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The jeers and clamoring of the crowd surrounding him set Voldo’s nerves afire with anxiety. He’d never been around so many people before. In fact, he doubted more families had lived in his home village than could be counted on two hands. Yet his new master had desired to attend the execution today, so he was obliged to follow regardless of discomfort or misgivings. Now his heart was filled with regret at having been so obedient. His ears were assaulted from all sides by harsh words, and each fresh call for the blood of the condemned made him wince.

“This is too good for ‘im! Hang him from the ramparts!” called one goodwife, her arms burdened with two small children.

(Voldo wondered what kind of person would bring their family to an event like this.)

“Hope they slice his face up before they bring that axe down – that’d make him feel the shame, alright!” a burly man chuckled, elbowing his compatriots until they joined in with his cruel mirth.

“What’s taking them so long?” muttered a young man somewhere nearby. “Why are they giving him so much extra time?”

“I suppose they’re letting him finish his prayers.” answered his older companion.

“Ha! He should’ve been thinking about the Divine before he did whatever got him sent to the block…it was murder, yeah?”

Voldo was so engrossed in eavesdropping that the sudden tug on his sleeve made him start. His master’s sound of amusement cut through the air almost as sharply as it did his heart.

“Hmhmhm! What’s the matter, Voldo? Were you lost in thought, or is that fear I see in your eyes?” Vercci asked, the corner of his mouth quirking to the side.

Voldo felt his stomach churning. A smirk on the face of the Merchant of Death was bad news. He’d learned that merely hours after entering his service.

“I…I was distracted, Signore! I’m very sorry.”

“You seem to be sorry always. I’m beginning to think it’s a trait of your station.” Vercci turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand. “And remember, you are to call me ‘Master.’ Only Enrico is ‘Signore.’ Proper titles are important, you know.”

 “Y-yes, Master.” Voldo blushed as he spoke. Though the reprimand barely qualified as one, it brought the same stiffness to his limbs that harsher words would.

“Thank you. That was much better.” replied Vercci, though his eyes were now fixed intently upon the spectacle before them.

With the condemned’s neck upon the block, the burly axe-man was slowly lifting his fell weapon in preparation for the coup de grace. A horrible suspense descended upon the spectators, and for a brief time their shouts grew quieter. And yet they would soon pick up their yelling again, invigorated by the idea of imminently witnessing a well-deserved death.

As Voldo grew tenser at each passing moment, he couldn’t help noticing how his master seemed to become ever more excited. The merchant’s breathing had quickened, his teeth bared in something resembling a smile as the fatal second drew closer. And though Voldo shut his eyes tightly when the axe at last came down, he thought he could hear Vercci’s faint laughter above the triumphant baying of the crowd and the wet, unpleasant squelch of an abruptly ended life.

“Oh, Voldo. Such a shame that you missed the best part…”

Voldo opened his eyes to see his master looking up at him again. As Vercci tsked in disapproval, the young man swore he felt his heart hitting the cobblestones beneath their feet.

“I suppose I’ll have to desensitize you to the world’s cruelty in some other way, then. Come along, now.”

Without even acknowledging the gory scene in the middle of the piazza, the merchant strode off through the crowd, stopping only to give his servant an expectant glance over his shoulder. And once again, Voldo had no choice but to follow.

But he knew full well what would happen back at the villa.

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Cervantes hadn’t pressed him into galley service. That alone should have told Voldo that something was gravely wrong. The pirate captain had forced everyone he’d taken from the humble ship Santa Minerva belowdecks the very night of the boarding, a quick march down rickety steps to the oars and benches where they’d soon be chained. Voldo suspected this accursed ship, and wherever else the captain chose to drag his erstwhile compatriots, would be their home from now on. But the passenger brought onboard at the very next port days later was as sound a sign as any that he would not be sharing their fate.

She was a shrewd, weathered woman, that Catalina, sharp of eye and temper alike. While the “lonelier” members of Cervantes’ roughneck crew had wasted no time in leering at her the moment she set foot upon the aged deck of the Adrian, she was equally quick in deflecting their advances – with knifepoint if necessary. Her taste for violence and the captain’s threats of rough discipline combined to grant her a wall of protection stouter than any city barricade, and soon the rowdy men of the sea turned their attentions to an easier target – namely, Voldo himself.

