The Devil Went Down to Georgia
The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal.
He was in a bind, 'cause he was way behind, he was willing to make a deal.
'So help me,' thought Steve, 'if one person mentions that song I'll unleash another plague.'
Steve, more commonly known by such names as Satan, Lucifer, or the devil, examined his reflection in the mirror. He looked like a handsome, young buisnessman, complete with well tailored suit. Oh sure, the large, firey, horned demonic look was more impressive, but it tended to scare off people. He wanted to get a soul today and that required him to be suave.
Steve hadn't gotten a soul himself in centuries, figured he was getting lazy, letting his lesser demons do all the work. Frankly, he was bored. A good soul aquirement was just what he needed.
"Are you sure you want to do this, sir? I could handle it myself."
Steve looked back to see a well dressed man in glasses standing behind him. He was a good demon, had gotten a lot of souls for him, used to be a lawyer.
"No, I want to handle this one myself," Steve said, examining his reflection and straightening his tie.
"Well... I'm not sure you'll be taken seriously with that song..."
Steve glared at the demon's reflection in the mirror, the underworld trembling slightly. The ex-lawyer wisely shut up.
"Look, this should be an easy one, one of those transformation people. He'll say 'oh golly gee, could you change me into a blank?' and hand over his soul, no problem," Steve explained in a slightly annoyed tone.
"You're the boss," said the other.
"So while I'm gone, make sure theres lots of pain and torment... oh, and don't forget to feed Cerberus. If he chews up another pair of my shoes I'm having him neutered."
So Steve went up to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to acquire through trade. Currently he was lost. Cities were so much smaller the last time he tried this. He wandered around the general vicinity of the person whom he knew would trade his soul for a wish. He was getting angry, a car had driven through a puddle and splashed his pants. How can the prince of darkness appear with dirty pants?
A few hours later, Steve was only angrier and getting tired of walking. He was thinking of giving up, but how would it look for Satan to return to Hell empty handed? And with dirty pants no less. However, just then his Satan Sense was tingling. He was nearby.
A few minutes more walking had Steve standing in front of an apartment building. This must be where his victem lived. Steve wasn't really impressed. Walking into the building, he felt that his target was a couple of levels up... and the elevator was broken. Great... what did he do to deserve this?
Stomping up the stairs, Steve murmered darkly and planned new torments for the souls in Hell. At least this trip was good for inspiration. Finally, Steve stood in front of a door, feeling this was the place. He took a few minutes to staighten his clothing and fix his hair. Feeling he was presentable, he knocked.
He waited patiently for a few minutes, until the door was answered by a kid in messy clothing who appeared to be in his late teens. He looked annoyed, probably at being dragged away from his computer.
"Yea?" he said, "what is it?"
Steve cleared his throat and looked official.
"I have a buisness proposition for you."
"I don't want any," the teen said and shut the door.
Steve stared at the shut door for a few seconds before his face turned red. He knocked again, harder. The teen answered opened the door, looking more annoyed.
"Look, I don't want any siding or whatever you're selling."
"I'm not here selling siding, I'm here to make your dreams come true," Steve said, trying to stay civil.
"Right... and you intend to do this how?" the teen asked, without much belief.
"I'm the devil," Steve said evenly.
"And I suppose you're going to challange me to a fiddle contest?"
"Enough about that damn song, this is serious," Steve said shortly.
The teen smirked, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame. "Got any proof you're the devil before I give my soul away?"
Steve frowned, people used to believe he was the devil when he told them. "Proof?"
"Yea, proof," the teen said.
"Fine, fine," Steve said in an annoyed tone.
Steve waved a hand and suddenly he and the teen were standing on a ledge. Below was a lake of fire filled with screaming and tormented souls. "Satisfied?" Steve asked.
The teen looked down. "Okay, I'm impressed."
They were back in his apartment building.
"Come in, I guess," the teen said, heading into his apartment.
Steve followed, closing the door behind him like a good guest should. There was clothing on the floor, old pizza boxes, and a computer with IRC running, typical.
"So let me guess, I get a wish in exchange for my soul, right?" the teen asked, plopping down on a chair.
"Pretty much," Steve replied, deciding to stay standing.
"Your pants are dirty."
"I know my pants are dirty, can we get on with it?" Steve said irritably.
"Why me? I though demons had to be summoned."
