[Agent ALICE STERLING, Agent CLARK ADAMS, and Doctor CONTESSA THORNER are seated at a table in the Site bar. Several empty glasses litter the table. There are about three dozen other off-duty personnel in the lounge, mingling.]

ADAMS: So then I tell her: ma'am, if you keep resisting, I'm going to have to use UNDEAD-ly force.

[He giggles drunkenly. The other two stare at him.]

STERLING: What?

ADAMS: She was a demon. So I says—

THORNER: Demons aren't undead.

ADAMS: Uh, yes they are. They suck your blood, turn into bats.

THORNER: Those are vampires, Clark.

ADAMS: Oh. Yeah. Right. I knew that. You know. Yeah.

STERLING: Wait, have you been working here forseven years thinking that we were containing vam—

ADAMS: I'll go get another round!

[ADAMS slides out of his seat and heads to the bar.]

STERLING: So, Tess — happy to be done?

THORNER: Done printing a hundred page paper from our shitty printer,yes. Done with the thesis, not quite yet! I still have to present the findings at the annual conference and then actually apply the findings. I'm thinking of creating a reverse-TRE vacuum—

STERLING: Relax, hun. You'll be fine, you always kill it with this nerd stuff.

THORNER: Thanks. Just so excited, you know? I've beendreaming about this day ever since I started this project. When I'm not dreaming about killing and dissecting the Vegas Mothman, I mean.

STERLING: Sometimes you scare me, Tess.

[ADAMS returns with three bottles of beer, taking a seat.]

ADAMS: Aw hell yeah. Oh, anyone got a bottle opener?

THORNER: No, but I have a shiv I made from demon-horn-shavings.

STERLING: Same principle.

[THORNER takes one of the bottles, removing the small knife from her labcoat, and wedges it under the bottlecap. It opens the bottle but slips, cutting her thumb.]

FILESERV CONTEXTUAL NOTICE: The sole remaining step to complete the summoning ritual Dr. Thorner had accidentally begun was the sacrifice of the blood of a virgin.

THORNER: Ow!

STERLING: Oh shit, are you okay?

THORNER:(Lightly sucking her thumb) Should be fine, it's not deep. I haven't had any feeling in that thumb since I got a fourth degree holy burn on it, anyway. Let's drink!

[The three raise their bottles, clinking them together. At the same time, the facility begins to shake, quickly increasing in intensity. Personnel look around, dive to the floor, and surreptitiously steal bottles of alcohol from behind the bar in the chaos.]

ADAMS: Uhhhhh I think we're having a storm. No, an earthquake.

[STERLING yanks ADAMS down under the table. The shaking continues to increase as a large, red-ringed glowing gateway forms on the far wall, shooting sparks and surrounded by inscribed runes. Through the 4m wide circle, the hellish landscape of the Las Vegas Beltway can be seen. A hulking, red-skinned, ram-horned demon wearing a Los Angeles Lakers jersey and shorts over its weighty frame ducks through the gateway. A deflated basketball is impaled on its left horn.]

UNIDENTIFIED: GRAAARGH! WHO DARES INTERRUPT THE PRINCE OF THE INFERNAL CITY, THREE LENGTHS FROM A GAME-WINNING ALLEY-OOP? WHODARES?!

[Several security personnel raise their weapons and move forward, surrounding the demon. It ignores them, raising its fists in fury and pointing at Dr. THORNER.]

UNIDENTIFIED: YOU!

THORNER: W-what do you want from me?

UNIDENTIFIED: TO HURRY THIS TRANSACTION UP, WE STILL HAVE THREE MINUTES ON THE CLOCK. I CAN STILL MAKE IT BACK AND BEAT THOSE JUNIOR VARSITY PIECES OF GARBAGE!

[Site security begin to pour into the lounge.]

SECURITY: Close your eyes and put your hands behind your head!

UNIDENTIFIED: STUPID INEXPERIENCED SUMMONERS! YOU MAKE ME ANGRY!

THORNER: I'm sorry, what kind of demon are you? What transaction?

UNIDENTIFIED: I AM THE PRINCE OF UNDERVEGAS, YOU INDECENTLY-DRESSED TRASHCAN! YOU PERFORMED AN ANCIENT RITUAL UNPERFORMED FOR CENTURIES, CRAFTED BY A KING TO SACRIFICE HIS CASTLE AND ALL IN IT TO ME IN EXCHANGE FOR—

[It pauses.]

UNIDENTIFIED: WAIT, WHAT DID YOU WANT? IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR CASTLE… I GUESS YOU'RE THE QUEEN? YOU HUMANS ALL DRESS STRANGE NOW.

THORNER: I don't want anything, I didn't—

UNIDENTIFIED: OH! WOW. WOW, THAT'S ACTUALLY… REALLY GENEROUS OF YOU. SERIOUSLY, THAT'S THE FIRST TIME SOMEONE'S EVER DONE THIS WITHOUT ANY TAKESY-BACKSIE HORSESHIT. I APPRECIATE THAT.

THORNER: No, that's not what—

ADAMS: Yeah, that's real nice of you, Doc.

UNIDENTIFIED: AND SO I WILL BRING LOW YOUR CASTLE, QUEEN, BRINGING IT AND YOU INTO MY INFERNAL REALM— WAIT, WHERE EXACTLY ARE WE? WHATEVER, GOING DOWN.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

OVCOM: Overwatch Command Operator speaking, is this Site-666 Director Randall House?

HOUSE: It is.

OVCOM: Please make sure this is an actual emergency, Director House. And once again, minor reductions in your budget and employee insubordination are not emergencies.

HOUSE: Hold on, let me fax you something. If this goddamn copier would work. It's gotta be a paper jam or something, but I really don't want to open it up. Useless—

OVCOM: Director House.

HOUSE: We're in Hell.

OVCOM: Is that… standard?

HOUSE: A little bit.

OVCOM: What's different now?

HOUSE: I'm looking out of my window, and I can only see a fire-and-brimstone version of the Vegas Strip. Typically that would signify a bachelor party, but right now it seems like we have slipped into Hell. I think I can see a cavern roof where the sky should be. Also, all the casinos are wrong and there are demons everywhere.

OVCOM: Oh. That seems… problematic.

HOUSE: A little bit.

OVCOM: Hold on, please.

[The OVCOM operator patches into several internal security feeds of Site-666. They all return no signal. He switches to several security feeds of the exterior of the building.]

[The building is no longer there.]

OVCOM: Hm. That's not good.

HOUSE: Yep.

OVCOM: Wait, something's sticking out of the ground. Some sort of glass pyramid. Is that—

HOUSE: The House-Nicolas Theoplanar Vacuum Unit, yes. The single most important object in Site-666.

OVCOM: Which is laying outside in the parking lot.

HOUSE: Yes.

OVCOM: Not in Site-666.

HOUSE: No. It anchors itself and Site-666 to Earth.

OVCOM: And Site-666 is in…

HOUSE: Hell.

OVCOM: I see.

[He sighs.]

OVCOM: I'm gonna go wake up O5-6.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

HOUSE: WHAT THE—

ADAMS: He'sgonnasayithe'sgonnasayithe'sgonna—

HOUSE:FUCK DID YOU ALL DO?

ADAMS: Hah! Wait.

MACKENZIE: Our readings inform us that an exceptionally powerful demonic presence suddenly entered the Site at 0251 hours.

