Hell had neon signs.

A ramp of pure, simple blackness had manifested before the truck and then there they were, bursting out through a layer of sulfur and flames, only to be assaulted on all sides by the glowing advertisements. They stood proudly proffering the services of the buildings they stood before. Curvy, scantily clad women lurked in front of some in apparent hopes of tempting a passerby and reeling men stumbled out from others, victims of either a barroom brawl or a drunken stupor.

“Welcome to Nothing.” From the way Death spoke the word its status as a name was clear.  “And this here is the Underworld or Hell or Down Below or whatever you want to call it.”

Tray stared, completely dumfounded, out the tiny smudged pentagon window. For a time he forgot that he sat in an old pickup driven by Death himself and that he had entrusted his life to a woman he barely knew that had attempted to violently end it more than once. This was Hell.

With wide-eyed and almost revulsed fascination, he studied the figures that strode through the murky streets. They carried on, apparently oblivious or indifferent to the truck as it passed them. Glinting silver hung from all of their bodies, heavier on some than on others. “Chains…” His already gaping mouth barely moved as it formed the nearly inaudible word. TK shot him a glare through the mirror before returning her attention to the dark road before them. She appeared to suffer no discomfort from her close proximity to the rusted truck’s driver. Then again, silence and denial went hand in hand.

No one spoke in the crowded truck. Tension hung heavily in the air, but Death appeared to be just as relaxed and casual as when they’d begun the journey. One hand lay lightly on the steering well and the other arm folded back comfortably beside the headrest. Although the faded red cap still obscured his eyes, it didn’t appear to hinder his driving.

“Oh,” Tray suddenly murmured with a sense of realization. “They’re all dead.”

Death’s easy white grin flashed again. “That they are. Everyone here is. It is Hell after all.”

He continued staring fixedly out the window. A figure unadorned by gleaming chains glanced to the truck and he could have sworn that he was looking directly at him. Approximately three seconds after they’d passed the pedestrian he registered that the figure had clearly been purple. He shook his head slowly in bemusement. It was Hell after all.

Christ. Hell had neon signs.

The entire landscape reminded him slightly of the red-light districts of New York. A smile crept over his face as he remembered exploring the city years ago; sneaking out his window at a less-than-reasonable hour to slip into his best friend’s idling car, laughing and blasting crappy music so that it would echo off the curved tunnel walls to the irritation of the other nighttime drivers, and finally the welcoming glow of New York’s bright lights. His small smile morphed into a full sloppy grin. They’d been found out after the fourth time, but not before they’d thoroughly explored (if not sampled) the seedier regions of the city. Not before countless grinning attempts to slip into a club or bar, almost all of which had failed. Not before nearly starting fights and just chatting in a tired old twenty-four hour diner over weak coffee and actually getting into fights and---

His grin faded. Not before Joey had taken his first hit.

TK’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts. “You haven’t said how this is going to work.”

“I haven’t? Well, it’s pretty simple. Pick a door and go in and try to get to the center first. All there is to it.”

“You said something about fighting,” she pointed out, continuing to ignore Tray.

“You’re bound to run into another team at some point, so yeah, you’ll probably have to fight.”

“How many teams?”

“Sixty-four, including you two.”

“Easy,” she scoffed.

Tray attempted to convince himself of such but didn’t succeed. Uneasily, he directed his gaze back out the cloudy window.  The teeming crowds of the chain-slung deceased and the grimy buildings had begun to thin out. The inhabitants of the city continued to overlook Death’s truck even though it was driving slowly enough for Tray to make out individual faces: an indifferent long haired man dragging his heavy burden slowly, a teenaged girl outfitted in loose grey clothing and an expression of hopelessness, a red-faced middle aged man with a distinct beer gut and even a young boy, barely older than a child curled up against a wall. His attention was drawn to a voluptuous woman in clothing tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination and comparatively few chains. She leaned against a stone or metal archway removing the burned-off tip of her cigarette with a practiced flick. Her dark hair nearly covered her face, but just as they passed he could make out her heavily painted features. She looked almost…sad.

The passing of a few more minutes brought the complete disappearance of all signs of the city. Instead, the wide cracked road ran through a thick swath of nothing bordered only by the horizon. The new silence whistled eerily past the truck with the wind. Death’s truck seemed to creak a lot less in…

Hell.

