Bashington DC, The Black House
A few days later, in the morning, the Black House lobby looked exactly like it was designed to look.
Clean. Neat. Polished to a level that felt slightly aggressive.
It was the kind of place Murica's staff maintained with religious devotion—not because cleanliness mattered, but because the lobby existed for one purpose: humble bragging. Every shining tile and perfectly aligned flag was meant to scream "look how advanced we are" to foreign diplomats, visiting aristocrats, and anyone important enough to be allowed through the front door.
Today, however, the people doing the staring were none of those.
Irving and Kovalski stood in the middle of the lobby, heads slowly turning, eyes wide with awe.
For most military personnel, being invited to the Black House was a lifelong dream. It meant medals. Recognition. A story you told until the end of your career.
And technically, they were invited.
The small detail ruining the moment was the handcuffs and the MPs escorting them from behind.
"Whoaaa…" Irving muttered.
"Whoaaa…" Kovalski echoed, equally reverent.
They walked across the spotless marble floor, past banners and symbols of Murican greatness, their boots clicking softly like they were afraid to disturb the furniture. The lobby smelled faintly of polish and institutional pride.
If only they weren't prisoners.
"Guuuuys!"
A familiar voice echoed across the lobby.
From another corridor, Bella came running toward them, General Hanz walking behind her at a much calmer pace.
Bella was wearing the same prisoner uniform—but unlike the two of them, she wasn't cuffed. She sprinted forward, jumped, and threw herself at both men in a full-body hug.
"Whoa there, idiot girl," Kovalski laughed, steadying her.
"Long time no see," Irving added with a grin.
"Oh finally, I'm out of that prison," Bella burst out immediately. "I cannot take it anymore. The food sucks, the portions are stingy, and the other prisoners started filing complaints asking the warden to separate my mealtime from theirs! Can you believe that?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
"Every time I ask them to share, I always leave a little bit for them, and yet—"
She kept going.
And going.
And going.
Irving and Kovalski just smiled and let it happen. They'd missed this. It had been a while since the Misfits were thrown into punishment for their… activities.
Fake adventures.
Forged authorizations.
Stealing equipments from the Dawn base armory.
And a list of other charges long enough to require its own document folder.
For a time, their reputation as Murica's star adventuring party had protected them. Fame went a long way.
Unfortunately, like all internet fame, theirs had an expiration date—especially after producing absolutely no heroic and definitely no lawful content during their last disaster of an adventure.
"Ehem."
General Hanz cleared his throat loudly.
Bella froze mid-sentence.
"Don't forget where you are right now," Hanz said flatly.
She zipped her mouth shut.
Hanz glanced at the MPs and gave a short nod.
The MPs stepped forward, removed the cuffs from Irving and Kovalski, and then marched off without another word.
Irving rubbed his wrists. "Where's Ivy?"
"I don't know," Bella replied. "I haven't seen her."
"Wonder what she's been doing while we all spent time in the slammer," Kovalski muttered.
"Yeah," Irving sighed. "That girl's lucky she's not military."
Then—
VROOOOMM—PUTT… PUTT… wheeze—KRRK.
A sound so tragic it barely qualified as mechanical echoed from the front driveway.
Every head in the Black House lobby turned.
A poorly painted yellow Volkswagen Beetle limped into view, moving with all the confidence of a machine that knew today might be its last. It crawled forward, shuddered, and finally stopped in front of the lobby entrance.
The engine died mid-brake with a series of protesting noises that made it very clear this stop was not part of the driver's plan.
The window rolled down.
Ivy's face popped out, bright and cheerful.
"Guuuys!" She waved enthusiastically.
She reached for the door handle from the outside.
She fiddled with it until the door finally gave in, swinging open with a long, pained 'creeeeeak', loudly announcing that the inside handle was definitely broken.
"Guuuys!" Ivy repeated as she climbed out and hurried toward them.
"Ivyyyy!" Bella screamed, sprinting forward.
"Bellaaaa!" Ivy wailed back.
They collided in a hug, arms wrapping tightly around each other while Irving and Kovalski watched with soft smiles.
Ivy immediately burst into tears.
"Finally! I miss you guuuys! Huaaaa!"
After the emotional reunion—once Ivy stopped crying loudly, though she was still sniffing—they all got a proper look at her.
Somehow… she looked worse than all of them.
She was wearing a plain office intern outfit: a black skirt and white shirt. Everything about it screamed cheap, and a stubborn coffee stain sat proudly on her shirt like it had given up trying to be cleaned. She looked thinner, exhausted, and judging by the way her hair sat, possibly losing some of it.
"So…" Irving began carefully, "what happened to you?"
"After you guys got thrown into the slammer," Ivy said between sobs, "I also got my punishment."
She wiped her eyes.
"My sister put me to work in her office as an intern. I thought it would be easy, but…" Her voice cracked. "For months I only had two hours of sleep every night. All those deadlines. All those errands. All that work… for some lousy stipend."
