Barnaby held on to Vincent firmly but he managed to squirm away. He gave chase shouting, "Get back here!" He saw all sorts of strange looking creatures resembling different kinds of beings. Barnaby figured the portal took him to some other reality. He kept running until Vincent darted into an alley. He continued after him. He backed him into a corner. Barnaby pointed his rifle at him shouting, "You are under arrest!" There was three shadows looming behind Barnaby. He looked and saw three canine people with glowing red eyes.
"Well, well, well, looks like we have someone we take on here." one of them sneered. Vincent pulled out a detonator from his suit pocket and threw it. Barnaby barreled my way through the beasts and heard a loud explosion. The force threw him to the ground and saw Vincent crawling away. Barnaby wanted to follow him when the dogman grabbed him by the collar and shouted in his face, "No one runs from me!" Barnaby kicked him in the batteries with his boot, hard. He howled in pain and Barnaby made a run for it. He and his fellows were running fast and he knew he couldn't outrun him. Barnaby spotted what looked like a hotel. He ran through the door and hid behind a couch. The three beasts ran right past the entrance. Barnaby breathed a sigh of relief. Just then he heard someone say, "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" He spun around and saw the person talking to him was a blonde lady with pale skin and a red suit. "Are you hear for redemption?" She asked enthusiastically. Barnaby was confused, "Excuse me, redemption?" Barnaby tilted his head. "Who are you and where am I?"
"I’m Charlie Morningstar, and you’re in the Pride Ring of Hell!" she beamed. She clasped her hands together, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was still clutching a high-tech rifle. "And this is a place where we take people who have... well, let’s say made some mistakes, and help them become better! Isn't it exciting?"
"I'm not dead." Barnaby said. "I thought hell was just a story people told just to scare people into behaving themselves. Barnaby took off his gasmask revealing a young man with brown hair and blue eyes.
Charlie’s enthusiastic beam didn't just falter; it vanished. Her eyes went wide, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she scanned him—not for "sin," but for the unmistakable, rhythmic thrum of a living pulse.
"Wait," she stammered, her voice jumping an octave. "You... you have a heartbeat? Like, a real, thumping-in-your-chest, breathing-air heartbeat?" She took a frantic step back, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Vaggie! Vaggie, come here! There’s a... there’s a warm person in the lobby!"
A lady with gray skin, white hair, and an X over her eye burst from the office, harpoon leveled, but she froze the moment she saw Barnaby's face. "Charlie, get back!" Vaggie hissed, stepping between the princess and the stranger. Vaggie looked at him and said, "He doesn't look like a sinner demon."
"I noticed!" Charlie squeaked from behind Vaggie’s shoulder, her hands pressed to her cheeks in a mix of horror and fascination. "He says he’s 'not dead,' Vaggie. A living human just... walked into the lobby! This is a disaster. This is a huge, huge breach of—"
Barnaby raised his hand. "Are you saying this is hell as in the place of eternal damnation?"
"Exactly!" Charlie squeaked, her voice hitting a panicked soprano. "Well, not the 'eternal' part. Redemption is possible!"
"But I am trying to get back to Earth, the realm of the living!" Barnaby cried out. "I have a mission and some portal sent me here!" Barnaby felt exasperated. "Pardon me for the frustration but I have to get these files to the top. There is an apocalypse on Earth on these files might save people."
Charlie’s eyes went from wide to dinner-plate sized. "An apocalypse? Like... a real one? Not just a bad day?" She grabbed her hair, pacing back and forth in a flurry of red suit fabric. "Vaggie! If Earth ends, the intake rate will go through the roof! We’re not zoned for an entire planet at once! The lobby is barely big enough for the breakfast rush!"
"Wait, wait, wait," Vaggie interrupted, stepping into Barnaby’s personal space and using the butt of her harpoon to block his path to the door. "An apocalypse? You’re telling us the entire human race is about to be wiped out?"
