Prologue

In The Beginning there was Zorgo

Somewhere in the deepest, foulest, uttermost depths of Hell someone was very very nervous. In Hell this is not an unusual occurrence, but in this case the person in question was not a person at all, but an eleven foot tall demon with the head of a rather ugly, and ill tempered, goat. His name was Zorgo and he was the Babylonian god of bad luck.

Being the Babylonian god of bad luck had not been all that Zorgo had expected when he took the job. It did not, for one thing, mean being a god, it meant being an eleven foot tall demon with the head of a goat. Apparently the Babylonian language was a little sketchy when it came to differentiating between gods, and strange goat headed creatures of the nether worlds. Nor did it, as his recruiter had led him to believe, involve recklessly tossing around thunderbolts and impregnating easily influenced young women in the sheep herding profession. It basically involved being on hand when a ton of masonry fell on someone's head, or a crocodile bit someone's arm off, but mostly it just involved hanging around card games. A pleasant pursuit, but even the most pleasant pursuits can get a little tedious after a few thousand years.

That wasn't the worst of it, however. What really bothered Zorgo was that people didn't even appreciate him. He had no temple with giant golden idols and fawning mystical priests. All that he got was blamed for anything and everything that ever went wrong. That was perhaps, he often thought, where the goat head came in.

All this had recently changed, however. Things had, of late been looking up for Zorgo. Since the demise of the Babylonians, his services had only very very occasionally been required, and only in Las Vegas, where he was always able to take in a show and get a few free drinks in the bargain. He had found that he had a great deal of free time on his hands and had taken up crochet, and was learning how to play the xylophone; a difficult task for a person with hooves. He had in short, been taking it easy and enjoying himself. Until this morning that is.

At around eleven O'clock, just after he had finished sharpening his horns and flossing his hooves, a call came in from Dis, the administrative center of Hell. This was definitely a bad sign. The administration of Hell was a bureaucracy so gnarled and tangled that even the department of motor vehicles sent consultants in to copy their system. It had taken the most warped and demented minds that Hell could produce eons to craft an organization so strangled by red tape and inefficiency. Only the most truly evil of the damned souls to enter Hell were ever sent to work in Dis. It was not, in short, a good place to be.

To make matters worse, the call came from one of the secretaries of Belial, the foremost of Satan's Lieutenants, and a complete raving lunatic. Belial was the nominal head of the Mortal World Operations Division, which supposedly dealt with matters relating to Earth, and the world of the living. He was only the nominal head because most of the time he was too busy reeking havoc to actually do anything. Belial seemed to exist as the heart and soul of the bureaucracy, executing the necessary orders, ignoring the underlings, and generally just yelling at people whenever he had the chance. He never actually got anything done because that was not the way of the bureaucracy. Results did not count, procedure was paramount. This aside, he was still in charge because everyone, Satan included, was afraid to fire him. Recently Belial had become increasingly unstable and had adopted a new philosophy for dealing with people. The staff called it psychological terrorism. Zorgo had no idea what this meant, nor was he too eager to find out.

The staff was, as usual, completely wrong. This in itself was entirely acceptable, as staff in bureaucracies everywhere are carefully chosen, hired, and trained to do exactly that. It is all part of some strange, mystical, and long forgotten bureaucratic rite, that it is not considered pleasant to talk about in polite circles.

What Belial was actually doing was being nice. Belial had, for as long as he could remember, which was exactly as long as he had existed, been an extremely unpleasant individual. He was a high ranking demon who's unimaginable wrath and ire had been channeled and honed into a fine razor edged pinpoint of malice by uncountable eons spent in middle management, dealing with systems analysts, accountants, and particularly efficiency experts. Belial despised efficiency experts, who, to him, were the very bane of a well functioning bureaucracy. The roads to hell are not, as is often thought, paved with good intentions, but with the bones of unlucky efficiency experts.

After a near eternity even the most demented mind needs a change, and Belial, who had been feeling slightly down since the untimely demise of his pet goldfish, Willy, had decided he needed a change. After reading a number of self-help books, and paving a few roads with their authors, Belial, mired in an abyss of depression and self loathing, had taken the last exit on the highway of the truly desperate. He had written to Ann Landers. She had offered him the simple advice that being nicer to people might make him feel better, and as a result she became one of only two mortal beings ever to communicate with Belial and survive. G. Gordon Liddy, of course, being the other. Belial had taken her advice to heart and set about to change his outlook on life for the better. Thus far it had not been easy, and any insurance agents in the vicinity of Belial would have rapidly found themselves upping Ann Landers' premiums, and staying far, far away from anywhere she may possibly be. He was however, committed to changing, and was trying, with the mental strength of the universes most persistent bureaucratic, to succeed.