She sniffed hard.
"I even genuinely cried and begged my sister to just put me in prison instead. But she only smiled."
Ivy broke down again.
"Wow…" Kovalski muttered. "Ambassador Hannya really owns her."
Irving rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe one day I should meet her and learn something."
"There, there, don't cry," Bella said gently, patting Ivy's head. "You're back with us again. And look—we're even in the most elite place in all of Murica."
She spread her arms dramatically.
"The Black House."
Bella gestured grandly at the vast, pristine lobby.
Which would have been impressive—
If not for the four demons standing there, staring back at them.
Luke, Famine, Pestilence, and War.
All four were holding mugs of coffee, steam still rising. They stood casually in the middle of the lobby. Some wore bathrobes. Some wore shorts. Everyone wore slippers. Every single one of them looked like they had woken up five minutes ago and accidentally discovered a morning soap opera.
They silently watched the Misfits.
Sip.
Sip.
Sip.
"Is it over?" War muttered.
"I think so," Pestilence replied, taking another sip.
"Want to check the kitchen?" Famine asked. "I'll make pancakes for breakfast."
"Oh, I'm in," Luke said cheerfully.
Without another glance, the four of them turned and walked off toward the Black House kitchen like this was their house.
As they went, their conversation continued.
"What is an intern?" War asked Luke.
"It's basically the same as a slave," Luke answered casually. "We just changed the name because Solo doesn't like the word 'slave'. I have plenty of them in my tower."
"Oh," Pestilence said, intrigued. "Are they expensive to purchase?"
"Nope," Luke replied. "Super cheap."
"Ooooooh," everyone breathed in unison, impressed.
Their voices faded as they disappeared around the corner, still chatting.
The lobby fell silent.
"I-Isn't that…" Kovalski muttered, staring blankly at where they'd vanished. "…the Demon King?"
The Misfits could only stand there, dumbfounded.
---
The Black House, Master Bedroom
"I CAN'T HOLD IT ANYMORE!"
Lilith's voice echoed through the master bedroom as she paced in tight, furious circles.
"Having my family crashing the Black House is one thing," she snarled, wings twitching, "but having Luke here too! Under the same roof! AAAAAGH—IT'S REVOLTING!"
Solo sat calmly on the bed, folding clothes with military neatness and placing them into his luggage. He was preparing to leave for Dwargonia later today. Socks. Shirts. Documents. A man trying very hard not to escalate the situation.
"But honey," Solo said gently, "there's really no other option if we want him to keep being your sparring partner. Your dad's too old to drag him out of Hellicon Valley every day, and honestly? Keeping Luke nearby makes it easier to stop him from running off."
"I KNOW!" Lilith snapped. "But it's Luke!"
She spun around, glaring at the ceiling and began her angry rants.
"He's been bugging me for thousands of years! Always telling lies that I don't need to be bullied because the universe already bullied me by making me a dumb princess who daydreamed about a demon prince charming—when really he was just making excuses because he knew my dad was stronger than him!"
Solo stood up and walked over to her. Slowly. Carefully.
"Honey… honey," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "Calm down."
She stiffened.
"You're not really angry about Luke, are you?" Solo asked softly. "What's actually bothering you?"
Lilith hesitated. Her eyes avoided his.
"This pregnancy is stupid…" she muttered.
Solo froze.
"It's the reason Luke's staying with us," she whispered. "It's the reason everyone's treating me like fragile glass."
"Oh, honey—" Solo began.
"And the worst part is—" Lilith cut him off, voice shaking, "it's the reason you have to leave."
Tears start forming in her eyes.
Solo smiled.
"Hey," he said, leaning in and kissing her lightly. "I promise I'll come back as soon as I can, alright?"
She pouted.
"If you don't come back before my eighth month," Lilith said coldly, "I will hunt you down no matter how far you are."
"I'll be back before your seventh," Solo replied easily. "Otherwise, who's going to help you around when your tummy gets really big?"
Lilith let out a small laugh and hugged him tightly. She smiled—despite the single tear slipping down her cheek.
Solo hugged her back, gentle and careful.
---
Meanwhile, Outside the Master Bedroom. In the corridor, Sam leaned against the wall with his arms folded, wearing a knowing smile and letting out a quiet chuckle.
Clearly, he had been listening the entire time.
"What are you doing?"
Sam jumped.
Death stood beside him, arms folded, expression flat and deeply judgmental.
"Huh?" Sam said quickly. "Eh—nothing. Just waiting for Solo to come out so I can give him some fatherly advice before he leaves. You know. Man to man."
Without warning, Death shoved him away from the corridor.
"What the—!" Sam stumbled. "Hey! Sis?!"
"Liar," Death said calmly. "You were waiting to interrupt them if they started farewell sex."
"I—!" Samael tried to protest, still being pushed farther away. "That's not—!"
Death continued shoving him down the hall without mercy.