This was Hell, the Underworld, Hades. It truly existed. Most people would have killed to learn whether it was real or not. Granted, most of the people that would kill to gain information as to whether Hell existed or not were probably heading there anyway.

He shuddered.

“Ah, here we go.” Tray couldn’t see him, but he knew that Death’s hyena smile had flashed once more. “The Labyrinth.”

In the grainy light ahead a dark shape became visible. He leaned to the left and forward to gain a better view, gripping TK’s headrest. Too intrigued to glare at him, she moved closer to the windshield as well and narrowed her eyes. The truck drew closer to what appeared to be a massive black wall before stopping suddenly.

“You two can walk from here. I got a few more to pick up still.” Death nodded toward the structure. “Have fun.”

Tray wondered what a proper response would be. Thanks for the ride, Death. I’m looking forward to fighting and killing all sorts of lunatics in your tournament in Hell. He frowned. It didn’t seem quite right. Instead, he nodded a few times, forced open the rusted door and awkwardly clambered out.

TK stared straight ahead for a few moments, her mouth set into a hard line. When she finally turned to reach for the handle, Death’s low chuckle stopped her.

“You’re pretty damn determined, huh?”

She glanced back and indulged in a practiced, beautiful, and completely false smile. “I suppose you could say that.”

His bright grin was visible through the shadows covering his face as he shook his head. “I like you. Good luck.”

She raised her chin slightly and then lowered it again before shoving the door open with difficulty and slipping out. Tray flinched as the scuff of her boots jerked him out of his daydream. Uncomfortable with her behind him, he turned to locate her and met the familiar icy glare. Both watched as the aged green truck swung to face the other way and raised a cloud of gritty dust and exhaust. By the time it had cleared, it had vanished.

TK strode past him wordlessly and he began to follow after she glanced back. His head swung this way and that as he took in the barren new surroundings. Dust drifted over the rough sand stained black by the starless sky. Although no light reached from the heavens or even the city in the distance, a sourceless dim illumination filtered through the settling swirls of dust. The imposing charcoal wall that loomed before them, stretching with the horizon on either side to infinity, could only have been the Labyrinth.

He prayed it was smaller on the inside.

As per usual, his thoughts drifted into nothing as he shuffled along. Besides the soft whisper of their shoes over the sand, silence reigned. The quiet could be defined neither as ominous nor oppressive but simply…an absence of noise. No natural sounds like the creaking of branches or the rumble of far-away cars or even the gentle whisper of wind stirred the air. Pure, empty quiet; the assassin’s best friend.

Low, rumbling chatter began to build in the distance as they neared the great maze. Multitudes of voices slid over one another in a soft ocean of sound that a loud rumble suddenly interrupted. Tray instantly tensed, his fingers curling as he reached for the gun at the back of his waistband. When he realized that TK stared directly at him, he froze self-consciously.

“When was the last time you ate?” she demanded.

He stared at the ground in consideration. “Um…I had coffee today…yesterday afternoon. That’s it. I bought a sandwich at a gas station,” he added helpfully.

She appraised him irritably and spun on her heel to continue her march, muttering under her breath. He watched the ground before him as he began to walk. It had been a particularly delicious sandwich, too. Idly, he started other lists in his head. Lists were good, sensible and orderly. He’d last slept…well, not counting the few surreptitious catnaps at the diner it had been the night before last. Last night was a hit, so he’d been too busy smothering the CEO of some company with a pillow to get a good night’s rest. The night before had been spent in a relatively nice hotel room. He'd gotten to shower, too. The mattress was lumpy but the blanket had been warm.

Warmth…

He frowned. Despite his heavy jacket, he suffered none of his usual discomfort. He’d learned to put up with the heat that the padded material trapped, but drawn-out bouts of movement never ceased to grow hot. Along with natural sound, there was a distinct lack of temperature to the area. No wind brought cooling breezes but a lack of sun provided no heat. It was neither hot not cold, it just was.

Movement flashed before him.

His hand shot to his jacket to grab something, anything-
And a plastic-wrapped rectangle smacked him directly in the face. It dropped from the bridge of his nose to the ground and he stumbled back swiftly, rusted steak knife in hand, to examine the assaulting object.

