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“Anarchy, right? Hey, I'm the new guy; Crispin's my name. Crispin Huttgart, how you doing?”

Anar turned slowly, menacingly, teeth bared to look at the jumped-up little snot who had dare encroach his personal space. He found himself staring into face of a handsome human guy with teeny tiny faun horns between his floppy mop of deep chestnut hair, a little old for new blood in his early to mid twenties. He was beaming a big open smile which creased his tight features into little wrinkles and showed sparkling white teeth. That kind of dentistry didn't come cheap.

“Piss off!” Anar growled, shrugging the stranger's hand off briskly.

Crispin laughed merrily; “yeah, Alexis said you were a grumpy bum. Well guess who you get to show around the floor today?” He pointed to himself, “ta-da!”

Anar narrowed his eyes, crossly, “oh yeah?” He fervently glanced around to make sure no-one was watching, “fine. No problem; floor: this is Crispin, Crispin: -” he grabbed the front of the guys shirt and yanked him down “- this is the floor. Have a nice day now.” He turned his back on him.

Unperturbed, Crispin straightened himself out and didn't move an inch, “come on, don't be moody, it's a good opportunity for a skive, isn't it?”

His long ears pricked at the 's' word. He spun back round to face the newcomer again. This Crispin guy had a sweater draped around his shoulders and a pair of loafers on his feet. He looked like he'd just got off of a yacht rather than entered the working epicentre of Satan's playground.

“You'd better do it, Anar,” a familiar and unwelcome voice said as Alexis Crowley shuffled in carrying more paperwork, deftly dumping it in front of the already annoyed aardvark. “This is Jez Huttgart's son, he's on the board you know. Gotta keep the Director's happy...”

He eyed this Crispin fellow with even more hostility now; so this was what it all came down to – showing the boss's kids round like it was a goddamned chocolate factory. Still, that in-tray was very full indeed.

With a half-groan, half-sigh he scooted his chair back and Crispin cheered happily, “Yeah! Come on, let's grab a pastry from the rec' room before you get to the boring stuff.”

The lunch bar was empty this early in the working day as Anar and his companion sipped their single-shot latte macchiatos (made with unethically sourced beans from a South African dictatorship and milk from especially unhappy cows) and tried conversation. Crispin did most of the talking:

“... so then I thought about being charity funds syphoning – the money from Red Nose Day or Oxfam appeals, you know? Making sure it ends up going into the international arms trade and not to poor brown people. But there's already so much corruption in that sector, I thought better of it so then I was like – what about trading? Hedge funds are all the rage right now, betting with other people's money on stocks that you don't even have. It's a laugh, innit? But again, so much competition so then my dad said 'son, why don't you go to the Infernal Holy College and then you can work with me?' so off I trotted and let me tell you it was weird in that place, lots of funny creatures running round, I mean even a kangaroo such as yourself isn't the strangest thing I've seen. So I left with my cert even though I pretty much failed everything, my dad sorted me out thankfully, then dad said 'son, I want you to spend some time on the lower floors, get a taste of what goes on behind the scenes. Then you can sit on the top floor with me and have power lunches and chat to the Russian mafia and spend time out on the golf course.' It was totally far out when I signed my contract and passed through the wibbly gate thingy and appeared here, in the actual underworld. So exciting! Then my dad said to me 'son, go to floor twenty two where the administration demon's are and find out more about this world wide web they've created.' Isn't that great? I'm going to get to work with all you fun guys and we're going to have a riot, aren't we? Eh? Anarchy? Aren't we?”

Placing his empty cup carefully on the table top, Anar took a deep breath. “I am going to count to five; if, by the time I get to five you haven't moved far, far away I am going to eat you. Do you understand?”

Crispin banged the table mirthfully, “oh you are so funny! Just wait til I tell my dad.”

“Yeah and then he'll be like 'son, stay away from that dangerous kangaroo now or you'll have no limbs left to play golf with...” but the sarcasm, it seemed, was lost.

For the rest of the morning Anar endured his task of guiding Crispin around the office; a task which should have been short and sweet but the chatty so-and-so never stopped asking questions. He wanted to know where all the vending machines were, did they take actual money and could therefore be robbed, wanted to know who all the other demons were and their friendliness level on a scale from one to permadeath, whether the plants were real or plastic. Everything.