Knowing this, however, would not have improved Zorgo's immediate outlook upon life. While normally a fairly competent, if somewhat confused individual, Zorgo was reduced to the level of a babbling idiot when confronted by Hell's most prominent psychopath. Sheer terror did strange things to his brain.

He was not looking foreword to seeing Belial, as their last meeting had led to Belial coating him liberally with cheese whiz and sentencing him to the circle of gluttons for six months. Zorgo was fond of neither gluttons nor, artificial cheese products. Belial, apparently, was not too fond of either Babylonians, or bad luck. Zorgo knew, however, what he had to do, and bracing himself for the latest onslaught, set off for the offices of Belial.

Upon arriving he was immediately escorted to the grand master of lunacy himself. Belial was, currently, residing in a luxurious, modernly appointed corner office with views towards the lake of fire, the circle of albatross abusers, which was not highly occupied, and in the distance the far interior of Hell. It was an impressive Vista, and if one looked closely one could see tiny demons running around with minute pitchforks.

"Wow! they look just like ants" Zorgo unfortunately exclaimed

"What do?" asked Belial, emerging from behind his enormous desk.

"Er...the demons sir"

Belial turned and peered out of the window for a full minute before reaching a conclusion which he revealed to Zorgo painfully slowly.

"No they don't, they look like demons. Very very small ones. After this meeting report to medical and have a new set of eyes put in."

"Er...Yes sir" responded Zorgo. This was actually going better than he had expected. Normally Belial would have simply, ripped his eyes out of his sockets and replaced them with silly putty. Perhaps this was an example of the new Belial he had heard rumor of; The less violent, less ruthless, and according to office gossip, infinitely more deranged chief bureaucrat.

Belial stared at him intently for a moment.

"Zorgo isn't it?" he asked

"Yes, sir?"

" are you......" Belial seemed to be considering something carefully. Zorgo could see tiny wisps of steam evaporating from his skull.

"Yes sir?" asked Zorgo

"Are you happy Zorgo?"

Zorgo's ears did not appear to be functioning correctly.

"Am I what sir?"

"Happy Zorgo. Are you happy? Do you..."Belial briefly glanced at a book lying opened on his desk. "Do you laugh Zorgo? Do you cavort?

Do you frolic merrily?"

"No sir, frolicking is not allowed except for those expressly issued with a permit, which can be obtained only under executive order. Unauthorized frolicking is punishable by.....er.....by...by something very nasty sir. I think it involves lobsters sir."

"Yes, yes, yes, I know all about that. I wrote the damn rules you Ignorant mass of pusillanimous......" Belial who had turned a bright red color and was starting to vent steam like a Burmese built blast furnace suddenly paused, blinked, and exhaled, smiling. He appeared calm. Zorgo flinched.

"What I meant was, are you content? Are you in tune with your soul. Do you enjoy being who you are?"

"Is that allowed sir?"

"Just answer me Zorgo"

"Am I content?"

"Yes"

"Well, what with one thing being another, and, well you know how it is when you get right down to it, and...er... am I allowed to be content sir?"

Belial snapped "Answer the damn question"

"I'm learning the xylophone" squeaked Zorgo as rapidly as he could.

This appeared to momentarily stun Belial.

"The xylophone?"

"Yes sir. It's made of metal sir, and it has hammers and things"

"The Xylophone?"

"It goes ding ding ding sir" said Zorgo helpfully.

Belial was beginning to think that he was out of his depth.

"And that makes you happy?" he asked.

Zorgo thought about this for a moment. "not really, no. But it keeps me occupied sir. Idle hands do the devils work."

"No, they don't, otherwise nothing would ever get done. Idle hands get severed at the elbow and turned into hot dog meat. Remember that Zorgo, it may not make you happy, but it'll keep you in one piece." Belial paused thoughtfully "But at least your content Zorgo. You could serve as an example for us all."

"I could? would it be painful sir?"