HOUSE: Great job, I could tell from the security footage of the 9 foot tall guy with red skin and horns. Calling himself the Prince of Undervegas. Title's taken, jackass.How did he get in? Andhow did he drag the Site into Hell despite the Unit being on? Andhow do we get out? I want answers, people, not drool on your clipboards.

THORNER: I may be able to help with that, Director. I believe I know how the demon got into the Site. The references to being a prince of the city reminded me of some interviews from my thesis paper, so I quickly ran down to my office and read through a few dozen pages of testimonies from interrogated demons. Then cross-referenced those with some old first editions of the Ars Goetia, Lemegeton, Inferno, and Pseudomonarchia Daemonum I had lying around.

HOUSE: It's been like fifteen minutes.

THORNER: Yes, I used the remaining time to make some coffee.

[THORNER sips from a coffee mug. It is emblazoned with the words "#1 DEMONOLOGIST".]

HOUSE: Damn, okay. What did you find?

THORNER: It appears that at my thesis reading earlier in the week, I inadvertently spoke some phrases in Latin that began a complex ritual to summon an exceptionally powerful demon Prince. Through the following week, I essentially completed all of the rest of the steps as daily part of my research. Vivisection, demonic worship, communing with spirits, verbal abuse of my graduate students. The ritual was completed tonight, when I cut my thumb, spilling the blood of a vir— a person who has a regular, standard amount of sex.

THOMPSON: So you're saying that you summoned a Prince of Hell into the Site.

[Silence.]

THORNER: I am no longer confident I know how the demon got into the Site.

HOUSE: Ugh. Okay. Thompson, how are we holding?

THOMPSON: We have enough on-Site power to survive a week, assuming the air is breathable, which it seems to be.

HOUSE: Can we power the… other thing, with that?

THOMPSON: What other thing?

[Pause.]

THOMPSON: Oh! Oh, yes. The other thing. I'm… not sure, sir. Not for long, and not very well. The real issue is the clientele. The guests are relaxed for now, but I expect within 4 hours we'll be dealing with real resistance to not letting them leave.

HOUSE: This is a Vegas casino, so make that 8. But point taken. How many of our MTFs do we have?

KURTZ: Only 25% of High Rollers were on base at the time of the incident. The ones left topside are holed up in Caesar's Palace.

HOUSE: Okay. Okay, let me think. Doctor Thorner.

THORNER: Yes?

HOUSE: Here's your chance to redeem yourself: where exactly are we and how do we get out of here?

THORNER: I'm going to need more research for that. With our largest MTF out of commission—

KURTZ: I mean, we still have over a hundred troo—

THORNER: —and completely disabled, I propose that you let me take a small, three-man survey team out of the Site to assess what we're dealing with. We'll move fast, talk with some the demons that appear to be writhing outside, and with any luck we'll have our way out of here quick.

HOUSE: That's surprisingly not insane, coming from you. Not even any dissection necessary.

THORNER: It's unfortunate, but not every problem can be solved by well-applied scalpels. Just the vast majority of them.

HOUSE: Alright. You'll go, I'll come with you.

[A chorus of dissent springs up from the assembled Site leadership.]

MACKENZIE: Sir, we need your expertise in case the demonology equipment stops—

KURTZ: Letting a Site Director go anywhere dangerous without a full platoon is madness. And more important, against Foundation policy—

THOMPSON: The personnel and client questions aren't going to stop, Director, and we need someone for the buck to—

LEIBOWITZ: Sir, we need someone to fix the printer—

HOUSE: Okay! Okay! I get it. Jesus Christ.

ADAMS: He's not—

HOUSE: Don't say it! Only I get to say that.

STERLING: Wait, Clark, why are you even here?

[Everyone turns to look at Agent ADAMS.]

ADAMS: Dunno. Everyone else was walking this way.

HOUSE: You know what, that's a pretty good reason. Anyway, I'm going to radio back to Overwatch and tell them to hold off sending the cavalry. Doctor Thorner, hurry up and assemble your team for this mission. I'm going to stick around batting down the fires here and assisting you from base. The rest of you, make sure your spheres are as clean as they can be in the circumstances and lend help to those who need it.

[A rousing, affirmative chorus from the group.]

HOUSE: We might be in Hell, but that doesn't mean we're gonna go to it.

[A weaker chorus goes around.]

HOUSE: Yeah, that sounded cooler in my head. Dismissed.

[The group disperses, the various researchers, engineers, and soldiers getting up from the conference table. HOUSE approaches THORNER.]

HOUSE: Doctor, you're going to need an exceptionally seasoned, and well-trained crack team of operators to pull this off. You know that, right?

THORNER: I know, sir.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

[A single Foundation-issue black Suburban leaves Site-666's underground parking garage. It stops in front of the door as it inches open.]

ADAMS: Why us?!

STERLING: You had an entire MTF to pick from! Those guys are Army Rangers, Navy SEALs! One dude told me he was in the Ty Special Operations Team!

ADAMS: The Beanie Babies company?

STERLING: Yeah, they've really cracked down on knockoffs lately.

THORNER: I could lie to you about your incredible capabilities and your hearts of gold.

ADAMS: True, that does sound like something I'd believe.

STERLING: Clark, you're a moron.

THORNER: The truth is that you two are basically the only people I can actually talk to. With everyone else I'm busy inspecting their eyelids or seeing how fast their heart beats when they talk. But you guys are… tolerable.

STERLING: Aw, Tess. That's sweet of you.

THORNER: Don't mention it.

STERLING: No, seriously, that's the nicest thing—

THORNER: No, seriously, don't mention it to anyone. I don't want them to control their heart rates when I talk to them. It ruins my data.

[The blast doors open and the Suburban rockets out, jumping the curb.]

ADAMS: Hey, are you sure you can like, see over the wheel?

THORNER: Of course I can see over the steering wheel! I failed my driver's test because I'm color-blind, not that.

ADAMS: Oh, cool. Wait, what?

STERLING: You have like six PhDs and you don't have a driver's license?

THORNER: They had to invent a new class for me:"vehicular menace".

[The Suburban makes a slow loop around Site-666. The group looks out of the windows.]

STERLING: It looks… just like Vegas.

ADAMS: No, look at the buildings. They're all wrong. None of the big casinos are there. The Bellagio, the MGM. These are all the old ones. I think that's the Dunes, the Sand in the distance. Oh shit, do you think Frank Sinatra's down here?

THORNER: We can only hope.

ADAMS: Man, my grandma's gonna be so disappointed.

STERLING: If the megacasinos aren't down here, what are those?

[She points at the far end of the Strip. There are multi-story buildings reaching up to the caverned roof, with neon signs proclaiming their names. The most visible is "DESSERT INN".]

ADAMS: You mean the Desert Inn?

STERLING: No, it definitely says Dessert.

ADAMS: No idea. There's never been a casino called that in Vegas.

[The car pulls out of Site-666, which is haphazardly planted into the rock by the roadside. They get onto the main road of the Strip. It is a gently curving circle, other buildings lining the roadside. Almost immediately, demons become visible everywhere. Demons of all kinds, shapes, and appearances fill the streets, drinking out of paper bags, partying, and generally causing a ruckus. Big band music seems to ring out over the entire city, fueling the drunken rave. Flying demons are visible overhead, doing much the same in midair.]

THORNER: Oh my. Oh my oh my oh my.

