By the time the familiar, rusted sign was in view, the adrenaline had long since vanished, replaced by a heavy exhaustion. The bell chimed as Felix pushed through the door. The shop felt smaller now, the air cooler and filled with the scent of stagnant dust.
Barnaby was where he always was, hunched over a ledger, but his ears swiveled toward the door the second Felix stepped inside. Barnaby looked up, his yellow eyes scanning Felix's disheveled state — the red dust coating his doll skin and the haunted, flat look in his slot-reel pupils.
Without a word, Felix walked to the counter, pulled the stolen handgun from his waistband, setting it down on the wood. Then, his legs finally gave out. He let himself sink, collapsing onto the floorboards with a long, rattling exhale.
"Nice to see you made it back from the Entertainment District," Barnaby remarked, his voice remarkably level despite the weapon sitting inches from his hand. "Did you deliver what I gave you?" "Yea," Felix rasped.
Barnaby's tail flicked, indicating it was a nervous movement. "And did you see anyone?"
Felix closed his eyes, the image of the lavender moth demon dragging a fork through cake flashing behind his lids. "Yea." Remembering Barnaby's face change and try to be controlled, Felix figured Barnaby would ask—
"Did. . did they say anything—"
"—Yea. He told me to tell you that he'd be extending the time he has for 'the product.'"
The silence that followed was loud by itself. Felix opened his eyes just in time to see Barnaby's grip tighten on the edge of the counter. The old Imp didn't look so controlled now. He looked terrified and caught off guard. "He said that, did he?" Barnaby whispered.
He looked at the gun, then back at Felix. "Do you even know who that was, kid?"
"A tall moth," Felix muttered, his head lolling to the side to look at a shelf of junk. "He offered me a job. I said no. He's an overlord, right?"
Barnaby let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-wheeze. "Yes! And the fact you told off Valentino is some shit!" Alongside his laugh, there was also a nervous tone to his voice.
He reached out, his gnarled hand hovering over the gun Felix had brought back. "Where'd this come from?"
"A Sinner tried mugging me," Felix said flatly. He didn't mention the Gacha. He didn't mention the Jackpot or the way the demon's face had looked after the stomping. Rather, he lay on the floor, feeling the zero souls balance in his vision like a void.
He had protected Barnaby's interests, delivered the 'product,' and survived a monster, and all he had to show for it was a stolen gun and a seven-day deadline that was still ticking in the back of his mind.
Barnaby sighed. Seeing how out of it Felix was, he reached under the counter and pulled out a small, tattered blanket, tossing it down onto Felix. "Sleep on the floor if you have to, doll-face,"
Barnaby grunted, returning his gaze to the ledger, though his hands were still trembling. "And what's your name?"
Felix pulled the blanket over his chest. He was back. He was safe. But as he stared at the ceiling, he knew he needed to strategize for old and new challenges.
As he felt his vision begin to darken, he faintly answered. "Felix." His exhaustion finally pulled him under, into a dreamless, red sleep.
𓋹
Since the first day, thing's repeated. Felix woke, worked, returned. Slept when his body gave out. Woke again. The first day, his hands still shook. By the second, they only trembled when he stopped moving. By the third, he stopped stopping.
He quickly remembered why he had loathed the idea of 'employment' in his first life.
His days were consumed by the shop. He mopped, swept, and polished every inch of the inventory. Most important to him, he advised those on what to buy. Once his labor was finished, he was allowed a break — which he spent stalking the streets. He ran rigged gambles with his dice, mugged the weak, and practiced his meta-awareness on every passerby.
From small conversations he had with player's, he learned more about hell. Pentagram City was a sprawling beast of five primary districts separated by borders, with sub-districts like the one he inhabited around or residing within them.
Barnaby confirmed his suspicion: they were in a sector near the 'Entertainment District.' It was a place of low-light parlors and cheap vice, but it wasn't as bad compared to the other district's. It was like that through control of an overload.
He also learned that people are easier to read when they think you aren't paying attention. Once, he pushed a mark too far, and the reaction was fast enough that he didn't try it again. Eventually, his income grew large enough to begin testing his new 'Monetary Detonation' ability.
Copper-soul coins were low-grade explosives; they had a small radius but enough force to stagger a demon and crack stone. Silver-souls were concussive — they punched clean craters through brick and shattered anything within arm's reach.
The soul bucks were the real danger. He learned that during a dice game gone south. A demon had rushed him, trying to break his hand, and Felix had thrown a single-soul buck between them out of reflex. The resulting blast launched the attacker backward with enough force to crack the structure behind him.
Felix, had nearly been caught in the backwash; he wasn't resilient to his own power. As compensation, he'd taken everything from the unconscious demon.
He didn't spend a soul more than necessary. Not because he couldn't afford to, but because the unknown variables of the Gacha still loomed.
And although the noise of the district never got quieter, after a few days, it stopped getting to him. At the end of the day, hell was quite unique.