To say I sometimes tend to run hot under the collar is a gross understatement. After what happened in Triton, I was a pissed off five-hundred-pound gorilla with a pink fanny pack, a sawed-off, and a “can do or screw you” attitude. Now, I’m just looking for a visual aide to demonstrate my rage on and the demon that keeps standing me up is my top choice.On my way to get to him, of course, I stumbled over a demon cult that was in the process of signing people up for Hell. Add to that a run-in with competing demon factions, a haunted space pen, a snarky church janitor, Stacks’ next-level paranoia, a seance here or there, three staged suicides and a bunch of creepy door-to-door missionaries and the whole exercise was shaping up to be a good dose of anger therapy. Now, if I can just keep my head while I help them lose theirs, we’ll be just gravy. Of course, if they’re still not sure how hot-blooded I am, they can just try me and see.
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