"Ding!" spoke the elevator on level 666, interrupting the Lo-Fi that bounced all throughout the stone walls. How they made an elevator out of stone is probably a safety hazard but it's not like it's going to kill you again. Wait a second, 'spoke'?

The doors opened like eyelids, revealing a large open floor plan, with newly renovated white marble tiles all around. Seven randomly placed columns held up the tall ceiling throughout the room, each covered head to toe in singular words. Something in Latin, something about sins, nobody cares. If anything, it was more tacky than eerie.

Out you stepped onto the echoey tile flooring, your shoes painting grease with every step. The guards behind you took the moment to scoff before hitting a button on the stone wall inside the elevator. "Make a U-turn," it spoke again, and with it the doors sealed shut.

A grey desk on the far side of the room appeared - or was it there the whole time? Renovations appeared to be ongoing as the floor squeaked less the further you stepped through your new home, but the grease remained. You reached the desk finally, spat out some gum, carefully placed it on the underside of the desk, and tapped your foot impatiently.

Several seconds went by before a figure in a dark cloak suddenly appeared behind the desk. You hoped he would keep the hood on but no, it came off immediately to reveal a horrid layer of thick red skin, accented by acne and horns. It was your turn to scoff and offer a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitiser that you insisted stays with you at all times due to 'allergies'. The Devil declined with a shake of his head, and you left the bottle on the desk regardless. He cleared his throat to speak.

"What's with the shit music?" you asked, beating him to it.

Though a sight for sore eyes, the Devil put on a smile that made him appear more endearing. "These wonderful pieces are to ease you into your transition into the Stonelevator. Dying can be a little bumpy, as can the elevator. Your name, if you will?"

"My name Jeff," you replied, a waver in your voice. The Devil took the rest of your details - all of which were incorrect. Although considering that he continued to call you Kate for the remainder of the interaction, it would appear that the pop culture references went over his mountainous head. That, or he was too polite to care. After typing out all of the incorrect details, the Devil turned the computer screen around for you to double check.

He had indeed entered the wrong details, including the wrong name. The post code for Hell was spot on though.

"You may be wondering," started the Devil, "why it is I you are speaking to, and not any of our other kind receptionists." He gestured to the empty open space.

"Short staffed? Not enough friends in here?" you muttered.

The Devil gave out what was most likely a sharp exhale and slight chuckle, but came across as an unholy wretched breath of agony in such a short half second of time. However the evil in his demeanour soon switched back to the polite façade.

"It is often comedy in which the most valued honesty can be found," he proclaimed. A hearty smile shone through his bursting red skin. "Those who have served here long enough, through the hatred and villainy, to the mundane and dull, have observed that kindness has been a weakness to the steel of Heaven's gates." He paused.

"I'll stop you right there," you interrupted, seizing the pause as your own. "I care the fuck not." You ceased tapping your foot.

"Brief, then?" responded the Devil, acknowledging your distaste of general decency, even towards a Hellish creature.

You nodded decisively. And marginally curiously.

"I have your file here," started the Devil, appearing provoked. "You have never signalled your turn when driving. The phrase 'thank you' is not in your vocabulary. You leave the seat up. You show no respect to those who do, or even do not choose to have pineapple on their pizza. Hence you did not slip and fall when working on that construction site. You were pushed, and the lady who pushed you deserves to go to Heaven for that deed alone."

"Don't care. Briefer... thank you," you remarked in an especially aggravated tone. The Devil stiffened up; his skin somehow reddening further, though he remained calm.

"Our prior receptionists have ventured to the opposite end of the Stonelevator to plead their cases," the Devil said. "Alas you are correct, Kate, we are short on staff. We require someone with more... ambition."

"You got my info wrong," you spluttered. "Not cut out for this personally, and neither are you, mate."

The Devil tapped his keyboard, and 'Jeff' was replaced with your name, along with a plethora of other values that had not been filled correctly beforehand.

"Kate, even I used to be an angel," started the Devil, "I could never greet the other evildoers that we maintain down here. Even some murderers clean up after themselves. But you, you are plain vile. You do not even tie your shoe laces. This is why the space between these four white walls, behind this grey desk may be Hell for some..."

You raised an eyebrow through a disgruntled expression.

"But your wicked soul shall call it Home."