ADAMS: Uh, Doc? You good?

[THORNER's face is one of childlike glee behind her round glasses. She squeaks out an answer.]

THORNER:Finecoolgreat. This is like Vegas cranked up to a hundred. I can see all of the seven major kinds of demons here, in the flesh. It's amazing.

[Outside, the entities crowd the SUV, impeding its movement.]

ADAMS: Hey boss, hit the windshield spray.

[The car stops moving.]

ADAMS: Parking brake. Try again.

[The car resumed movement, then small sprays of water shoot out of jets at the base of the windshield and around the front and rear bumpers. The demons hiss, backing away and giving the vehicle a wide berth.]

STERLING: What was that?

THORNER: Looks like… holy water?

ADAMS: Yeah, baby. Rigged the car with it a few months ago. Never expected to actually use it.

[The car slowly moves down the strip, parting the deluge of partying demons.]

STERLING: There have got to be about a bazillion payday loans and pawnshops here, what the hell?

ADAMS: I didn't bring my wallet, damn.

STERLING: Clark, we don't even know if they use dollars.

ADAMS: You're right. This seems like a Euro kinda place.

STERLING: Actually, we don't know a lot more than that. We should probably… talk to one of them.

[THORNER rolls down her window.]

THORNER: Hey. HEY!

[A mustard-yellow male figure wearing a dark suit and clutching a briefcase turns towards the car. He has a sharp haircut and a sharper tail.]

DEMON: Can I help you?

STERLING: We were wondering if we could ask you a few ques—

DEMON: Hey, nice car.

ADAMS: Thanks!

DEMON: How much?

STERLING: What?

DEMON: How much for the car?

STERLING: Car's not for sale. Now listen—

ADAMS: Now hold on, let's hear him out.

DEMON: Sure it is. Everything's for sale.

[The demon walks over. STERLING and CLARK draw their guns, but he kneels down and lifts the car.]

DEMON: Mine.

STERLING: Put us down!

DEMON: I said,mine.

UNIDENTIFIED: Hey, Rocko. She said, put them down.

DEMON: Or what?

[A loud SLAM is heard beneath them, and the yellow-skinned demon goes flying in an arc through the air, landing meters away in a pile of bodies. The car is lowered to the ground by a different demon — a tall, muscular female demon. She has long horns, a ponytail of white hair, and is dressed in a gym shirt and sweatpants. The shirt reads "JUMP ROPE TO JUMP POPE". She speaks in a light Irish accent.]

UNIDENTIFIED: You guys alright?

STERLING: Uh, yes. We are. Thanks.

UNIDENTIFIED: No problem. Rocko has a habit of doing that.

[Distantly, the demon is attempting to claim the pavement he is laying on as "mine".]

UNIDENTIFIED: No horns, pale, fleshy skin. You're humans. And what's more…

[She sniffs the air, leading her face-to-face with Agent STERLING.]

UNIDENTIFIED: No sin coming off you, either. Well, not much. You're probably the most straightedge people that have been in this part of town in years. Besides Father Razor, of course.

ADAMS: Thanks!

STERLING: We were hoping you could answer some questions about that, actually. Like what part of town is this?

ADAMS: Also, what town is this?

THORNER: Also, who are you? And why are you Irish?

UNIDENTIFIED: Oh. You don't know.

ADAMS: We don't know most things.

UNIDENTIFIED: Yeah… Ba'al's got a habit of dragging people into Undervegas on misleading deals.

THORNER: Hold on, did you say—

UNIDENTIFIED: Welcome to the Greed District of Undervegas. Second-biggest city in the nine circles of hell, by far the most entertaining. I can't tell you my true name, but I'm a Wrath Demon. I'm here to punch large things. Make room in the car.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

[The group enters the suite. Director House appears to be in the process of assaulting the large copy printer. The office is tastefully decorated, and the window-wall looks out over a completely sheer red rock face.]

HOUSE: Oh, you're back. Excellent. I was just trying to copy a plan for— wait, one of you looks different.

[Director HOUSE stares at the group for several seconds.]

HOUSE: Wait, there's four of you!

ADAMS:(Nodding) Very true, boss. You're so good at counting.

STERLING: This is…. I don't know, actually, she won't tell us her name.

THORNER: It's not that she won't, shecan't. Whoever knows a demon's true name can bind it to their service. Most use some kind of alias, or are just so powerful that they kill/eat anyone who tries to bind them.

STERLING: Hold on, could we bind Ba'al?

THORNER: No, he would eat/kill you. Note the difference in order.

HOUSE: Hold on, someone catch me up.

[Someone catches Director HOUSE up.]

HOUSE: Oh, okay. Well, that's… troublesome.

THORNER: Very. I'm flipping through the demonology library in my mind palace and coming up short on how we can get out of here. Lots of nice pictures, though.

HOUSE: What? Oh, yeah. That's bad too. I was thinking more about how we don't have a name for this demon-lady. It makes conversation difficult.

UNIDENTIFIED: You can just pick one for me, little man.

[Director HOUSE glances at the calendar on his desk. It is open to the month of JUNE.]

HOUSE: I dub thee… AGENT CALENDAR.

CALENDAR: Good enough for me.

HOUSE: Why are you even here, actually?

CALENDAR: You want revenge against Ba'al, right?

HOUSE: I mean we want to go home, but I always leave room for revenge.

CALENDAR: I want to punch things. Can't get much better than punching a Prince of Undervegas.

[A chorus of "yeah, that's fair" goes around the assembled personnel.]

CALENDAR: Also, I'm pretty sure if I leave you people alone you'll get killed. No skin off my back, but…

[She smiles.]

CALENDAR: You seem like nice folks who would be a lot less nice in pieces. So long as you let me punch things for you, I can be a good friend to have in Undervegas.

THORNER: Do Vex-class — I'm sorry, Wrath demons live for combat? Is there a focus on unarmed combat, or do weapons come into play? How many people have you beaten to death? Stabbed? Exsang—

STERLING: Tess. Everyone, actually. We need a plan.

CALENDAR: A good one. Ba'al keeps a tight watch over his little patch of Undervegas. Also his patch of the court. Again, very good point guard.

HOUSE: I think I've got the beginnings of one. But, it's gonna require a little legwork from all of you. Calendar, the Princes of Undervegas — can they be overruled by each other?

CALENDAR: What do you mean?

THORNER: I assume what the Director is trying to say is, can we convince one of the other Princes to send us back to Earth?

CALENDAR: One? No. Ba'al is too powerful for that. Once he quartered and drank another Prince's blood. You know, as a warning. Then sunk a three-pointer from two courts away. But… if you convince maybe three, maybe four of the Princes that they'd materially benefit from Ba'al losing his claim to you, they might want to do it just to mess with him. But I wouldn't bet on it.

HOUSE: Okay. And the thing that's stopping the Vacuum Unit up top from pulling us back up is Ba'al's grip.

CALENDAR: It's more of a mental grip than a physical one. I could definitely beat his physical grip.

HOUSE: I'm sure. But, if we broke his concentration?

CALENDAR: You'd still need something more powerful than one machine on the other side of the barrier.

HOUSE: I might have an ace up my sleeve. I have guys in the bowels of the Site investigating it right now.

THORNER: Even with… whatever you're talking about, we'd still need three Princes to agree to jump Ba'al.

CALENDAR: Good luck getting four of those idiots to agree on anything, though.