"No one really believes in that stuff anymore, we need to find people instead of vice versa."
The teen turned around and typed 'talking to Satan, brb' to IRC before turning his attention back to the aforementioned arch demon with dirty pants. "So I can have any wish I want?" he asked.
"In exchange for your soul," Steve clarified.
"I know that part. Okay, I know what I want."
'Thought so,' Steve thought, 'these transformation freaks are always easy."
"And that would be?" Steve asked evenly.
"I want you to change everyone in the world into the kind of creature they'd rather be."
Steve blinked.
"What?"
"I said I want everyone in the world to be the kind of creature they want to. If I'm going to suffer eternal torment I want to get the most for my buck."
"I um... can't do that," Steve said sheepishly.
"Aren't you the devil?"
"Of course I am!" he declaired, "but if I do things to people who haven't made a deal with me, Ted gets angry."
"Ted?"
"You call him God. We play golf together on Sundays."
"You play golf with God? Aren't you enemies?"
"Where you think the bad people get sent? We have a working relationship."
The teen shrugged. "Well, if you can't grant my wish, you can't have my soul."
Steve thought quickly, seeing himself losing his deal. He'd be a laughing stock if he couldn't score a soul; all the demons would think he's gotten rusty. Then he had an idea. "Look um... whats your name?"
"Don't you know?"
"I'm not the omnipotent one, I'm the prince of darkness."
"Brad."
"Look Brad... what if I infuse America with a magical field that causes anyone in the state to become what they want? Technically I'm messing with an area and not people, Ted should let me get away with it." Steve figured this was a good idea. With any luck it would cause a war or two for other countries who want the power. Plus with racism and all, it should be quite amusing.
Brad folded his arms, leaning back in his chair and apparently thinking about it. Steve shifted his weight back and forth between his feet impatiently.
"I want it in writing," he said finally.
"I've got documents right here," Steve said, reaching for his briefcase... the only problem is, he forgot to bring it.
"Um.. right," Steve said casually, grabbing a nearby napkin and doodling on it with a pen.
"I'm trading my soul and altering a country with a document on a napkin?" Brad asked.
"Do you care, if it works?" Steve snapped.
"Hey, don't get testy."
Steve finished writing it down and handed the napkin over to Brad. Brad looked the hastily written contract over. 'In return for a soul, I, Satan, will perform the duty by which a magical field will be creeted around America, allowing people to be in the form they wish.'
"You mispelled 'created' and I think it's a run on sentance," Brad commented.
"Look, that doesn't matter, do we have a deal or not?"
"Okay, fine, where do I sign?"
Steve handed over his pen, feeling triumphant. Not only did he get a soul, but he gets to cause global havoc, technically not his fault since it's someone else's wish. Maybe he'd give his demons a raise.
Brad signed the napkin and handed it over. Steve scanned the signature before stuffing it into a pocket.
"So now what?" Brad asked.
"You get to behold and awe at my power," Steve said. He slowly and dramatically raised his arms and did it. No special effects required, however the effect was immedialy apparent as Steve suddenly had a dragon on top of him.
"MMMPH!" he exclaimed.
"Sorry... apparently I don't fit in my apartment well," Brad, now a dragon, said, sounding a little awed.
"MM... MMF... FM!" Steve MM'ed.
Brad shifted his weight so Steve could wriggle out. Now he had dirty pants and a ripped coat. He fixed his suit as best he could before looking up at the dragon.
"Satisfied?"
"Well.. yea... except I'm stuck," Brad said, curled up in the small room, already having crushed most of the furniture.
"You can get out yourself, I've fulfilled my part of the bargin," Steve said smugly, "I'll see you in Hell," he said and vanished in a poof of brimstone.
Brad wiggled a little. He figured that with a dragon's lifespan he could figure out a way to get his soul back. And besides, the world should be a more intersting place now. But first he had to figure out how to get out of his apartment.
Steve wandered back towards his office, rubbing at his pants. Overall he was quite pleased with himself. He almost didn't notice as his secretary ran up to him. "Someone to see you, sir," she said, her cute little spaded red tail swaying.
Steve was in such a good mood he smiled and nodded, walking past her and into his office. His smile fell as he saw an angry looking man tapping a foot with his arms folded.
"Oh... hi there, Ted... we still on for golf this Sunday?"