After lunch he asked about the bathrooms. Being of mortal stock like Anar was, it was only a matter of time until that coffee was ready to make an exit. When he was shown them however, he frowned for the first time. Digging deep in his pocket he pulled out a wondrous object: an executive washroom key. These bad boys were the stuff of legend! You really had to be someone to get to use the fancy toilets. The executive washroom was a ride in the elevator away on the legendary upper floors. Crispin noticed Anar's wide eyes and grinned anew, “my dad got me one. Take me to the proper bathroom.”

So he did. A turn of the key and Anar walked into the hanging gardens of Babylon. Eden. Paradise. Sparkling white marble, gleaming chrome, the harsh tones of genuine gold probably mined by five year olds in a subterranean pit far from daylight mixed with real lush greenery that grew from the walls and spread to make living tiling. As Crispin nipped into one of the stalls Anar stood and marvelled at it all. Tinged with blue, of course, you didn't get this kind of look without magick and the luminous glowing hue was everywhere. All demons had magic in them, naturally. That was why they were summoned by demonologists. He'd been summoned himself not too long ago, though that had all gone rather wrong and he was still paying the price for his antics now. But this room was practically vibrating with the stuff. Being a Warlock in more than just name, Anar magnified magical powers and as he waited for his new co-worker to finish the plants began to flourish and flower around him. He could magnify his own magic, too; it was a useful ace up his sleeve that he kept hush. One day he might need to do something truly spectacular in order to save his hide – or even better – to finally get the fuck out of this cursed place. He'd tried so many things. As Crispin washed his hands in the crystal clear water siphoned from a stream in the Alps or some shit Anar realised that one thing he had never contemplated in a million years was sucking up to someone with connections. Someone like Crispin. He just needed an opportunity. If his luck was still on his side then one should open up very soon.

“It sure is nice in here,” Crispin commented as he looked around. “why don't they make the offices like this?”

Anar shrugged, “Hell runs on misery. They like that cold clinical look, it's not meant to be welcoming, or pretty to look at. And they make sure every desk has a wobbly leg and every chair has a squeak. Despicable stuff.”

“It's not like that here on the upper floors,” he objected, “wouldn't you like to work your way up? Ohh, but you're a troublemaker aren't you?” Instead of the usual disapproving looks Anar received, Crispin seemed rather amused about this, “I like to cause a bit of havoc too.”

“Oh really? How interesting. You know, back at the Infernal Holy College we used to get up to all sorts of mischief, but once everyone graduates they get all stuffy and boring.”

Crispin nodded, “don't they just? Hey we should have some fun together!”

Anar shook his head, “I'm in enough trouble as it is, pal. I'm this far from being deleted,” he held his thumb and forefinger very close together indeed to emphasise his point.

Crispin scoffed, “naww, I'll make sure you're alright. My dad can do anything.”

Anar tried to hide his excitement. This was it. This was his opportunity. Make friends with the dumb-as-a-rock rich kid with the influential dad. Today Hell, tomorrow Land of the Living. They just needed to bond, as unsavoury as that sounded. The guy wanted fun and mischief, well he could give him a fair dose of that! He grabbed as much loo roll as he could and started getting it wet.

“Yeah! I remember doing this!” Crispin joined in, lobbing great clumps of the sopping luxury toilet paper up at the decorative ceiling. Some poor unsuspecting Director or Duke would be getting a headful of that when it dropped down. They stepped back to admire their handiwork. There wasn't a satanic cherub up there without a glob on them.

“Brilliant,” they uttered together.

Back on the dreary and dull Floor twenty two Crispin borrowed a chair without asking and sat by his new associate to watch him work. Or he would have done, if Anar actually did any work. Instead, he showed him his masterpieces deep in the bowels of the database.

“So is this what you got into so much strife for?” he asked eventually.

“Sort of, yeah. Got to put it all back now though. All these files-” he nodded to the groaning in-tray “-are the original archived documents of every demon that has signed a contract here since forever. Now we're digital it's my job to upload them. There's millions upon millions of them. Then demonology students can look for them, research them, do what they wish really.”

“Am I in there?” Crispin asked excitedly, “can you put a picture of Harrison Ford in for me?”