It wasn’t unfamiliar treatment – his own fellow sailors on the Santa Minerva had given him no end of the hard time usually reserved for the so-called fairer sex. And come to think of it, as soon as he’d come of age back in the village (and even a trifle of time before), he’d been subjected to whistles and whoops from the more daring menfolk…to say nothing of their wandering hands. And then there were the names he’d been called on top of it all, so many times each that they’d burned themselves into his brain deeper than iron brands.

Harlot! Strumpet! Whore! Slut!

He shuddered to think back even now, despite being settled on a comfortable, cushioned stool in Catalina’s immaculate cabin.

“Shiverin’ still?” Catalina asked, running a fine-toothed ivory comb through his hair and humming to herself as she did. “Seas alive, ya won’t make a proper prize at this rate! Hah, Cervantes won’t be too thrilled with me if ya never learn to keep yourself upright n’ steady-like.”

“P-prize?” Voldo hugged himself, gazing at the rouged and be-silked stranger in the mirror before him. He’d barely ever seen his own reflection before, save for in water; his family had been too poor to even afford a primitive looking glass. Yet he was familiar enough with his appearance to be taken aback at how Catalina had transformed him. From a gangly, too-pale sailor with spider fingers and knock-knees, he’d become a creature that would better grace a fresco than a salty old ship-deck…but only if that fresco depicted visions from its painter’s wet-dream.

“Sure, a prize.” Catalina said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Just as much as any a’ my girls back landside. Got a couple boys too for the gentlemen what like that sort a’ thing…but none of ‘em are as pretty as you!” She let out a raucous croak of a laugh, more seagull than woman, giving his shoulder a rough, yet good-natured shake as she did.

Voldo didn’t feel reassured. Or even flattered.

“Aw, don’t give me such a sour look; ya look like yer wine turned to vinegar.” Catalina snickered, patting his cheek. Voldo winced. “I promise, it’s all gonna be easy times from here on out. You’ll see.”

“I…don’t think I understand.”

“Ya mean you haven’t figured it out yet?” Catalina raised an eyebrow. “Hell’s depths, you’re a dense one! The good captain is gonna sell ya into a new life. No more swabbing and climbing for you, that’s for sure. Livin’ landside like a decoration in some fancy house…it’ll be a dream come true, eh?” She lightly nudged him in the ribs, but he simply shook his head, eyes wide with shock and horror.

“B-but what if I don’t want to-“

“Oh sweetlin’, Cervantes ain’t exactly giving you a choice!” There came another round of that gull-like laughter. But at its end, she came in close to Voldo’s ear and spoke lower than she had before. “Y’know, he and I have been friends for ages. I wish I’d talked him into sellin’ you to me…but he got word of ya out to someone up north before I had a chance. Lucky rich bastard.”

Finding himself numb at those words, Voldo stayed silent. Dread Pirate Cervantes, infamous scourge of the seas, was going to sell him off body and soul to some stranger. Life as a galley-slave seemed to instantly grow more appealing.

“Goddabove, there goes the shiverin’ again! Sit still n’ pretty for once while I get you finished up, yeah? There’s a good boy…remember, we’ll be easin’ into port sharpish, so you’ve gotta look your best.”

And just like that, Catalina was back to primping and prodding him, picking up that jaunty tune again in her rough-edged voice. Giving in to her wishes, Voldo blankly stared at himself in the mirror. Somehow, he managed not to start crying. Tears would only ruin his painted face, and the last thing he wanted to do was make the coarse madam angry.

It was a few hours later that Voldo found himself tugged out onto the deck and into the fullness of the warm afternoon sun, led along on a chain by Cervantes himself and flanked by Catalina. Nearby crewmen whispered amongst themselves, pointing, laughing, voicing wicked desires to their companions, and yet the young man tried to hold his head high and ignore them. The jangling bells adorning his wrists and ankles did a decent job of drowning out their lewd words besides, and for that he was thankful.

But what little courage he had left deserted him when he laid eyes upon the stranger, clad in velvet finery and sneering up at him, who’d just boarded the ship from the harbor below. If…if that was who he thought it was…a demise at sea would have been merciful in comparison.

His thoughts spinning wildly, he barely heard Cervantes’ booming, triumphant words. It was as if they were echoing from somewhere outside time and space, perhaps even beyond history.