HOUSE: We don't need luck. We have something much more powerful than that.

[HOUSE grins malevolently.]

HOUSE: Open, blatant cheating.

«END LOG»

COUNCIL VOTE SUMMARY:

Note: Director House is given emergency authorization to enact Operation SPRUCE OSTRICH. The rest of the Council will probably yell at me about quorum when they wake up, but they should've thought about that before going to sleep.

«BEGIN LOG»

THORNER: Oh, this place is—

STERLING: The worst.

ADAMS: Thebest.

CALENDAR: I'm with redhead. Too many carbs.

[The Suburban drives through the streets of Undervegas. This section of the city is filled with a staggering array of restaurants, eateries, bars, gourmet kitchens, and internet cafes. Gigantic demons sprawl bloated in the street, causing Agent ADAMS to occasionally have to swerve around one.]

ADAMS: I think this dude's eating my front tires. Dumbass doesn't know the back tires are way tastier.

[The car jolts and a wet crunch is heard.]

ADAMS: Okay, now he's not eating any of my tires.

STERLING: What are theyeating?

THORNER: Everything. Gluttony-class demons gorge themselves in excess. The most common is food, but anything that's self-indulgent is taken and used to an extreme.

CALENDAR: Yup. Take one self-care day here, though. Salons, spas, brunches. Everything is to die for. But just one, or before you know it you're one of the poor fat bastards lying there on the asphalt or in the Chik-Fil-A drive-thru.

STERLING: They have Chik-Fil-As in— actually, yeah, that makes sense.

[The car moves through the streets. Gradually, the surrounding demons shift from figures in food comas to ones actively eating.]

THORNER: I expect the dominant figure in this Estate to be simply the largest.

CALENDAR: Hole in one. They decide their Prince through an eating contest. Used to be a little affair — spend a week gorging, whoever consumes the most food wins. Do it again next year. Now, it's like a triathalon of excess. They spend the entire year eating, drinking, watching TV — too much of everything. As soon as the winner is decided, it starts again.

ADAMS: That's no way to live.

THORNER: Gluttons are dead to sensation. Consume enough food and it all tastes like sand. Not that I would know, I exclusively eat tofu and horse protein.

STERLING: Is that for or made of—

THORNER: Both.

CALENDAR: I think we're about here.

[The Suburban stops, and the group gets out of the vehicle. They are in front of a large, sprawling casino complex. Leaving the car by the portico, they walk into the lobby. All around them are gigantic demons — some are little more than spheres with limbs attached, two dozen feet high. All are in the process of consuming a staggering amount of food, ranging from elaborate wedding cakes to vats of ice cream to small bags of potato chips.]

STERLING: I think I'm gonna throw up.

ADAMS: Yeah, this… this sounded cooler in my head.

THORNER: Look for the largest one. Assuming my methodology holds true, he should be the dominant one.

CALENDAR: I think I found him.

[CALENDAR points down the room. A gargantuan demon, pale-skinned and easily over thirty feet wide, sits midway through consuming a small pickup truck's bed of hot chips and sausages. Juices dribble down its chin and the rest of its body. The group approach.]

STERLING: Hello?

[The demon looks down at them from its episode of Seinfeld, startled.]

BELIAL: WHAT? ARE YOU THE PAPA JOHNS?

ADAMS: You mean the delivery guy?

BELIAL: NO, PAPA JOHN. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO GET HERE THIS WEEK. NEVERMIND, WHAT IS IT?

STERLING: Wait, is this… is this the Desert Inn? This place is a Vegas fixture! Frank Sinatra played here!

BELIAL: CLOSE. WE RENOVATED IT INTO THE DESSERT INN. IN FACT, WHEN YOUR HOWARD HUGHES STAYED—

ADAMS: —at the Desert Inn in the 60s, he wanted Baskin-Robbins Banana Nut Ice Cream, but it was discontinued, so he paid Baskin-Robbins to make 350 gallons of it and have it shipped out, but then he decided he didn't want any and the Desert Inn had to give it away for free for a year before he ended up buying it so that they wouldn't make him check out.

[Silence.]

CALENDAR: Why do youknow all that? Are all humans like this?

STERLING: No, Clark's… special.

ADAMS: I grew up in Vegas. I like knowing about it.

BELIAL: SO YOU ARE A MORTAL SOUL! INTERESTING.

CALENDAR: They are. I'm… an independent contractor. Are you the Prince of the Feast?

[BELIAL shovels a tanker truck's hose in his mouth, slurping out the cola.]

BELIAL: AHH. YES, I AM BELIAL, PRINCE OF THE FEAST, REGENT OF CONSUMPTION, HE WHO IS BANNED FROM OLIVE GARDEN. THEY DIDN'T REALLY HAVE GREAT TITLES FOR GLUTTONY DEMONS.

ADAMS: Aw, sorry man.

BELIAL: THAT'S OKAY. WHAT DO YOU WANT?

THORNER: OH MIGHTY DEMON PRINCE, MAY YOU FIND IT WITHIN YOUR VAST AND PRODIGIOUS FORM TO ASSIST US? WE HAVE BEEN TRAPPED IN THIS REALM BY YOUR INFERIOR AND UNCOUTH COLLEAGUE, PRINCE OF THE DOWNCOURT—

BELIAL: WHAT? I DON'T— WHAT IS SHE SAYING?

CALENDAR: They got trapped here by Ba'al and want you to help send them home.

BELIAL: OH. THAT SUCKS. I'M SORRY.

ADAMS: That's okay.

BELIAL: UNFORTUNATELY, I CANNOT ASSIST YOU. MY TIME IS, IN YOUR TERMS,OCCUPADO. I AM ENGAGED IN THE GREAT CONSUMPTION FOR CONTROL OF THE FEAST, AND ANY CONFRONTATION WITH BA'AL WOULD RISK ME LOSING, MUCH AS I WOULD LIKE NO SNACK MORE THAN KNOCKING THAT STUPID SMIRK OFF HIS FACE.

STERLING: How close is the guy in second place?

BELIAL: I'VE EATEN FOUR TIMES TODAY WHAT HE HAS ALL YEAR, BUT YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN THEY'LL GET A SECOND WIND. SORRY, I WISH I— WAIT.

[BELIAL sniffs the air, lowering his face to the group's.]

BELIAL: WHATIS THAT?

STERLING: What's what?

[He points at THORNER. She is gnawing on a small block of tofu.]

THORNER: This? It's tofu. Here, take it.

[She throws it at BELIAL, who catches it in his mouth. He chews, and swallows. After a moment, his eyes light up.]

BELIAL: GREAT GELATINOUS MASS! THIS IS AMAZING.

STERLING: What? It's tofu, it literally tastes like nothing.

CALENDAR: Everything tastes like nothing to Gluttony demons.

ADAMS: So something that actually tastes like nothing… tastes great! It makes perfect sense.

THORNER: What? No! It makes no sense at all!

STERLING: Gift horse, folks.

BELIAL: OH, DO YOU HAVE ANY HORSE ON YOU?

THORNER: Just the protein.

BELIAL: SHAME, HORSE WOULD GO WELL WITH THIS. DO YOU HAVE… MORE, OF THIS TOFU?

THORNER: Plenty. No one ever eats it at my apartment. Also, I live alone and don't invite people over. Also, I don't talk to people. You can have it if you help us.