Anar laughed, “I'm nowhere near this year's intake. I've still got fucking papyrus scrolls to do. Look at the state of this.” He grabbed a tatty brown square and waved it about. “This is in Infernal. I spend as much time translating as I do actually inputting data.”

Crispin peered closely, “huh. Thought that was Draconish actually. My dad knows a dragon. Nice chap. Works in one of the contract offices.”

That was news to Anar, not that he was at all surprised. Dragons were beyond his understanding. If one wanted to work in Hell then fair play. Though he'd at least expect it to be guarding the treasure vaults; sitting on hoards was what they did, after all. “I've never seen Draconish,” he dismissed, “so I wouldn't know. Anyway once I've finished working out what it says and entering the text then I get to scan in the original drawings using the big behemoth over in the corner.” He showed the human demon what he meant.

The massive black slab of a machine beeped and whirred merrily, lights flashing and rollers chunting. “It's got a mind of its own, this thing,” Anar groaned as an error message flashed up joyfully on the display. “Another of our fine achievements. Error messages...”

“Error 249. What's Error 249?”

“Buggered if I know. We've got a user manual for it somewhere but from what I've worked out in my extensive time dealing with the thing Error 249 is 'I can't be arsed'. Watch this-” he gave it a swift boot with his clunky New Rock footwear. Lights turned green and it rumbled back into life. “And that's about all you need to know about the hardware we use down here.”

He scanned the ancient document and walked back to his desk. “Now we find it in the files system,” he clicked and leaned back.

Crispin's eyes grew wide, “what the eff?”

“Yup! It's a complete mess in there. Specially designed to make a simple task want to make you jump out a window. And I'll remind you that I have a large pile. Every day. Sometimes the computer just crashes because its worked hard and needs a bit of a nap.”

“Do you give it a thump?” Crispin grinned.

Anar shook his head, “responds better if you threaten it with a screwdriver.”

He clapped with glee, “amazing! Well I think I'm done for today, mate. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? I'll get Alexis to sit me opposite you and we can doss together. I've got some stuff my dad's been working on to show you, you'll love it!”

Anar watched him go and drummed his fingers on his desk, deep in thought. Fate had landed him in his lap. They were getting along wonderfully. How was he going to manipulate this? He had to think on his feet, Crispin was not going to be hanging around for long before he was off up the elevator and far from lowlife such as himself. Maybe he should have tried to arrange something after work? Hell was full of recreation and distraction, lots to see and do (if you weren't wallowing in the pit). There was one person he could always rely on to give him some clarity regarding these things.

“I heard about your new friend!” Rap beamed no sooner than he had walked through the door of the apartment.

A few years ago Anar might have been shocked at how quickly news travelled but when it came to Rap he expected it. The raptor could weedle information out of anybody concerning anyone, it was one of his skills.

“Heard you've been wandering around with him all day. Been having fun?”

He simply nodded and tossed his bag down, landing on the sofa. The television wasn't on.

“Went 'fzzt' earlier, Rave grumped, “so I unplugged it before it could go 'bang'.”

“Oh great! Now I'll never find out if Timmy is Derek's long-lost son from when he had an affair with Grace while his wife was in a coma, will I?”

The next morning as the bright red Ferrari pulled up to his usual space in the Hell Afterlife Services parking lot Anar was fast asleep. He'd stayed up far too late; busy winning at Monopoly and answering endless questions about Crispin Huttgart. Rap hated not knowing every detail about everyone that Anar came into close proximity to and eventually he was forced to agree to coercing the unprepared human into joining them for smoothies at The Bloody Cafe after work. He woke to the car rattling off today's natural disasters and death tolls in its abysmal cheery tone. He rubbed his eyes and told it to shush. Then more noise in the form of his new friend whooping loudly accosted his overly long ears.

He got out of the car to find Crispin, dressed in yesterday's clothes for some reason, crooning over the Italian sports car loudly, “whoa that's so freaking cool, is that yours? For real? Can I have a spin? That is without a doubt the most beautiful car I've ever seen! That's like out of Miami Vice or something. Aw come on, you've got to take me for a ride in this, man. It's just too radical!” He was hopping from one foot to the other in excitement.