A brightly shining orange and brown wrapped bar of sorts sat innocently in the drifting clouds it had raised. Tray’s annoyed gaze drifted back to TK and he flinched back when she stabbed a sharp-nailed finger at him.

“Eat it. I’m not going to lug around any goddamn dead weight so you need to be in top form however pathetic it might be.”

Warily, he stooped to curl a hand around it, repressing a cough from the rising dirt and keeping his suspicious gaze on her. “…How many times have you tried to kill me?”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “For god’s sake, it’s sealed. Anyway, I’m not going to bring you along and then kill you five minutes later.”

“That’s true. You need me,” he mumbled.

“…Excuse me?” Her voice could have sliced through steel.

“Well, why else would you agree to work together?” he shrugged.

Her face burned with rage. “I need an idiot to distract enemies so I can kill them.” She whirled and stalked away, trembling with pure hate.

Tray stared at her receding back, mildly shocked. Compared to her normal behavior, TK was being incredibly civil.

The flavor and scent of the protein bar were reminiscent of peanut butter but the usual bitter aftertaste of such foodstuffs excluded it from the classification of ‘good.’ Still, it didn’t smell of poison (then again, the almond odor of arsenic would have been cleanly disguised), the wrapper had been free of tears, there was no sign of razor blades or ground glass hidden inside, and it was the most nourishment he’d had in a while. He smiled vaguely at his purple shoes as pangs of optimism began to rise. Soon they’d find the center and he’d win his best friend back and life would take a turn for the better…

“Oi, hurry up! It’s bad enough that I’m stuck with you, but if you’re going to fucking inch along like this the entire time, I swear to god…”

“Mmh,” he uttered in a noncommittal reply but sped slightly.

“And quit that goddamn slouching. It’ll screw up your back and slow you down even more.”

“…sound like my mom…”

“Shut the hell up.”

As soon as she turned back away and then left, he straightened dramatically. He grinned to himself but it died the instant the first of the competitors strode by him. Short, lean muscles, long shining grey hair…and midnight black skin. Not black as in the normal pigment-related definition of dark brown, but black as in nearly the exact shade of his jacket. The purple man Tray had spotted earlier could have been a trick of the light…but this diminutive man was clearly as dark as the starless heavens above.

Tray wasn’t the only one to notice. The voice of an older and luxuriously well-fed man gently reprimanded the pale young girl beside him. “Elain, you mustn’t stare…” He smiled apologetically at the receding night-black figure but the other man took no notice.

Wide-eyed, Tray stumbled on. Bright colors flashed all around as figures lounged on the ground or against the Labyrinth’s solid exterior, slid past each other in groups, or simply pushed through and stared in wonder as he did. If TK saw the same scene as he, she gave no indication and still didn’t slow.

“Hi there,” a voice chirped cheerfully.

For a moment Tray simply stared at the speaker, a boy somewhere in his teens, before remembering to reciprocate the greeting. “Um, hi.”

The teen grinned brightly and stared back with dark-rimmed eyes, fiddling with one of the many belts encircling his dark jeans and striped jacket. After a few seconds he apparently decided that his obligation to politeness had been fulfilled and returned to amiably chatting up a distinctly empty space.

With increasing discomfort, Tray turned, shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled through the crowd away from the victorious Shift (who began his search for a new victim to unnerve). TK’s dark jacket flashed through the swirl of movement a few feet ahead and he relaxed slightly. Okay, so there were individuals of the more…unusual variety in the tournament. He hadn’t expected or even considered it, but the diversity made sense. After all, it was hosted by a man claiming to be Death---it was only to be expected that most that took him up on his offer wouldn’t exactly be considered ‘normal.’

Reassured that he wouldn’t be left behind, he dared a quick glance around the crowd to unearth other oddities. He ducked his head down again at the cold gaze of a woman roughly his height. Choppy bone-white hair framed her defined cheeks and hazel eyes, but otherwise her appearance seemed nothing out of the ordinary. After a few moments he dared to peek up again.

