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Tommy "Two-Times" Fertucci hated a lot of things. He hated pastrami. He hated his brother-in-law. He hated the fact that he had to wear orthotics, but more than all that Tommy hated that he had been burnt. Every time Tommy looked in the mirror and his gaze caressed the warped flesh of his mutilated face his hatred was stoked all the more. He looked down at the back of his melted hand, wrapped around the butt of a Sig Sauer P320. He looked up further, down the iron sights to stare into the opaque shades of The Man in Black, that damned cigar still smoking between his teeth.


"Now what, mate?" The Man grinned, drawing on the cigar sending plumes of blue smoke into the night sky. The Scottish brogue echoed off the brick of the surrounding apartment buildings but was overmatched by the sound of slamming windows. 


"You motherfucker, you got some stugots showin' your face ta me! You scarred me an' you didn't have to. Didn't have to!" Tommy shook the gun in fury as he stared the other man down. "I was just there on a job, on a job!"


"An' what of it? Ye took the job didn'ye?" The Man in Black grinned in anticipation and shifted his feet, the black leather loafers scraping at the pavement.


And that's when Tommy shot him. The bullet passed through the other man's forehead, throwing him off his feet. A fedora, a cigar and a pair of burnt-orange shades floated upward, twisting and spinning in the air before landing unceremoniously in the gutter. Aside from that, nothing moved for a few moments. The echo of the gunshot disappeared into the ether, no sirens were heard, no dogs barked. Tommy shrugged, turned away and moved to replace the weapon in his shoulder holster and then stopped.


The mobster braced himself against a sudden gust of wind that rushed in towards the dead man. As quickly as the wind came it vanished, only to be replaced by a roar. Tommy turned and had to shade his eyes as The Man in Black lifted off the street cradled in the wings of Hellfire. The black, two-piece, three button suit with burnt orange pinstripes was gone and replaced with blackened armour plates of otherworldly origin. His hair, wild and loose floated in the upcurrents, a ragged, scorched and shredded cape hung from his shoulders. The Angel on Fire straightened and folded his arms as he stared down at Tommy Fertucci from sockets dancing with malevolent flame.


"How... how did you do that, do that?!" Tommy raised the gun again and this time there was no hesitation. He squeezed the trigger, and then again and again, but the rounds seemed to just splatter as they reached the target, superheated to the point where they were more liquid than solid.


"I tol' ye, Tommy. I tol' ye ye should turn yerself in, but ye didnae listen, did ye?" His voice snapped angrily as he spoke, his voice shaking the recently closed apartment windows. "I tol' ye tae turn yerself in, Tommy!"


Thunder rolled over Independence Port and Tommy Fertucci closed his eyes against the flash of light. When he opened them, for the last time on Earth it was to the sound of hard soled loafers on pavement.

"An' now yer comin' with me, lad." The mobster screamed in agony as The Man in Black gripped his forearm with a bare hand. A portal opened, scarring the street and setting off car alarms. Streetlights flickered and buzzed out while still others flared before bursting. Tommy's screams were heard long into the night after the portal closed and both men were gone. The howls seemed to haunt the neighbourhood in a way they hadn't before, on those other occasions when this community had witnessed this sort of thing. It's almost like Tommy "Two-Times" seemed to scream twice as loud and twice as long as he descended to Hell.


Slowly, windows began to open, letting in the cool night air.

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-The Legendary Living Hellfire

"The newest person in the room is always the most important person in the room"

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