It was too early for this. It really was. But he'd promised himself he wouldn't be grumpy and he would try to get close to the blithering idiot. “We'll be late in...” he argued feebly.

Crispin waved his hand dismissively, “nah, it's fine, I can do what I like. Told you, while you're with me you won't get into any more trouble, you're golden.” He looked from Anar to the car and back again eagerly.

“All right,” Anar shrugged defeatedly, “hop in.”

Buckling up his seatbelt, Crispin was fascinated with the array of controls on the dash, “what do these do?” he asked as they sped off down the main street, music blaring.

Anar started from left to right, “front de-mist, back de-mist, front fog light, back fog light, wipers, navigation, air conditioning, grapple hook and machine gun.”

“Right.” He was sure those last two were a joke but his unusual driver must have had a good poker face because he looked perfectly serious.

Then the car started talking: “the speed limit for this zone is forty kilometres per hour,” it announced happily, “currently travelling at fifty kilometres per hour...”

“Shut up!” Anar barked.

“Turning off voice prompts,” it sulked.

Crispin made some funny noises, “wha-?”

“Don't ask. I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to do that. Weird shit happens to me all the time.” He dodged a pothole. Lack of traffic meant that the roads were not well cared for.

“It's seriously wicked,” his passenger breathed in amazement. “We're going to have home computers that can talk to you soon, you know. Like you won't have to type anything anymore, just speak and they'll do everything for you. Talk to text. And they'll announce the news and your diary entries-”

“Today's diary entries are-”

“Shut up!”

“Turning off voice prompts,” the car grumbled, “again.”

They drove round some more, aiming for pedestrians whenever the opportunity arose. “I'd love something like this,” Crispin said wistfully, “but the paperwork for motors down here is a ball ache and a half.”

Anar nodded, feigning agreement. He said nothing.

“Your file on the database is pretty interesting. I didn't know your dad was a Director.” He braced himself as the Ferrari ground to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road.

Anar turned to him with teeth bared, angrily, “how did you get into my file?”

“Ah, er, I shouldn't have mentioned that, should I? Am I in trouble? I'm in trouble, right? Ah crap.”

“My file is locked. I know because I locked it!” he spat dangerously.

Crispin retreated as far back into the genuine leather covered seat as he physically could. “My dad does security,” he squeaked, “I mean I was just going to ask but you looked fed up with all my inquiries already, yeah?”

“Security?” Anar asked, putting his fangs away, “What sort of security?”

The frightened new demon blinked, “well, sort of security. Sort of. He... breaches it. Hacks. Can get in anywhere. Well almost anywhere. He'd been trying to fire American nukes before his latest project. Their missile launch codes are especially tricky to source.”

Anar dropped his shoulders and stepped back on the gas before the car could start nagging him about stopping on a main road without his hazard lights on or some such nonsense. “I see,” he said. “So you managed to gain access to my locked file.” He was going to have to try harder at being hidden, wasnt he?

Crispin carried on rambling in his nervous tone, “so yeah, you're a pretty interesting dude. Level ten Turned; magical potential off the charts. Big fancy house above the Styx, top security clearance, approved memberships to all the recreational centres, you don't even have to pay for anything. It all comes out your dad's expenses. Even I don't get those sorts of privileges,” he sniffed.

Anar steadied his hands on the wheel and chewed his cheek, remembering Rap's breathing techniques to stay composed. Truth was he never once stepped foot in the posh building his father had given him the key to, not one time had he shown his face at any of the many leisure centres he was on the member's lists for, and as for getting stuff for free? Nope. He paid his own way. But Crispin didn't know any of that. Didn't need to know. As far as the daft monkey was concerned Anar was just another rich kid living under daddy's shadow when the truth was Anar made a conscious effort to put as much space as he possibly could between himself and that awful man. He never wanted to see him, never wanted to bump into him, never wanted to have any dealings of any kind with him ever, ever again. Thank fuck he spent most of his time Upstairs these days.

“So we're still friends, right?” Crispin's voice broke his inner grumbles.

“What? Yeah, sure. Yeah, friends. Right.” He pulled back into the car park and set the handbrake.

“Good.” He sounded genuinely relieved. “I could really do with a friend right now.”