BELIAL: VERY WELL. I WILL ASSIST YOU IN YOUR CAUSE AGAINST BA'AL. SUMMON ME WHEN I AM NEEDED. I WOULD RECOMMEND DOING IT FROM A DISTANCE. I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO CAUSE SPONTANEOUS FLATTENING.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

HOUSE: Hello?

OVCOM: Overwatch Command operator. Is the situation holding, Director?

HOUSE: Oh, yeah. We're just grand down here. Playing Scrabble and Uno and bonding. Moron. How's the situation topside?

OVCOM: A preliminary camp has been set up in the parking lot of the Luxor, obscuring the TVU from street view. We have people looking at it — as best as they can tell, the device is still functioning, it's just that whatever pulled you into Undervegas is stronger than its pull back up.

HOUSE: I see.

OVCOM: Makes you wish you made two of them, huh?

HOUSE: Yes, it makes me wish I spent another couple dozen million on an exact copy to keep in the basement. In case of emergencies likethe Site falling into Hell one day.

OVCOM: Same. There's a bit of a crowd forming, even at this time of day.

HOUSE: The Strip never sleeps and I imagine the Luxor vanishing would've drawn a crowd at any time of day, but at least we're lucky it's at the dead hours. Is Assistant Director Blake on the scene?

OVCOM: She is.

HOUSE: Patch me through.

BLAKE: Hello? I'd like two pepperonis—

HOUSE: Blake, it's me.

BLAKE: Oh! Randall, is everyone alright? We're in the parking lot, looking at the—

HOUSE: I know. Things seem to be okay. We have the situation under control — we're going to turn the tables on this two-bit hackjob wannabe-archdemon. Already got another Prince on our side. But listen — you need to take care of some things on your end.

BLAKE: Yes?

HOUSE: It's time to enact Plan Copperfield.

[The line goes silent. Gradually, a high, shrill "eeee"ing becomes audible.]

HOUSE: I know, I know. I'm excited too. But be careful, fast, and very, veryloud.

BLAKE: You got it, sir. I'll start making the arrangements immediately.

HOUSE: Good. If everything goes to plan, we'll be back in no time.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

STERLING: Oh my god.

This section of the log has been temporarily redacted by Foundation servercrawler ACC.aic, pending human review.

CALENDAR: Well, that was—

STERLING: No. We're not going to talk about that. Ever. Again.

ADAMS: I think it was a success. We got the Queen's support.

CALENDAR: I got to punch someone in the nose. Good time all around.

STERLING: Look, Tess is still traumatized.

[THORNER wipes off her glasses.]

THORNER: Oh, no. I'm not traumatized. Closest thing to fun I've had in years.

STERLING: I hate all of you.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

BRIDGET: Director House?

HOUSE: Are you the guy Bridget sent to fix my printe— Oh, Engineer Bridget. Did you find it?

BRIDGET: We did. It's there, packed and sealed, like you said it'd be. And this thing just… isn't on any of the schematics?

HOUSE: Nope. Paid for it out of the winnings we got from Pluto way back in '92. Is it intact?

BRIDGET: It seems to be perfectly intact. But we've got the researchers down there just in case. You should probably get down there, too.

HOUSE: I'm currently dealing with about two dozen crises around the Site. I will as soon as I get a free moment.

BRIDGET: Of course. But sir…

HOUSE: Yes?

BRIDGET: I know you helped develop this thing, but the power draw on this device is insane. And we're operating on our reserve power right now. Triggering itwill black out the Site. So we only get one shot at… whatever you're scheming.

HOUSE: I know. We have to be sure. That's what the away team is doing — hedging our bets.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

STERLING: Huh. This is unexpected.

ADAMS: Woah.

[Ivory Towers is a stark contrast from the rest of SCP-7666; rather than a rambunctious, raucous casino-lined street, it appears to be a standard suburban area of Las Vegas. Cookie-cutter homes with small but neat green lawns line the street. Rather than drinking in the street, the humanoid demons are all trimming their hedges, mowing their lawns, or walking down the sidewalk.]

THORNER: This is horrific.

CALENDAR: Agreed. There's hardly any physical abuse going on.

ADAMS: This is nuts! I grew up in a neighborhood just like this. Course, there weren't any demons there. Actually, I always thought the weird old dude who lived across the street was a demon, but it turns out he just had tetanus and anxiety.

CALENDAR: Humans are weird. Where I grew up, the second most popular game was "punch contest".

STERLING: What was the first?

CALENDAR: Monopoly. It usually led into the punch contest.

[CALENDAR flexes her biceps.]

CALENDAR: Three time champ in the old neighborhood, baby.

THORNER: These are Conceit-class demons. Not a lot of these guys in Las Vegas.

STERLING: What's the main casino here? Is there one?

CALENDAR: Bet your sweet ass there is. The Sands shouldn't be far from here. Just follow the trail of people who are smiling at you but clearly think their life choices are slightly better than yours.

[The Suburban continues to drive through the suburbs. As the endless, repetitive neighborhood continues, a demon in a suit waves down the car.]

DEMON: Howdy, neighbors! You folks seem like you're not fromaround here. Let me bid you welcome to Ivory Towers, where we pride ourselves.

[A beat passes.]

STERLING: Oh, I thought you were going to finish that senten—

DEMON: Nope! Can I help you with something?

THORNER: Do you know how to get to the Sands casino?

[The demon chuckles.]

DEMON: Oh, but why would you want to go to the Sands when suburban Ivory Towers is so nice? I mean, we're crime-free, gang-free, homeless-free—

THORNER: Wait. Hold on.

[THORNER sniffs the air intently. She draws her nose closer to the demon.]

THORNER: I know this kind of evil.

ADAMS: What?

THORNER: He's an HOA president.

[The group responds with various noises of disgust.]

CALENDAR: Tell us where the Sands is before I break you over my knee, snotnose.

[He points down the road. The car speeds off — the demon is briefly audible yelling about property valuations and being the recipient of a best-kept lawn award before he disappears in the rearview mirror. Shortly, the sprawling Sands casino comes into view, surrounding by mid-market American sedans and SUVs. Well-dressed, slightly-above-middle-class demons walk in and out of the casino's large doorway. The group parks the car and enter. A bellhop demon greets them.]

The Sands casino and hotel, located in Undervegas.

DEMON: Welcome to the New Sands Casino! Three-time recipient of the Infernal Award for most hospitable Undervegas hotel and casino! Unfortunately, only guests are allowed access, so I'll need to see your—

[CALENDAR picks up the demon by the scruff of his shirt and throws him. He smashes headfirst into the marble wall, and does not move. The other guests stare for a moment before whispering to each other indiscreetly and giving the group a wide berth.]

THORNER: You make an excellent bodyguard, Calendar.

CALENDAR: I don't know what that is, but thanks.

[They move through the casino floor.]

STERLING: Is this place all slot machines or something? I don't see a single other type of game.

[Passing by, ADAMS idly pulls the lever on a slot machine. It jerks.]

ADAMS: Oh, shit! You're a demon.

DEMON:Don't stop.

ADAMS: Yeugh!

[ADAMS whips his hand back.]

CALENDAR: Slot machines are the perfect game for Pride demons. Basically no skill involved, all luck and chance, but they still get to feel superior when they win. Which is why so many of themare slot machines.

STERLING: That… makes a strange amount of sense.