"You got it." Barnaby said. "There is a barnacle infection in which the sea barnacle is sending out eggs infecting people and turning them into zombies. I was wearing this gasmask to avoid breathing them in. You see, I was on a mission to eliminate anyone infected at a marine biologist center when one of the scientists gave me these manila envelopes. I haven't looked at them yet but she told me they have vital information about what is going on on Earth. I ended up here because there is a guy who is the treasurer of the world banking system who was in the building and when he pushed me in, I pulled him in with me. I'm trying to arrest him as a suspect."
Vaggie’s grip on her harpoon tightened until her knuckles turned a stark, ghostly white. She looked at the gasmask hanging from Barnaby’s belt, then at the thick manila envelopes clutched in his hand.
"Zombies? Barnacles?" Vaggie repeated, her voice laced with a mixture of horror and deep suspicion. "You’re telling me that while we're down here fighting for the literal souls of the damned, the world of the living is being turned into a crustacean-infested graveyard?" She looked toward Charlie, who was clutching her cheeks, her eyes darting between Barnaby and the door as if she expected a tidal wave of sea-undead to burst through at any moment.
Charlie gasped, "It sounds as though Earth has become the new hell."
"He’s a treasurer for the world banking system?" Vaggie interrupted, her one eye narrowing. "Great. Another human but one who is trouble."
Barnaby looked at the manila envelopes. He hadn't even had a chance to read the intel the scientist gave him. "If the information in these files can stop the infection, then getting back is my priority. But I can't leave a high-value suspect behind in a reality he could potentially weaponize."
"He's right, Vaggie!" Charlie said, suddenly determined, her demonic horns flickering into view for a split second as her passion flared. "We have to help him! We can't let the living world turn into a... a fishy apocalypse! That's not the happy ending anyone deserves!"
"Fine," Vaggie sighed, lowering her harpoon but not putting it away.
Barnaby then asked, "Who is in charge of this hotel?"
Charlie’s chest puffed out, and she struck a pose that was half-corporate CEO and half-theater kid. "That would be me! Charlie Morningstar," she beamed. "I’m the founder, director, and lead visionary of the Hazbin Hotel!"
Vaggie crossed her arms, her harpoon resting against her shoulder. "And she’s the Princess of Hell," she added, her voice dropping into a protective, warning tone. "So if you’re looking for the highest authority in this Ring who actually gives a damn about 'order,' you’re looking at her. Her father is Lucifer, but he’s... busy. Usually with ducks."
"I’m the founder, director, and lead visionary of the Hazbin Hotel!"
Vaggie crossed her arms, her harpoon resting against her shoulder. "And she’s the Princess of Hell," she added, her voice dropping into a protective, warning tone. "So if you’re looking for the highest authority in this Ring who actually gives a damn about 'order,' you’re looking at her. Her father is Lucifer, but he’s... busy. Usually with ducks."
"So, you're father is Satan?" Barnaby asked.
"Lucifer, actually," Charlie corrected with a sheepish, slightly awkward smile, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Satan is actually a different guy—way more into the whole 'wrath' and 'fitness' thing. My dad is the King, but he's... well, he’s mostly into making rubber ducks these days."
"Oh, you mean the seven deadly sins I read about in school before my parents got infected with the barnacle. That is considered obsolete knowledge on Earth. Humans are more focused on survival than demonology.
"Obsolete?" Vaggie echoed, her brow furrowing as she leaned against her harpoon. "Well, down here, those 'deadly sins' aren't just chapters in a textbook—they’re the literal Seven Rings of Hell. And trust me, Mammon or Asmodeus wouldn't appreciate being called 'obsolete.'"
Barnaby’s expression remained stony, his blue eyes distant for a fraction of a second at the mention of his parents. He quickly regained his professional composure. "Survival is the only metric that matters when your species is being overwritten by a parasitic hive-mind. Moral philosophy is a luxury the living can no longer afford."