A quick glance to the side and Crispin's bright smile had, just for a moment, shifted to something that could only be described as 'hunted'. Maybe Anar wasn't the only one who had things to hide? I've found him for a reason. There's always a reason...

They spent the morning raiding Coke from the vending machines and attempting to tame the computers into doing their bidding. Word had gotten round as to who the new guy was and they were given a wide berth, even Alexis didn't bother them and he customarily made fresh employees afterlives as miserable as he possibly could. Every time his manager dared to step foot on the laminate flooring Anar would tap his fist into his open palm and the self-important demon would scurry away without a word. Crispin couldn't not ask what that was all about.

“We were at Infernal Holy College together,” Anar grinned evilly, “I used to knock ten shades of shit out of him on the regular. He's a bully. Can't abide bullies. He'll be off up a few more floors soon, and good riddance too.”

Crispin's mouth made an 'O' shape. “I don't like conflict. I've never hit anyone.”

“Sometimes you've got to stand your ground or you'll get walked all over.”

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah you're right. Hey would you like to hang out after work maybe? I mean, if you don't mind.”

“Now there's a coincidence, I was going to ask if you fancied joining me and my mates for a smoothie at The Bloody Cafe.”

Crispin's face lit up. “That would be brilliant! I love it there, they do some wicked Devil's Food cake. What are your mates like? Are they pretty cool like you?”

Images of Rap in his favourite dress and Rave being Rave caused him to stutter, “y-yeah, they're cool...” oh crap, this could go really awry. But a promise was a promise.

“Of course they are! Someone like you must be really popular, even if you do have a grumpy disposition,” he grinned widely.

“Popular. Yeah.” Anar wasn't so sure about that! He had two good mates and one of them wouldn't sob if he dropped dead.

“So this thing I was going to show you? Come here and take a look.” Crispin tapped at his monitor.

Anar walked round the desks, stood behind him and peered closely. “What is that funny thing?” he asked. An angry black cartoon insect wriggled on the page.

“That,” explained the human in hushed tones, “is what my father was working on after the whole nukes project fell through. That,” he said, “is the Millennium Bug.”

Anar had heard rumours floating around about the various plans Hell had to cause chaos at the turn of the Millennium on the mortal plane. One of their jolly japes was convincing the gullible sods Upstairs that computers couldn't handle the calendar turning to the year 2000 and nothing was going to work anymore. They had spent years slowly building up society's reliance on modern digital methods and then sat back and watched the unfolding bedlam as media revealed it was all going to come crashing down at 11:59 31/12/1999.

“I thought it was a hoax? A wind-up?” Anar inquired carefully.

Crispin shook his head, “it's a very real piece of malware that the Board is intending to use. If they implement it, nuclear reactors are going to shut down. Military systems will crash. Missiles all over the place and everyone grows an extra limb.”

“I see.” Anar paused. “And your dad came up with this?”

Crispin frowned, “he did. It was all set up and ready to go.” There was a heavy silence.

“But?”

“The hardware it was stored on was stolen a few days ago. Someone else presented it to the Board before my dad had a chance to. Another Director has taken my dad's work and is receiving all the credit for it. Even worse, they're constantly reminding the Inner circle of the failed nuclear takeover and I found out last night that dad is about to be demoted.”

Anar sucked his teeth sharply, demotion was a word you didn't utter aloud. Deletion was bad, yes, poof and you were gone, never to have existed but demotion brought shame with it. Shame and ridicule. The scorn of Hell was merciless. Anar's brain neurons fired like never before, his thoughts creeping along pathways that lead to indescribable ends.

“That's a shame,” was what he actually said.

Crispin clicked off and the funny moving icon vanished. He sighed. “I haven't told anyone else about it. No one else would have cared. But you seem alright. I thought coming here to HAS was going to be a laugh; get up to some trouble, ruffle a few feathers, hang out with the big boys on the upper floor but now Hell is showing its true colours – no one's safe from its torments it seems. Not us, not you.”

Anar nodded. This was not a place for the meek and mild. And Crispin was not a tough guy by any means. Having a daddy up on the top levels offered you some protection but if that rug were to be pulled from beneath your feet...

The rest of the day passed by with a subdued atmosphere and the evening crawled in.