ADAMS: This is nuts, man. Ocean's Eleven was filmed here. Frank Sinatra played here!

STERLING: You've said that about every casino we've been to, Clark.

ADAMS: Because he did!

THORNER: Shut up with your throat noises and look.

[THORNER points down the lane. At the end, between the potted plants and endless rows of slot machines, lies a lone card table, occupied by a single white-suited dealer.]

CALENDAR: Smells like unspeakable evil. That's your man.

ADAMS: Hey, I think I smell it too!

CALENDAR: No, hon, that's the overwhelming aftershave.

ADAMS:(Eyes watering) Oh, yeah.

[The team approaches.]

UNIDENTIFIED: Ohoh. Look at this motley foursome. You must be the humans and the…

[He looks at CALENDAR, lip curling in slight disgust.]

UNIDENTIFIED: Dog accompanying them.

CALENDAR: Careful, pretty boy. I bite.

STERLING: And I guess you're the Pit Boss here.

UNIDENTIFIED: Oh, no. He is.

[He signals behind him. Through the windows of the Sands, a gigantic, disgusting, blue-purple fleshy mass can be seen lying in the courtyard. A single, winding tendril extends from it, snaking across the astroturf and into the wall, before exiting from a vent and landing in the dealer's neck.]

ADAMS: What the hell?!

CALENDAR: Oh, gross.

STERLING: Thaaat's disgusting.

THORNER: Fascinating! I want to dissect it. See how it tastes. Maybe broiled or seared.

UNIDENTIFIED: What?

THORNER: What?

UNIDENTIFIED: You guys are weird river trash. I mean, I knew you were river trash, but I didn't know you were weird. Anyway, I'm just a voice for him. And he's Asmodeus.

[THORNER sucks in a breath.]

STERLING: Based off her reaction, I'm assuming you're important, or have subtly agreed to let her taste you.

ASMODEUS: The former. Belial and Queen Forneus mentioned you wanted to make a deal in IRC.

STERLING: Yeah, we— wait, you use IRC?

ASMODEUS: Yes, Imp Relay Chat. We yell the message at an imp, maybe whip it a little, and it flies across town to deliver it.

THORNER: That's interesting. I like that. We should use that.

ASMODEUS: Indeed. Unfortunately, I highly doubt you have anything to offer me that would will me to move against Ba'al on the behalf of mortals.

STERLING: Yeah, our boss said you might say that.

[STERLING slips her phone from her pocket, dialing a number in. On the second ring, it picks up.]

HOUSE: Hello?

STERLING: You okay, sir?

HOUSE: Yeah, fine. Just trying to get the PRINTER working.

STERLING: Cool. Yeah, we're talking to the Pit Boss in Ivory Towers. An Asmodeus.

HOUSE: Ah, wunderbar. Put me on.

[STERLING hands the phone to ASMODEUS, who takes it hesitantly.]

ASMODEUS: Hello?

[The group watches ASMODEUS' inaudible conversation with the Director. His face goes through several emotions, from disgust, to surprise, to rage, to amusement, and finally back to smug.]

ASMODEUS: Yes, I think that will be quite suitable. Pleasure doing business with you.

[ASMODEUS hands the phone back to STERLING.]

STERLING: Boss, I do not like the look on this guy's face. What did you do?

HOUSE: I'll explain when you get back. It's all part of the plan, don't worry. This guy's an arrogant, smug prick with almost no redeeming qualities. We understand each other.

ADAMS: Don't know if this is the kinda guy we wanna be operating with, Boss.

ASMODEUS: Definitely not. But you don't have a choice. Though of course, you're going to fail anyway.

HOUSE: Wait, what did he say? Put me on speaker.

ASMODEUS: Nothing!

HOUSE: Spit it out, you prehensile fuck!

ASMODEUS: Or what? You're a tiny metal object that folds, you can't do anything to me.

HOUSE: Calendar!

CALENDAR: I don't work for you.

HOUSE: Break his knees!

CALENDAR: Oh, nevermind, I'll work for you.

ASMODEUS: Wait, wait! Okay — the reason Ba'al was able to get your stupid little pyramid down here to begin with despite your anchoring agent was because he had help. From someone on the inside.

THORNER: Yes, we know, me. But not on purpose.

ASMODEUS: Not that. An exceptionally powerful demonic presence. Not just a demon, in fact. The father of all demons. King of the Nine Circles of Hell, Overlord of Sin, Supreme Dawg, the Big Kahuna.

HOUSE: Wait, are you saying that—

ASMODEUS: Yes, you stupid fruit! Satan himself, agent of betrayal and destruction, is in your walls! And as long as he favors Ba'al, you stand no chance!

STERLING: Why would you tell us this?

HOUSE: I signed the contract. He doesn't care what happens as long as he gets his. Shit.

STERLING: Maybe not the best move. What did you promise him?

THORNER: Wait. This is impossible. This doesn't conform to any of the demonology logic we know Undervegas and Hell operates on.

HOUSE: What?

THORNER: Hell aligns with Dante's understanding of it, as attested inInferno. He said Satan was frozen in the bottommost circle of Hell, suggesting any of his appearances were just weak projections. No real Satanic power, just the ability to influence people and things to sin. I interviewed hundreds of demons for my thesis. They all agreed with that.

ASMODEUS: 'Tis true. Our father Satan is still imprisoned in the Great Frigidaire of the Ninth Circle. But even his projection, appearing as a simple, unassuming object, can wreak havoc on you naïve mortals.

HOUSE: Hold on. You said betrayal.

ASMODEUS: The Ninth Circle contains the Great Betrayer. As such, he loves to spread chaos and discord through subtle betrayals and creeping treachery.

HOUSE: Oh. Oh god.

ADAMS: Boss?

HOUSE: What's the one object that, throughout this entire endeavor, has been consistently failing us and betraying us when we need it most? Leaving us frustrated and out to dry, throwing a constant, minor annoyance in my plans to get the Site back to Earth?

[There is silence on the line.]

HOUSE: Get back here immediately.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

HOUSE: You bastard. You thought you could hide right under our noses. Laying low, slinking like a coward. Interrupting our communications. Throwing a wrench in our plans. Ruining my workflow. All just for your own sick pleasure.

[Doctor THORNER and Agents STERLING, CLARK, and CALENDAR burst through the doors into Director HOUSE's office. He is standing in the middle of the room, in front of his printer, holding a sledgehammer.]

HOUSE: Oh, good. I was about to start. AAAAAH!

[He bashes the sledgehammer into the printer, shattering its plastic casing. Nothing happens.]

CALENDAR: I think the pressure cooked his brain.

STERLING: Sir, maybe you should—

[He raises the sledgehammer, smashing it into the printer again and again. His assistant peeks into the office.]

SECRETARY: Sir, why are you assaulting your printer?

HOUSE: Devil got into it.

SECRETARY: Okay, sir.

[She closes the door. Suddenly, the shattered, pulverized remnants of the printer began to shake and emit a thick, black smoke. Everyone jumps back. A stilted, digitally-synthesized voice escapes from its remains.]

SATAN:HA. HA. HA. WELL DONE. I ADMIT, I DID NOT EXPECT YOU TO DEDUCE IT.

HOUSE: You bastard! I wasted so many hours on you!

SATAN:YES. ATTEMPTING TO SOLVE NONEXISTENT PAPER JAMS. TRYING TO ADD TONER WHEN MY TONER WAS FULL. YOU FOOL.