Charlie’s face fell, her usual bubbly optimism replaced by a look of deep, aching empathy. She reached out as if to comfort him, then hesitated, seeing the rigid line of his shoulders. "I’m so sorry, Barnaby. To lose your family to something so... monstrous. It makes sense why you’re so focused on the mission. But if people are only focused on surviving, they forget how to live. That’s why the Hotel exists! Even in the middle of an apocalypse, there has to be hope."
Barnaby sighed, "I wish there were hope too. But everyday at my fort with the platoon I work with--it is not easy to say--it is full of stormy clouds at sea, seagulls plucking at dead fish, infected dolphins have to be taken away. People in my platoon are just wondering how long they or their loved ones have before someone dies." The vibrant, neon-pink light of the hotel lobby seemed to clash painfully with the gray, salt-crusted memories Barnaby was describing. Barnaby looked like a tired soldier.
Charlie’s hand flew to her chest, her expression crumpling. As someone who spent every waking moment trying to convince people that "inside of every demon is a rainbow," hearing about a world where even the dolphins and the sky had turned toxic was a physical blow to her spirit.
"Infected dolphins?" Charlie whispered, her voice cracking. "That’s... that’s horrible."
Vaggie lowered her harpoon completely, her defensive stance softening into something resembling respect. She knew what it was like to be part of a platoon, to look at the horizon and see nothing but an inevitable, bloody cycle. "It sounds like a slow-motion Extermination," she muttered grimly. "Only instead of angels with spears, it’s... barnacles. A mindless, hungry rot."
Barnaby looked confused again, What exterminations?"
Vaggie and Charlie shared a look of immediate, pained hesitation. The bubbly Princess of Hell suddenly looked much older than her cheerful suit suggested, while Vaggie’s grip on her harpoon became white-knuckled.
"It... was a policy," Charlie said, her voice dropping to a somber whisper. "Because Hell is overpopulated, Heaven used to send down an army of Exorcists once a year. They’d... 'reduce' the population. It was a massacre, Barnaby. No trial, no mercy, just angelic steel."
Vaggie stepped forward, her 'X' eye glowing with a cold, protective fire. "They were heartless. They didn't care who they killed—sinners, children, anyone in their way. We fought a war to stop it at the end of last twenty years ago, and we won. No more holy spear-tips through the chest for us." She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at Barnaby’s gasmask. "It sounds like your 'platoon' is living through a version of that every single day. Only your 'exterminators' are tiny, brainless parasites that turn you into the very thing you're trying to kill."
Barnaby was confused, "Not all exterminations are bad. I am a human exterminator. On Earth, we have a one world system after the apocalypse happened. Our world leader, Sally Salty, decided that because there is no cure, our platoon known as the Briny Batch, exterminate the infected to prevent more infections. That was how I ended up here. But I am not killing for evil, but to prevent the spread of disease."
Vaggie’s grip on her harpoon tightened, her expression turning into a mask of cold, conflicted iron. To her, "extermination" was a word dripping with the blood of her sisters and the screams of the innocent. But looking at Barnaby—at his clinical, tired eyes—she saw a soldier who believed he was holding back the tide with a broom.
"A 'human exterminator'?" Vaggie repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibrato. "We’ve spent every waking second since the Last War trying to prove that killing to 'solve' a problem is a sin. And you’re telling me your 'Briny Batch' does it as a day job?"
Charlie looked like she wanted to cry and hug him at the same time. "But Barnaby... if they're infected, they're still people! They’re just... sick! Is there really no other way? No hospital, no... no quarantine?"
Barnaby shook his head, his face hardening into the mask of a man who had seen too many "stormy clouds" at sea. "There is no medicine for a barnacle that replaces your nervous system with calcium and spite, Miss Morningstar. If we don't 'cull' the infected, the infection culls the species. My leader, Sally Salty, made a choice: some must die so the rest can breathe. I’m not a murderer. I’m a preventative measure. Vaggie’s grip on her harpoon tightened, her expression turning into a mask of cold, conflicted iron. To her, "extermination" was a word dripping with the blood of her sisters and the screams of the innocent. But looking at Barnaby—at his clinical, tired eyes—she saw a soldier who believed he was holding back the tide with a broom.
