle cry echoing throughout the stadium. It was punctuated each time by a solid CRACK of wood against a cranium, "HOMERUN! *CRACK* HOMERUN! *CRACK* HOMMMMMMMERUN! *CRACK*"<br/><br/>She was momentarily distracted as a security guard with trembling fingers and a beer belly took a shot at her, firing three slugs into her back. Hardly noticing the small caliber bullets as they hit the pale flesh of her back, she oozed magma and fire from the entry wounds as she turned about to face him. Unnerved even more by the ineffectiveness of his pistol, he proceeded to wet himself as she slowly walked towards him, her free hand splayed as she reached out to grasp at his collar.<br/><br/>He was pulled towards her as if he weighed nothing, her breath hot and smelling sweetly of cotton candy and popcorn as she brought her tongue up across his cheek, licking the fearful sweat as if it were a treat. Horrified beyond reason it took him a full five seconds to phrase his question, "W-what the fuck are you?"<br/><br/>"Me?" She giggled girlishly, small pinpricks of crimson lighting deep in her pupils as she stared into his eyes. Her teeth lengthened and twisted impossibly into something like the maw of a deep sea beast as she opened her mouth wide, tongue waggling as she hissed,<strong>"I'm a Bad Girl..."</strong><br/><br/>There was a blood curdling scream that was cut short as she bit down on his face like an apple, her fingers sinking into his chest as his collarbone gave way under the pressure of her tiny gloved hand. In the conference room, Sylvia stirred her cold espresso apathetically, as she and the devil watched the woman rage against the spectators, rivers of blood trailing between the columns of fire. Lines of inferno lit up the ground, like a summoners circle. As the fire rose and the shape became apparent, Sylvia realized it was not any sort of mystical sigil but rather a burning baseball diamond that was etching itself into the stadium floor.<br/><br/>"... I have always admired her work." Lucy repeated idly, checking her cellphone for missed calls as the stadium shuddered, the sheer size of the catastrophe causing the locale to actually punch through the fabric of reality and sit between the dimensions, "Good luck with your endeavor, Sylvia. I'll keep an eye out. Offer your ex husbands my regards... and perhaps a season ticket."<br/><br/>"But, of course." Sylvia replied, shivering a second time. This time she was relatively sure it was still just the air conditioning, but it was hard to say as she watched the Bad Girl shove her baseball bat down the throat of a clown before lifting him bat and all to take a crimson swing against the wall.<br/><br/>When she looked back towards Lucy, unsurprisingly all that was left was an empty cup of espresso and a yellow receipt voucher. In blood red beneath the cartoon demon Lucy had started using in Hell's most recent ad campaign, it proclaimed, "Delivery confirmed".