HOUSE: And now?

SATAN:YOU HAVE DESTROYED MY PROJECTION. I WILL HAVE TO RETURN TO MY FROZEN FORM IN THE NINTH CIRCLE FOR NOW. BUT BEFORE I DO THAT. I BELIEVE YOU DESERVE YOUR JUST REWARD.

[There is silence for a moment. Then, an electric spark seems to pass through the air.]

STERLING: Did you feel that?

HOUSE: What was it?!

SATAN:YOU WILL APPRECIATE IT WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT.

ADAMS: Wait. You're like, the Devil, man!

SATAN:YES. I AM LIKE, THE DEVIL, MAN.

CALENDAR: This is definitely not how I expected to meet the big man.

ADAMS: Why are you helping us?

SATAN:I SUPPORT TREACHERY AND BETRAYAL. THE DIRECTION IS LARGELY UNIMPORTANT. I WILL GAIN THE SAME PLEASURE FROM BA'AL'S FACE UPON REALIZING HE NO LONGER POSSESSES HIS FATHER'S FAVOR. MAYBE IF HE HAD BECOME A DOCTOR, BUT NO. FARE THEE WELL, CHUMPS.

[The smoke disperses, and the printer melts into liquid plastic and metal.]

HOUSE: Huh.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

O5-6: Morning, guys.

O5-10: Ugh. What the hell happened last night?

O5-3: Not so loud. We all got wasted and went to bed at 10pm.

O5-6: Not me. I was up, you know, taking care of things.

O5-11: Any crises spring up while we were asleep?

O5-6: Yeah, Site-666 fell into Hell.

O5-10:(Confused) What?

O5-6: Yeah, I was kinda lost too. But House said he had a plan, so… I kind of let him do whatever he wanted.

O5-3:(Terrified) YOU WHAT?

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

[Five black Foundation Suburban speed down the Undervegas strip, swerving around demons in the road and spritzing any unruly entities with holy water rifles out of the window as they pass.]

HOUSE: This is House to the rest of MTF Omega-33. Remember, ignore the little demons. They're like Chihuahuas right now, and we're hunting a wolf. Get in, squirt anything that looks like a threat as we move deeper into the casino. As soon as we spot Ba'al, let me get up front. We'll trigger Part 1 as soon as we've got his attention, Part 2 when he's distracted.

STERLING: This is such a bad idea.

CALENDAR: This'll be great. I want to punch Ba'al right in his crooked jaw. Maybe I'll even it out.

STERLING: Generally, if Tess is excited about something, I expect it to result in grievous physical or psychological injury tosomeone.

[Doctor THORNER is rocking back and forth in the backseat, giggling to herself.]

ADAMS: Hey, I think we're here.

[The Suburban brake, stopping in front of the massive porte-cochère entrance to the casino. MTF operators jump out of the vehicles with rifles drawn, ushering the Agents and Director into the building.]

HOUSE: Oh, wow. This is… gaudy.

STERLING: Don't you own a gold lapel pin?

HOUSE: Two.

[The interior of the Dunes is a luxurious, opulent hellscape. Everything is gold, from the carpet to the wallpaper to the slot machines themselves. The clientele is similar — yellow-skinned Greed demons seem to occupy most of the seats and card tables. They turn around as the Foundation personnel storm the building.]

KURTZ: EVERYONE WITH HORNS, ON YOUR KNEES!

STERLING: Not you, Clark, get up.

[Most of the unarmed, flobby demons drop to the floor in terror instantly. A few staff members attempt to rush the group. They are blasted with holy water, before being pulverized by Agent CALENDAR, who laughs gleefully as she pummels security guards left and right. The group continues to rush through the gambling floor of the Dunes, ignoring the side-set shrimp-and-skull buffets and gold card tables. Suddenly, one figure, lounging facedown on a massage table, calls out to them.]

UNIDENTIFIED: Well, well, well. Randall House.

HOUSE: Who? I mean, what?

[The figure lifts himself off the massage table, gradually removing hot towels from his body. The face that gradually becomes visible is an older, scarred, bearded man. He places a bathrobe marked with the casino's logo on himself, and lifts a top hat from a nearby table.]

PLUTO: Remember me?

HOUSE:You.

PLUTO: Yes, me. Seven years ago you ruined my plans to annex Las Vegas into Hell. And now you suffer from a demon problem a thousandfold bigger than what I would've caused.

[He laughs.]

PLUTO: The irony is delicious.

HOUSE: Yeah, well, if you didn't suck at cards, you wouldn't have been fooled, so.

PLUTO: You cheated!

HOUSE: That's part of the game! Why are you even here?

PLUTO: Because, you idiot, as soon as youhumiliated me, the other demons turned on me. Fourth Circle demons removed me as their chairman, letting the uncouth beast that has you stuck here to take my place. So, as mentioned… this accident is entirely one of your own making.

HOUSE: I'm in a hurry, so unless you have anything fun to say, we're going to have to part ways for now.

PLUTO: No matter, I'll have plenty of fun watching you fail and live out the rest of your days down here, surrounded by the demons you despise so much.Au revoir, little shrike.

STERLING: Sir, we really gotta go.

[The group continues moving through the casino floor.]

THORNER: I would imagine Ba'al can be found in the center of the building. After all, that would afford him the most room for—

[The two-dozen personnel break through a line of slot machines, revealing the center of the Dunes casino floor. It is a sunken full-size basketball court, on which Ba'al is currently sinking three-pointers. He is now dressed in a Chicago Bulls jersey, and has impaled basketballs on both horns.]

BA'AL: GRAGH! WHO DARES INTERRU— OH, YOU GUYS. COME ON IN, HOW ARE YOU ENJOYING THE PLACE?

HOUSE: Sorry, big boy. It's been fun, but we're going home now.

BA'AL: I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND, LITTLE MAN. YOU ARE HERE FOR ETERNITY. ALL OF YOU ARE GIVEN COURTSIDE SEATS TO YOUR OWN TORMENT.

THORNER: That hardly seems fair.

BA'AL: I OWN YOUR SOULS. YOU SIGNED THE CONTRACT, STRANGE DIMINUTIVE WOMAN.

THORNER: No, I didn't!

[BA'AL sinks an alley-oop before abandoning the court and turning to the group. He begins to approach them, the ground shaking as he nears. The security personnel raise their weapons and begin to fire, but they are ineffective.]

BA'AL: HOLY WATER MIGHT HAVE BEEN EFFECTIVE ON A LESSER DUKE. NOT I. MY SKIN IS FAR TOO THICK FOR YOUR PUNY SUPER SOAKERS.

[The personnel begin to back away from the hulking demon as he gives a deep, booming laugh.]

BA'AL: YOU HAVE NOTHING,NOTHING AGAINST ME. I OFTEN FORGET THE ARROGANCE OF MORTALS. I THINK PERHAPS A LESSON IS IN ORDER.

KURTZ: House…

HOUSE: Wait for it, wait for it…

BA'AL: I SHALL TAKE ONE OF YOU FOR MY CONSUMPTION.

[BA'AL continues to approach the group as they turn and back away, directly onto the basketball court.]

BA'AL: PERHAPS THE LOUDMOUTHED REDHEAD. OR THE STRANGE QUEEN TOUCHED IN THE HEAD.