“Well, lad…meet your new master: the Merchant of Death himself!”

Chapter Text

     He found himself seated in a plush, crimson chair in the balcony once more, on the night of a sold-out show. The cover of the program in his hand was colorfully designed, and its immaculate typography proudly announced the name of the evening’s play: The Servant of Two Masters. It was a light-hearted comedic romp, though perhaps not as popular in the modern day as other productions. He had watched it many times this season; commedia and works in a similar vein were this troupe’s specialty. But if he were honest, it wasn’t the play he had come to see. Nor did he care about any of the actors, save for one: the young comic performer who once again played Truffaldino, that most famous of Harlequins. Clad in a costume as evocative of servants from an old, long-forgotten Italy as it was a classical fool, the man was simply magnificent at every turn. He could cut a caper just as well as he could give humorous asides to the audience, to say nothing of how he handled the notorious banquet scene. As his food-passing antics grew ever more outrageous, the auditorium echoed with well-deserved laughter.

     Shakespeare this was not – more like slapstick at best. And yet the man watching from the balcony was enthralled all the same. But his rapt attention lasted only while the comic actor was onstage. The romantic plot and all the rest couldn’t hold even a moment of his interest, and he shifted impatiently in his seat until the young man reappeared. The charming jests and skillful acrobatic feats that actor performed throughout the production were breathtaking to behold. Others might think such things expected and unimpressive in a show of this nature, but they would be mistaken. Never had the man seen someone who so easily embodied his designated archetype. The wonder of the stage was expressed in his every gesture, and each word he spoke showed he was a natural fit for the role he played. Just as it had every night previous, the show passed in a sparkling blur. The man in the balcony only had eyes for the actor in the extravagant motley, and his applause during the cast’s final bow was meant for no one else.

     As the curtain fell for the last time, the appreciative spectator cast his eyes over the plastic-wrapped bouquet of flowers on the empty seat next to him. Yes, they were perfect, weren’t they? Surely his gift would be accepted this time! Even if he could never gain access backstage, at least he could show that actor just how much he admired him. With a vigor that belied his growing age, he snatched up the flowers and hurried to the balcony exit, a wide grin gracing his thin features.

     It would be different tonight; he was sure of it. The Fates could not continue to smash his desires into dust. No man could forever be unfortunate in his pursuits. He wanted what he wanted and would soon have it…or rather, him.

     Flowers would lead to more. They had to. Wasn’t that the way of things? What was wealth if the gifts it bought stirred no one’s heart? Bribes worked. The world of business had shown him that time and again. But was this a bribe? His normally practical mind seemed loath to think of it that way. No, this was a sincere present, one of infatuation if not love. The young actor, surely a romantic, would be thrilled to receive such a token. And so it was with optimism that the man made his inquiries with the theater staff. His persistence was rewarded when a member of the backstage crew offered to ferry the flowers to their rightful recipient. Without hesitation, the man handed over the bouquet and slipped the crew member some money for his trouble.

     Still, he couldn’t help but feel paranoia gnawing at him as he watched the stranger walk away with the flowers. He had no proof that the bouquet would end up in the young actor’s dressing room, rather than in a trash can somewhere out of sight. But all he could do was entrust it to the Fates. It was entirely out of his hands.

     His former joviality retreating fast, he undertook the long, slow walk out of the theater. The sidewalk bustled with people, and yet the crowds only served to make him feel more isolated. Still, a silver lining made itself known as he waited anxiously for the arrival of his taxi: some small comfort could be had if he meditated on his object of desire. And that he did, the young actor’s name ringing through his mind like the sweetest of bells.

Voldo Zani. Voldo Zani. Voldo Zani…

     The sacred syllables lingered in his thoughts for long after that, even as he met his brother for their usual weekly supper that night. It was the only occasion they convened for these days, for numerous reasons. Their reserved table in the restaurant was in a quiet, private corner, ideal for the tense discussions that always seemed to happen when they were together.

     “This obsession of yours isn’t healthy, Vercci.” Enrico shook his head. “I can’t count how many plays you’ve been to this month, let alone this year.”

     “Obsession? What if I’ve simply developed an appreciation for the theater?” Vercci crossed his arms, smirking a bit as he did.