Belial clasped his head in exasperation. He was not cut out for this kind of conversation. Things would have been easier in the old days. Back then he would simply have carved out Zorgo's liver, and assorted other vital organs, and stuffed his innards with pickled onions. Perhaps, he thought, it would soon be time to pay a visit to miss Landers in person. But at the moment business was paramount.

"Are you aware why I called you here Zorgo?"

"No sir."

Belial sat down on his desk, plastered a slightly strained smile on his face and attempted, as best he could, to be nice to someone whom he considered on the same intellectual level as a slightly sluggish mollusk.

"Well, Zorgo, are you aware that we here in hell have undergone some important changes recently."

"No sir"

"You see Zorgo, we have had a little shake up in upper management. A slight transference of power if you will."

"If I will what sir?"

"If you will just shut up I wont have to nail your lips together"

"Yes sir....sorry sir!"

Belial, his smile slipping slightly, continued "We have a new boss, Zorgo. Satan has retired."

"Retired! I didn't know he could retire. I can't retire."

"No, but you can be forcefully removed. Now shut up."

"Yes sir"

"Due to circumstances beyond our control, or at least beyond my control, Our supreme lord and master has been replaced."

"Replaced? By who sir?"

"By whom, Zorgo. By whom. Please try to learn to speak properly. We have a certain tone to maintain. He was replaced by a creature known only as The Great Haddock of Doom."

"The what?"

"Don't ask, Zorgo. It is not your place. As a result of the er... shake up, we have taken a new direction here in management."

"I've always liked North myself, sir."

"Shut up, Zorgo. As I was saying, as a result of the new program here in hell, changes have been made, plans have been pushed forward, programs have been implemented, and er... in short, the Antichrist has been appointed."

"Is that bad sir?" asked Zorgo, who had never really studied his instruction manual.

"It means the end of all creation"

"Is that bad sir?"

Belial took a deep breath and tried a different tack

"It'll mean a lighter work load"

"Oh good."

Belial ignored this. "The problem is we're having trouble finding him."

"Finding who sir?" Small beads of sweat began forming on Zorgo's hairy brow.

"The Antichrist..."

Zorgo had a great deal of experience with people losing things, it was all part of bad luck. "you probably just misplaced him sir, perhaps if you retrace your steps you'll..."

"Shut up Zorgo. It's not that simple. He wandered off from where he was supposed to be, and our minions don't seem to be able to locate him. Are you aquatinted with Zothso?"

"The Bringer Of Strange Tidings sir? I play bridge with him on Sundays."

"Ah, then you'll have noticed that he's been a little, shall we say unstable, lately."

"In comparison to what sir?"

"Ah, good point" replied Belial, immediately recognizing that Zorgo's point of view on people behaving oddly was, with out a doubt, slightly skewed.

"Last week he told me that he had been visited by Aliens sir"

"My point exactly. Zothso seems to be suffering from what is termed..." he consulted a thick leather bound book on his desk, "executive stress syndrome. The pressures of the job appear to have gotten the best of him. Unfortunately he was sent out on this mission before anyone realized the severity of the problem, and we haven't seen him since."

"Yes, he wasn't at the game last night, so we had to bring in Yog Sothoth as a replacement. He kept eating the cards."

"Shut up Zorgo. The problem is that the Antichrist needs to be notified who he is in order to start the progression of the apocalypse."

"He doesn't know who he is? Doesn't he have a driver's license or a passport or something sir?"

"He knows who he is, he just doesn't know he's the Antichrist. He has to be notified before the position is considered filled. That's the rules. We sent Zothso, and lost him, and so we sent Cerberus to help, but we ran into a problem."

"Is he pooping on the floor again sir? Those kibbles and bits go right through him sir."

"No, he is not pooping on the floor. We tried to send him to earth using the new computer system rather than the old methods, but there seemed to be some kind of a problem. The transfer didn't take place properly. We don't know what happened, but he's there somewhere in a different form. What we want you to do is go and find them all."

"How will I do that sir?"

"Probably very badly Zorgo. We'll send you back to talk to one of our agents on Earth. He should be able to direct you to the Antichrist, then all you have to do is give him his instruction manual and his name tag and tell him to report in. The others should be nearby, as they'll be attracted to him. Their programming is pretty strong. Think you can handle all of that?"

"No sir"

Being nice can, often, be very difficult indeed.