Most of the members of the crowd gave the other walkers a few feet of clearance, apparently not wishing to brush against possible murderers, mythical creatures, and other divisions of the word ‘freak.’ The extra space allowed him a clearer view and his observations turned into a sort of game. Close beside his feet sat a young man who smiled up at him from where he leaned against the wall. His smile belied nothing, instead corresponding with an easy, carefree expression, kind brown eyes and slightly the slightly ruffled hair of one who knew that attempting to tame it would only lead to misery and had given up the battle with a lighthearted shrug. Normal. The beginnings of a smile tugged at Tray’s mouth until the antique brass typewriter perched on his lap raised itself on its four lion legs to growl at him. His mouth fell open and he hurried on despite the scolding the typewriter’s owner began to deliver. Okay, not normal, definitely not normal.

Even more out of the ordinary was the next woman to stroll jerkily past to his left. Paper-white flesh was complimented by bright, fearlessly blue hair. He had to crane his neck gain a better view of it due to her incredible height. One long hand rested on the shoulder of a comparatively tiny figure that the tall woman’s long legs obscured from view. Her long limbs were rod-thin and she walked with a certain brittle grace. Again, nowhere near normal.

Still, she was nothing compared to the next. Another woman’s arm bumped his and Tray glanced to the right to look her over. She couldn’t have touched normal with a ten foot pole (or, in proportion to her height, a fifteen foot pole). Bold diagonal black stripes ran over her milky skin so that her long limbs appeared to be even more so. The stripes covered her arms, bare midriff, and even her face where they pooled on her nose. Bright tie-dye stood out in sharp contrast above faded old jeans. She smiled in apology, clear violet eyes narrowing cheerfully as her cheeks pushed the lids up.

The temporarily defeated smile slowly began to return, this time in bemusement. He was like a child at a circus, not fully understanding what was happening or if he should be frightened by the color and activity but finding it hard not to enjoy despite his confusion. “You’re seeing all this, right?” he asked as he caught up to TK.

She said nothing but her fists clenched where they swung by her sides.

Undaunted by her silence, he went on, “Where’re we even going..?”

“Death said to find a door,” she answered in a measured tone. “That’s exactly what I aim to do.”

For the first time he noticed the heavy stone archways set deep into the wall every few paces. “Oh. Okay.” He slowed once again to take in the sights of the bustling activity outside the maze. A young woman stood chattering excitedly to her companion who reclined cross-legged against the thick stone. Long shining raven hair cascaded down her back and her slender arms gestured expressively as the quick words sped out of her mouth. Her listener, who wore an expression of infinite patience and attire clearly belonging to a prison of sorts, appeared to be more than a few years older than the girl. Dark hair that reflected the light in red streaks slowly fell to rest on top of his box-shaped glasses. He didn’t seem to mind. Tray nodded internally. Normal, normal.

Tray noticed that the crowd had thinned considerably. He returned the polite nod of a passing man. A closer inspection revealed only one of his rosy eyes to be open in the shadows of his top hat. He continued his jaunty stroll with one hand resting on the brim of his hat as though to either doff it or keep it sitting snugly on his head. Normal wasn’t an issue for this man. He was simply odd, though not necessarily in a negative way.

He hadn’t realized that TK had come to a halt until he came dangerously close to running straight into her. “Right. We’ll use this door,” she stated decisively. Although he apparently had no say in the matter, Tray didn’t mind. The area boasted an almost clear view to his left where swirling mist lapped at the blurred edges of the great wall in the distance.

Only a moment later, as though an invisible calligrapher listened in on them, letters slowly began to curl across the dark grey stone. Tray noticed first and inched closer until his nose nearly brushed against the rough rock. TK leaned in beside him, fascinated in spite of herself. Elegant cursive script slid over the surface and continued flowing out further as they watched. She tentatively brushed a fingertip over the letters. No indentation marked their progress as though the words had simply been scorched into the stone.

Finally, the curling letters ceased to flow grow in number and the fellow assassins noticed just how closely they leaned together. TK drew back quickly with a short ‘tch’ but Tray remained leaning up to the door. In its very center beautiful black font clearly stated who had claimed the entrance. The letters ‘TK’ lay just over the longer ‘Tray.’ It sent a shiver down his neck that made the fine hairs prick up but he knew not whether it stemmed from anxiety or excitement.

Christ.

Hell didn’t just have neon signs; it apparently housed doors that knew their opener’s names.