Manhattan Alley - New York
Jon was a man forged in the violent underbelly of the city.
Orphaned in his teens by a car crash, he was forced onto the streets. He stole, robbed, and bled for one singular purpose: to keep his younger sister safe and in school.
The years of brutality had sculpted him.
He stood nearly two meters tall, his face a roadmap of knife scars.
He looked like a monster. He was ruthless. He was cold.
But he never missed a monthly payment for his sister's tuition, always sent from the shadows to protect her.
Tonight, however, the monster was just prey.
During a chaotic gang skirmish, Jon had unknowingly killed the brother of a rival kingpin.
Now, he was bleeding out.
Cornered in a dead-end alley after a dinner ambush, his leg was severely injured.
He limped against the brick wall, clutching a cheap silver cross around his neck, praying for a miracle.
The mob's footsteps echoed at the end of the alley. They were closing in.
Panic seized him. He backed up, his bloody hand slamming against a door that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.
He shoved it open, fell over the threshold, and the door vanished into thin air.
The Devil's Cabin - Pocket Dimension
Jon hit the ground hard.
He wasn't in Manhattan anymore.
The space was impossibly vast. There was no sunlight, yet the air was bathed in a serene, ambient glow.
A towering building stood in the center, surrounded by manicured lawns, pristine ponds, and silent statues. It was terrifyingly peaceful.
"Hello, sir. Welcome."
Jon scrambled backward, his heart pounding.
Floating eye-level with him was a spherical robot, the size of a human head.
"You are the inaugural visitor to the Devil's Cabin," it droned.
"Special rewards may await you. Please follow me."
"What are you?" Jon stammered, his massive frame shaking.
"Where is this place?"
"I am 023. I oversee the Devil's Cabin," the Red Queen's proxy replied smoothly.
"You will meet the owner inside for your transaction."
"Transaction? I don't have anything!"
"Did you not read the warning on the door?" the sphere asked.
"Those who enter must sacrifice something for their desires. Teasing the devil's wrath by entering empty-handed carries a severe punishment. You may leave now, but the toll is two years of your life force."
Jon weighed his options. A magical toll, or a mob hit squad waiting in the alley?
He limped after the machine.
, -------
The Central Chamber
Inside the towering building, a figure sat behind a massive square table.
Ernst wore a tailored suit, but the illusion of humanity ended at the curved, obsidian horns rising from his temples.
"Ah, finally!" Ernst smiled warmly.
"My very first customer. I'll even give you a discount. Present your sacrifice, and let our transaction commence."
Jon froze. The horns confirmed his absolute worst nightmare. He was standing in front of a demon.
"I... about the sacrifice... I..." Jon stammered, terrified.
Ernst frowned. He reached out with his psychic perception, slicing effortlessly through the gang member's mind.
The devil sighed in profound disappointment.
"You have got to be kidding me," Ernst groaned, leaning back in his chair.
"You aren't a client. You're just a bleeding fool hiding from a street gang."
His grand opening was ruined by a stray dog.
"I am doubling the penalty," Ernst snapped, visibly irritated.
"Five years."
Jon collapsed to his knees, the heavy thud echoing in the hall.
"Merciful Devil, please! Spare me!" Jon begged, tears mixing with the blood on his face.
"I was forced in! I have a younger sister to care for. I can't die!"
Ernst rolled his eyes contemptuously.
"Can you not come up with a more pitiful cliché? An eighty-year-old paralyzed mother? A starving toddler?"
"My parents are dead!" Jon cried.
"I only have her. She depends on me!"
Ernst paused. He sensed the absolute, desperate truth in the man's mind.
The raw affection for his sister was genuine.
Ernst found himself momentarily at a loss for words.
"Alright, enough with the tears," Ernst said, waving a dismissive hand.
"I said there would be a punishment, but I didn't say it would kill you. I will take five years of your life force. You will fall seriously ill, but if you take care of yourself, you'll live."
Jon stopped crying. His street-smarts slowly crept back in.
"You're lying. Devils only want souls. You're going to take my soul."
"I am a balanced devil," Ernst replied smoothly, leaning forward.
"Fairness and justice are the core of my business. I am not like the archaic brutes of Hell. Sit down, let me draw the five years, and be on your way."
Jon slowly pulled himself up into the guest chair.
He hesitated, looking back toward the entrance.
"Can I... hide here? Just until the men outside leave?"
Ernst smiled. It was a terrifying, predatory expression.
"After the extraction, you can stay here for thirty minutes on the house," Ernst said.
"Consider it a grand opening benefit."
He tapped the table.
"But if you haven't left by then, the rent is one year of life force per hour. It won't kill you immediately, but it will ruin your life force. The choice is yours."
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