"A 'human exterminator'?" Vaggie repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibrato. "We’ve spent every waking second since the Last War trying to prove that killing to 'solve' a problem is a sin. And you’re telling me your 'Briny Batch' does it as a day job?"
Charlie looked like she wanted to cry and hug him at the same time. "But Barnaby... if they're infected, they're still people! They’re just... sick! Is there really no other way? No hospital, no... no quarantine?"
Barnaby shook his head, his face hardening into the mask of a man who had seen too many "stormy clouds" at sea. "There is no medicine for a barnacle that replaces your nervous system with calcium and spite, Miss Morningstar. If we don't 'cull' the infected, the infection culls the species. My leader, Sally Salty, made a choice: some must die so the rest can breathe. I’m not a murderer. I’m a preventative measure. The treasurer was not wearing the protocol clothing to keep him safe so he is a liability to the safety of humanity. He is also a suspect."
Vaggie’s grip on her harpoon loosened, but her expression remained haunted. She recognized that tone—the cold, reinforced logic of someone who had been told that "killing is saving." It was the same rhetoric the Exorcists used, though Barnaby spoke of parasites and protocols rather than divine right.
"A liability," Vaggie repeated quietly.
Barnaby didn't flinch. He adjusted the seal on his gasmask, his blue eyes sharp and unforgiving. "In the Briny Batch, we don't have the luxury of sentiment. If you aren't wearing the suit, you're a vector for the infection. If you're a vector, you're a threat. Vincent knew the protocols. He chose to ignore them to do whatever his crime was, and in doing so, he became the very thing he was supposed to help us prevent."
He tapped the manila envelopes against his armored thigh. "He isn't just a suspect for his financial crimes anymore. He’s a walking biohazard." Barnaby sighed again. "Listen, I just need a place to stay until I deal with him and get back to Earth. If you have a room open, I would be grateful for your hospitality."
Charlie’s eyes shimmered, that familiar spark of hope returning to her expression despite the talk of biohazards and "culling." She clasped her hands together, nearly vibrating with the need to be a good hostess.
"A room? Barnaby, we have plenty of rooms!" she chirped, her voice regaining its melodic, enthusiastic lilt. "And honestly, staying here is the safest thing for you. Between the barnacles, the banking suspects, and... well, everything else, you need a base of operations! Vaggie, get the keys for Room 204—it’s got a great view of the clocktower and very little blood on the carpet!"
Vaggie sighed, but she didn't argue. She could see the exhaustion behind Barnaby’s clinical exterior. "204 it is. It’s tucked away near the back of the hallway. "But listen, 'Briny Batch Boy.' Hospitality in Hell isn't like a 5-star resort. You keep your rifle close, and you don't open the door for anyone but us. Clear?"
Barnaby gave a stiff, professional nod. "Understood. I am accustomed to high-security environments. I will maintain a standard 'Alpha-level' watch." He looked down at the manila envelopes one last time before tucking them securely under his arm. "I’ll use the time to review these files. If Sally Salty's intel is as vital as she claimed, I need to be prepared for what I find inside. The 'Briny Batch' doesn't go into a mission blind."
"Great! I’ll have Niffty bring up some fresh towels! And maybe some... uh, non-toxic snacks?" Charlie beamed, leading the way toward the grand staircase. "We’ll let you get settled, and then we can talk strategy. "
Barnaby followed her, his heavy boots echoing in the hollow lobby. As he ascended the stairs, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a cracked, ornate mirror—a splash of bright, heroic red against a backdrop of gothic decay. He looked out of place, a living soldier in a city of ghosts, but his grip on the envelopes never wavered.
The door to Room 204 creaked open, revealing a dusty but surprisingly cozy space with velvet curtains and a heavy oak desk. "Here we are!" Charlie announced. "Your home away from the apocalypse."
"Thanks." Barnaby said as he stepped inside.

End of Chapter