     “A fine story, but one I’m not inclined to believe.” said Enrico, nudging around an errant flake of crust on his plate with a fork. He sat silent for a few brief moments, before looking up at last with a firm and steady gaze. “I know all about what you’re up to, and I think it’s time you stopped. Men around your age…well. It’s not dignified, is what I’m getting at.”

     Vercci narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, Enrico?”

     “That Voldo Zani…you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

     “What if I am? Haven’t I earned a fleeting attraction by now?”

     It was Enrico’s turn to give a withering look. “I’d hardly call it ‘fleeting’ when you’re willing to spend so much on going to see him perform. You used to be so tight-fisted with your money, Vercci. It’s a terrible waste to throw it away for someone who’s never going to take a second glance at you.”

     Clenching his hand into a fist, Vercci tried his level best to bite back his temper. He could only do so much. “Spoken like a spineless wretch who’d never take a risk if his life depended on it!” he snarled. “But then, you took the safe way through life, didn’t you? Married the first one who came along, had more children than you know what to do with…”

     Enrico sat back in his chair as suddenly as if he’d been pushed. “I don’t think you have the right to criticize my decisions! You’re the one who’s worked overtime in our business. Maybe you would have met someone by now if you hadn’t.”

     “I’ve met plenty of people, and I assure you, none of them were for me! It’s that actor I want, and I will have him eventually. Mark my words!”

     As he took a deep breath, Enrico’s expression softened. “Vercci. I…I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight with you about this. You know, Mercutio is about your age, and he got married just last year. He used a matchmaking service, and while I know you’re not inclined to-“

     “To hell with Mercutio! Thank you for the suggestion, but I’ve made up my mind.” Vercci said, in a tone that implied he wasn’t very thankful at all.

     He rose from his chair and grabbed for his coat. “I’m going out for a moment. Mind that the server refills my glass with the right vintage.” With that, he strode past his brother and into the restaurant proper, past all the oblivious diners and directly out the door.

     Feeling the need for privacy, he slipped sight-unseen into the alley that separated the restaurant from a row of equally upscale businesses facing the piazza. There he stood alone, staring up at the stars as snow began to fall.

     Perhaps Enrico was right for once. This lust (really, it could be little else) that he felt for Voldo, whom he’d never met personally, was farcical. Could he really afford to turn his successful life into a tragedy now, or worse yet, a comedy? Surely others would find him foolish if they heard about his little indiscretions at the local theater. The fierce reputation he’d so carefully, cautiously built up over the years in the marketplace would be as good as sunk then, the same way ships hit with missiles easily slipped into the depths. The simile hit close to home for the weapons dealer, who could only manage a rueful smile as he considered it.

     Any other man might have given up then, perhaps enlisting the services of that matchmaker poor old Mercutio had resorted to. But he was the Merchant of Death, and such a defeat would be more than he could stand. No, there was a final ace up his sleeve, one he’d been planning to make use of for a long time now. Enrico, to his everlasting credit, had simply provided the final nudge.

     In the next few seconds, he dialed a certain number on his phone and waited for his contact to answer. As with all his communications, it would be untraceable.

     The person on the other end could surely hear the grin in his voice as they picked up, even as he spoke sotto voce.

     “This is Vercci…yes, I’m finally claiming that favor you owe me. No, it won’t be too hard of a task for you, if you’re as skilled at procuring as you seem to be. The one I have in mind? Well! Does the name ‘Voldo Zani’ ring any bells…?”

     Such jovial conversation about something decidedly not so…and yet Vercci paid little heed to that irony. There were more important things to think about, such as the upcoming holidays. The gift-giving season was close at hand, and if there was anything his wealth was suited for, it was purchasing presents. He’d certainly be vindicated for spending most generously on himself this year.

     After all, The Merchant of Death always received just what he wanted.

Chapter Text

     He’d long since come to terms with the reality that he could trust no one. No soul in the whole of Italy was worth putting his own interests on the line for, whether bonded to him by blood or business ties. Not even Enrico, out of all his brothers, was fully reliable. Vercci was more than aware that this was an exceedingly paranoid way to view the world. Yet wasn’t paranoia a merchant’s watchword? It seemed that competition in every domain of business heightened by the day. Even the grain-sellers were at each other’s throats in the modern marketplace. How could the weapons trade be any different in such an atmosphere?

