Even in the kingdom of Heaven, the mundane is often unavoidable.
Satan’s words hung in the air.
Hopper laughed nervously. “Sorry, sir, I think I misheard you. Come again?”
“You’re going to earth, Hopper!” Satan said excitedly.
“Earth?! But... why?”
The king of Hell smiled widely, a white crescent glowing like pale moonlight. “Haven’t you been listening? You’re going to find God.”
“Sh-shouldn’t it be one of you?” Hopper stammered. “I-I mean. I wouldn't even know where to start looking!”
Satan shrugged. “It can’t be me. I can only inhabit earth by possessing a human, and that doesn’t usually go very well. Haven’t you seen The Exorcist?”
“M-Must have missed it.”
“Ah,” Satan said. “Well, trust me. If I go to earth there will be all manner of delays and complications. And Michael here is too busy.”
“Too much paperwork,” the leader of the angels agreed, nodding.
“W-Wouldn’t it be better to send a different one of the angels then? Raphael seems awfully eager.”
“You know more about earth than any of them,” Satan replied patiently. “As Head of Torturous Conditions, it’s your job to know about earth. Yes, you really are the best man for the job!”
“Uh. Thanks, I guess.” Hopper felt far from thankful, but what was he going to do? Refuse a direct order from the king of Hell? Usually that was a one way ticket to getting the Prometheus treatment. Hopper wasn’t especially keen on the idea of a bird ripping out his intestines once a day. “So, uh, any idea where I should start looking?”
“Perhaps start at one of the holy places,” Michael suggested. “Jerusalem. Mecca. Morgan Freeman’s house.”
Satan tapped a dark nail against his chin. “Hm. What about the memory markets in New York?”
Michael lit up excitedly. “Ah, yes! That would be good.”
Hopper frowned. “Memory markets?”
Satan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know them? I’m surprised, Hopper. I would have thought a man of your work would know all about such a thing.”
“I usually just read about stuff that’s good for torturing souls,” Hopper defended himself. “The electric chair, late stage capitalism, that sort of thing.”
“Ah, then it sounds like the memory markets would be an excellent place to start,” Michael said. “You can learn a lot about earth through those. I’ve even heard of some claiming to sell memories of Him there, though most are obviously mistaken or counterfeit.”
“And think of all the new tortures you’ll be able to implement after this excursion!” Satan exclaimed. “If anything, think of this as something of a business retreat.”
Hopper’s heart raced, the magnitude of his task setting in. “Right,” he said skeptically. “A business trip.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Do beware, Hopper. These markets are brimming not just with memories, but regrets, dreams, people’s deepest regrets. Even a demon of your caliber can easily become lost within them.”
“Great... So basically, I’m looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Satan chuckled. “More like a needle in an earth-sized haystack!”
“Ah, but don’t worry,” Michael reassured him. “You won’t be going alone. I have the perfect guide in mind for you.” He picked up his phone. “Greta, would you send Lyra in, please? Yes, now. Thank you.” He set the phone back down.
“Who’s Lyra?” Hopper asked.
Michael held up a finger. “Wait a moment, if you please.”
A shimmering portal ripped open beside the angel’s desk, circular and filled with nebulous, white flames. A girl around the same physical age as Hopper stepped out. She had a vibrant shock of purple hair and arms bearing tattoos that depicted various constellations. She wore an olive tank top, and strange, retro-looking goggles that appeared to be perpetually scanning for something.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Lyra,” Michael said. “This is Hopper. Hopper, Lyra is a human soul who recently applied to become an angel. We’ve been sending her back and forth from earth to test her, and I can think of no better final test than accompanying you.”
“Pleasure,” Lyra said, holding out her hand.
“P-Pleasure. I think,” Hopper said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm, painful even, though he tried not to wince in front of Satan.
“Lyra, Hopper here is going on a quest to earth to find and bring back God,” Michael explained. “Lucy and I would like you to accompany him.”
Lyra’s eyes widened. “I-Really? Yes, absolutely, Mr. Michael, sir. It would be my honor.”
Hopper couldn’t help noticing a nervous cadence in her demeanor similar to his own anytime he spoke with Satan. There was something comforting about knowing he wasn’t the only one intimidated by having a boss that could turn him into sentient dust for all eternity.
“Hm, now that that’s settled, the two of you should probably get going,” Satan said.
“Yes, good idea,” Michael agreed. He tried to back his chair out, but came up against the wall of paperwork behind him. Michael frowned. With difficulty, the angel shimmied out of the chair, then slowly extricated himself from behind the desk before approaching them. He was taller than Hopper had expected, at least six foot four. Batman height. “Come, Lyra, Hopper. I’ll show you to your portal to earth.”
“We aren’t going to use the usual channels?” Lyra asked, frowning.
“No, unfortunately you will have to visit earth physically,” Michael said. “Come along now.” He opened the door and sauntered out, Hopper, Lyra, and Satan in tow behind him.
They trekked through the labyrinth of cubicles and desks, making their way through several such rooms until they arrived at a tucked away, corner room devoid of any furniture. Dingy, fluorescent lightbulbs flickered overhead, casting an uneven glow on the room’s peeling, pale blue wallpaper.
Mismatched tiles, cracked and chipped in places, lined the floor. A fine layer of dust coated most surfaces, giving the impression that angels seldom visited. Heavy wooden shelves, groaning under the weight of old files, registers, and forgotten paraphernalia, covered one wall. The faded labels on them, written in elegant, archaic scripts, hinted at long-forgotten procedures and outdated protocols: “Animal Sacrifice Guidelines,” “Prayers To The Pope,” “Donations To Scientology.”
In one corner of the room stood a trash chute made of polished silver, gleaming with a purity that seemed out of place. Etched filigree patterns adorned its surface, turning the simple chute into a work of art. A sign above it, written in swirling golden letters, read: "For Earthly Misfiles Only." Below, a smaller inscription in a more bureaucratic tone reminded users: "Ensure proper celestial recycling procedures are followed. See manual 18-B." Michael popped open the chute, unveiling a swirling portal similar to the one Lyra had come from.
Hopper’s heart sank. “You’re kidding me.”
Satan snickered.
“First time?” Lyra asked.
Hopper sighed, eyeing the trash chute. “No, unfortunately.” He decided not to elaborate.
Without waiting for further instruction, Lyra clambered into the chute and disappeared into the portal.
Hopper was about to join her, when Satan stopped him. “A moment, Hopper. I know this is a difficult quest, so I shan’t have you go unprepared.” He reached into his blazer and produced a brown, leather wallet. He extracted a sleek, black plastic card, which he handed to Hopper. “Here, take this. You’ll need it. The humans still use money, so you’ll need some.”
Hopper took the card. “Uh... How much is on it?” he asked tentatively.
“Hm? Oh, unlimited money. Use it to stir a bit of chaos, will you?”
Hopper’s eyes widened. “Y-Yes sir!”
“I have a gift for you as well,” Michael said. He unbuttoned his blazer and pulled it open to reveal a gold sword hilt with a silver crossguard, beneath which was a dark button. He handed it to Hopper.
“Holy crap, is this a lightsaber?!”
Michael smiled. “It’s better.”
Hopper nodded eagerly and took the hilt, hanging it on his own belt. “Th-thank you.”
“Good luck, dear Hopper!” Satan exclaimed. “Do bring me a souvenir, won’t you?”
Hopper grinned. “Will do, sir!” He climbed into the chute, plugging his nose as he was met with a foul smell. “Welp, off to New York I guess.” With that, he plunged into the trash chute.
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