[BA'AL stops, directly over the midcourt line.]

BA'AL: OR MAYBE THE IDIOT—

HOUSE: Now!

[THORNER, STERLING, and ADAMS perform three different summoning rituals simultaneously. Three more gateways open in the basketball court. The huge weight of Belial slides through the first, crushing the floorboards of the court beneath it and pinning BA'AL's leg to the ground.]

BA'AL: WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU TWO-TON BASTARD?!

BELIAL: SORRY, BA'AL. THE HUMANS OFFERED ME THE MOST DELICIOUS THING — YOU REALLY MUST TRY SOME!

BA'AL: GET OFF OF ME!

[Through another gate, a huge, gelatinous mass squeezes through the circular opening, tendrils flailing wildly through the air until they wrap themselves around BA'AL's left arm. He drops the basketball he was holding.]

BA'AL: ASMODEUS? WHAT IS THIS? WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING?

ASMODEUS: Apologies, Ba'al my chum. I was given avery attractive offer! You know how it is.

[Through the third gateway, a red-skinned demoness in a sheer evening dress and holding an assault rifle jumps out. Several others jump out behind her, leaping onto BA'AL's back.]

GAMORY: You've had this coming, you overgrown JV idiot.

BA'AL: YOU TOO, SUCCUBUS? THIS ISTREACHERY! WAIT. THIS IS TREACHERY! I STILL HAVE—

HOUSE: Sike!

[HOUSE throws a chunk of the printer casing at BA'AL. It bounces off the demon's thick skull.]

BA'AL: NO! HOW DID— THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE! I OWN YOUR SOULS!

ASMODEUS: Sorry, mate. The funny little creature promised I would get your souls for as long as they remained in Undervegas if I got rid of you.

GAMORY: Wait, what? No,I'm getting the souls as long as they're down here!

BA'AL: THEY'REMINE!

BELIAL: I WANT TOFU!

ASMODEUS: You always take the souls you greedy bastard, leave some for the rest of us!

GAMORY: I hardlyever take souls!

[The Princes of Undervegas erupt in a fistfight, screaming at one another while tearing at the others with all their applicable limbs and horns. GAMORY's succubi mob BA'AL, while ASMODEUS and BELIAL are engaged in some kind of sumo-wrestling match forcing the other back through their gateway using their sheer size.]

STERLING: Wait, you bet them ALL OF OUR SOULS?!

HOUSE: Oh relax, they're just souls. I have like four of them! I'm pretty sure Thorner isn't even using hers.

ADAMS: Boss… what happens when one of them wins?

HOUSE: What? Oh. Yeah, that's not gonna be an issue.

[HOUSE activates his radio.]

HOUSE: Bridget? Yeah, it's House. Green light, turn her on.

[Through the windows of the Dunes, Site-666 is visible close by. Suddenly, its lights all go out at once, leaving it an opaque black pyramid. A moment later, a huge beam of bright light shoots out of the top of the building, right into the cavern roof. The entire Site, from the top of the pyramid to the entire chunk of Earth underneath it containing the subterranean mass of the Site, begins to rise into the air. At the same time, all the Foundation personnel in the casino also began to float upward.]

ADAMS: What the hell?!

STERLING: This is freaky.

THORNER: Interesting. I've always wanted to fly.

[The MTF operators and agents continue to rise, passing through surfaces and ceilings as though immaterial. The demons are too busy fighting and screaming at one another to notice. The personnel pass through the floors of the Dunes on their way up, finally exiting out of the roof where they continue to rise. Site-666 is passing through the rock roof effortlessly, quickly followed by the floating mission personnel.]

HOUSE: Going up, you idiots!

«END LOG»

At 0513 hours, the House-Nicolas Theoplanar Vacuum Unit, left behind on Earth, began to rise into the air, quickly followed by the rest of the Luxor Las Vegas and Site-666 materializing out of the ground. It continued to materialize and rise until it had assumed its original height of 106m, at which point it solidified on Earth.

These events were witnessed by the large crowd that had accrued throughout the night at the spectacle of the missing Luxor. As part of Plan Copperfield, executed by Assistant Director Lindsay Blake, signs and advertisements were pasted up in the area advertising a surprise one-time-only show by famed American illusionist David Copperfield, in which he would make the Luxor disappear and reappear. This was similar to a notable 1983 performance in which he had made the Statue of Liberty 'disappear', and the audience did not question it. Copperfield was acquired by MTF Omega-33 and forcibly put up to the task. Upon Site-666's reappearance, the crowd applauded and Copperfield was permitted to return home.

Site-666 personnel secured the location and affirmed that all guests were present, no demons had stowed away aboard the Site, and generally that all was in order. The go-ahead was given at 0634 hours. Four and a half hours after it collapsed into Undervegas, the Luxor Las Vegas was open for business in time for the morning rush.

Involved personnel were debriefed shortly thereafter.

Site-666 after returning to Las Vegas.

«BEGIN LOG»

STERLING: So, when you said to the Overwatch Guy, and I quote — "it makes me wish I spent another couple dozen million on an exact copy to keep in the basement. In case of emergencies likethe Site falling into Hell one day"…

HOUSE: I actually did have an exact copy in the basement in case of emergencies, yes.

STERLING: …Why?

HOUSE: Always have an ace up your sleeve. Plus most of the money was in R&D. Building two of them was actually cost-saving, and it's always nice to have a backup.

STERLING: You're actually insane.

ADAMS: Wait, why didn't you just turn it on immediately?

THORNER: Because he knew that Ba'al's focus would just overpower this one too. Unless he was sufficiently distracted.

HOUSE: By, say, three other Princes of Undervegas jumping him. Also, we were on reserve power, so there was only really enough charge for one shot. I wanted to be sure.

CALENDAR: Gotta hand it to you, guy. That's pretty clever. Takes a hell of a human to outwit… Hell.

STERLING: Wait, why are you still here?

THORNER: Frankly, I'm not quite sure. It appears that the Unit may have assumed she was working for us and just… taken her along.

CALENDAR: I mean, I kinda was.

HOUSE: Would you like to continue kinda working for us?

CALENDAR: You'd hire a seven-foot-tall Wrath demon from hell with horns who's strong enough to stop a train?

HOUSE: I'm already offering you the job, you don't have to sell yourself to me. I could use a bodyguard.

CALENDAR: Huh. Okay.

THORNER: Though, why didn't you tell anyone about the secondary unit?

HOUSE: None of you have the appropriate clearance for it. Standard security protocols. Never show them all your cards.

[Grumbles pass through the room.]

HOUSE: Though I'll admit that the fact that we're sitting on top of a demon city is going to require some… changes, with our containment protocols. And hopefully a hefty budget increase. We could use some more hands around here.

STERLING: If the Council denies you funding after this, they're out of their minds.

HOUSE: It's a definite possibility. For now, everyone go to your… wherever you live, and shower and rest up. This has been a busy night for all of us. You all stink of sulfur.

[The group begins to leave the conference room.]

STERLING: Wait — what about Satan being a printer?

HOUSE: I mean, I can't say I'm surprised—

STERLING: I mean specificallyyour printer.

HOUSE: Oh, yes. That was… an unexpected variable. But we found it, and took care of it. So all's well that ends well.

[Pause.]

HOUSE: Also, I'm having all my office supplies, appliances, and furniture scanned for demonic possession right now.

«END LOG»