Competitors lurked everywhere, both at home and abroad. They’d rather see him dead than successful, particularly if his continued existence threatened their livelihood. To secure his well-being in all things, he had to keep his connections at a safe distance. Just as the bulk of the family fortune was safely locked away in the securest of coffers, so too was the Merchant of Death’s heart kept safe behind all manner of defenses.

     And yet it had been the most unlikely of men who’d found his way into Vercci’s inner sanctum, in more ways than one. A peasant from impoverished South Italy…by rights, he should still be stranded in that backwater he’d been born in, or perhaps laboring on some ship down at the docks. But the Fates had other plans it seemed, for now that peasant slept peacefully at Vercci’s side, nude and languid beneath the thick furs and fine linen. Vercci watched the bedclothes rise and fall as the young man breathed, and with a careful hand reached out to rub his back. Voldo barely stirred, except to let out a quiet sigh against the pillow.

     For once, Vercci’s smile was serene, even gentle. The merchant’s cruel eyes sparkled with delight as he gazed upon the face of his prize. He would never be a thing of beauty himself, at least not by the standards of the age. But he could certainly collect and own such objects of adoration. Paintings, sculptures…and a fine young man to display before his guests, whether they realized his intention or not. Ostensibly, Voldo was his bodyguard: nothing more and nothing less. Or so the rabble thought. That was the impression Vercci preferred for them to walk away with. Then there would be a lower likelihood of anyone growing too covetous of his most valuable treasure.

     Oh, there had been a few minor difficulties at first. Voldo hadn’t exactly come willingly into the fold, at least not for the reasons Vercci had in mind. It was purely money the younger man had been interested in at first, abundant florins with which to support his family back home. For months, he’d not given his employer the time of day, not even when the tasks Vercci assigned him grew more intimate than what would be expected of a typical guardsman. And yet that had all changed one fateful week, when Voldo received word that his family wouldn’t be needing his contributions any longer. A band of roving mercenaries had swiftly seen to that, razing their little village on the coast and sending them to their Maker. Such was the way of things in Italy.

     Memories of their first carnal embrace were still so sweet in the merchant’s mind. The tears had been fresh on Voldo’s beautiful face as he’d pressed him down into the mattress. Somehow, despite being so flushed with sorrow, the young man possessed a statuesque beauty to rival the finest artistic masterwork. Vercci hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him for a moment, even while enjoying mankind’s basest pleasure. It wasn’t only his loins that were quickened by the hours they spent together that marvelous evening, as the rain lashed the windows and thunder rumbled ever closer. His scheming mind was struck aflame too, filled with ideas on how to further claim the mournful servant as his own. And after that night, he’d had the privilege to watch as both the merciless lash and exquisite luxury bent Voldo’s will in favor of his own. He was certain now that not even a memory of those long-dead relations remained in the young man’s mind, replaced with a deep devotion for the kindly, doting master who’d taken him in. Day by day, week by week, the guard sank ever further into the mire of love.

     Feeling a chill pass through his own naked body, Vercci cuddled up beneath the covers and against Voldo’s far-taller frame. Those slim, muscular arms encircled his frailness, and the merchant let out a quiet sigh at the overwhelming sense of security which enveloped him. But beneath it was a certain smugness, an urge to revel in the power he had over one so much stronger and healthier. It was good to be in this position, he thought.

     Noting the scars on Voldo’s forearms, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction: not all of them had been the work of his enemies. Some were his own handiwork. They had brought his bodyguard much pain…with some pleasure, too. It was a rare treat to find a man so pliable and willing to experience such things.

     Yes, after abiding so long without loyalty or safety, both were readily provided to him by Voldo. Certainly, a little persuasion had been required, but all that was said and done now. There was nothing left for the Merchant of Death to do but bask in the warm comfort of his accomplishments.

     And so, breathing a soft word of praise to the Fates, Vercci allowed sleep to take him as he nestled in the arms of the only man he trusted.

Chapter Text

     Master had made a mistake again this morning. He’d been slipping up so often now that Voldo was beginning to feel sad. But such sorrow was out of place in wonderful, welcoming House Vercci, and so the young man did his level best to hide his emotions. Dear Master didn’t suspect a single thing, bless his clever soul. And yet behind smiling lips, Voldo ground his teeth.

     It was hard to stay this close to Master’s side, nearly shoulder to shoulder, without saying something about what he’d just done! But he had to remain silent to keep up the appearance that was so important for a proper servant to have. It wouldn’t do for him to have an outburst while they were in the piazza on business, oh no. He would be reprimanded for that, or worse, even punished! Though he’d never, ever had such a tantrum before, he knew how Master would react if he did. Many untoward acts had been worthy of punishment when he’d first arrived at the villa. Speaking out of turn, for instance. Or daring to stride in front of Master rather than trailing behind. Master Vercci had worked ever-so-hard to turn him into a proper man of the retinue. Stripping him of these unsightly habits had been the first step in the process.

     But even considering himself a man was against Master’s wishes: he was unworthy of such a title. No, at best he was a fool, a lackey, a zanni. And, when he had been very good, he earned the privilege of being a toy as well. Master knew best what role he should play at any given time, and Voldo was grateful to have someone else making that decision for him. In fact, he’d gladly hand over further control of his life, should his benefactor demand it.

      But this was no time for reflection. Dear, ignorant Master had begun neglecting to keep his unspoken end of their bargain. Oh, the man he’d happened to glance at was no one special, just another of the young gadabouts who flooded the marketplace at this time of day in pursuit of food or amusement. But it was the principle of the thing that set Voldo on edge. There was no need to look at other men, not while he was present! If the merchant wanted someone to admire, he had only to turn his head to his right side. He certainly wasn’t deserving of such attention, but when Master deigned to provide it, he was happier than the angels.

     Yet Master’s eyes wandered so readily these days, almost as if he were growing bored of him. There could be no worse fate than that.

     In a heartrending way, it was understandable. Master Vercci was a wealthy merchant, capable of acquiring anything he wished for with a minimum of effort and a generous application of coin. Eventually all his possessions would cease to amuse him, leading him to search for novelties to add to his growing bounty of wealth. It only made sense that this habit extended to his relationships as well. Another young man would draw the merchant’s appraising eye soon, and then Voldo would have to find employ elsewhere…either that, or content himself with stalking behind the new couple forevermore, watching a brazen thief step in and steal away what had rightfully been his.

     Although he had remained submissive and compliant where Master was concerned, there was no doubt whatsoever in Voldo’s mind that he held ultimate possession of the older man. Just as he had been bound into service, so too was Vercci inextricably chained for life to his side. Voldo had owned so little in his sad life, which made him ever eager to cling to the single soul he’d claimed, the one he hoped would stay beside him forever.

     If only the merchant could be struck sightless! Then no one would be able to entice his traitorous gaze with their tempting form. Yes, the longer Voldo considered it, the more appealing the idea appeared. Like a dimly gleaming gem in a grimy sand pit, its luster enchanted him.

     It was well within his grasp to accomplish it, a simple matter of pressing the jamadhars Master had so graciously given him to the task of carving out those unfaithful eyes. And wouldn’t Master Vercci be ever-more-reliant on him in the wake of the deed? Not only would he still need guarding, but he would require a guiding grasp to lead him about the villa and the public square as well…to say nothing of all those mercantile tasks he would now be forced to delegate to his right-hand man. It would be hard work to say the least, but Voldo was prepared to shoulder the cost. For love, for the sheer adoration his devoted heart held within for the only man he truly cared about, he would do anything in this world.

      Just as he was encouraging himself with these thoughts, giving in to the glorious madness affection raised within his very soul, an objection came to mind. It was a great one indeed: could he stand to no longer have those haughty, cruel blue eyes gazing over him as if he were mere property? Could he live with knowing that the reason his dear master began wearing a blindfold was not for erotic bliss, but to hide the unsightly gouged sockets that he himself had cleansed of their rightful contents? Even beyond that, their bond of trust might be broken should he harm a hair of his master’s head, for any reason.

     As strong as the temptation to punish Vercci for his wandering eyes was, the servant was keenly aware that he had to control himself. There would come subtler, more suitable plans in time. He would have to be patient, just as Master had taught him to be. For the present, it was best that the Merchant of Death remained none the wiser regarding his little schemes.

     Some fine morning soon, the Master would come to know just how deeply his zanni’s dedication ran…all the way down to the bowels of Hell itself.