Z-Valhalla Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV). District 9.
Monday. 8:04 AM.
If hell exists, it is not a pit of fire. It is a fluorescent-lit room with beige linoleum floors, a numbering system that skips integers, and chairs designed to numb the glutes of the eternal.
Satan sits in chair B-4.
He wears a casual button-up shirt (red, of course) and slacks. He holds ticket #666.
It feels serendipitous. It feels like destiny.
"Master," Satan whispers to Saitama, who is sleeping in chair B-5. "Look. The number of the beast. They know who I am. This process will be swift."
Saitama wakes up, drool on his chin. "Huh? Oh. Cool. Wake me up when they call 667. I need to renew my scooter permit."
Genos stands by the water cooler, observing the bureaucratic flow. "Efficiency analysis: Current processing speed is 1.2 citizens per hour. Estimated wait time: 4 years."
"Impossible," Satan scoffs. "I am the Primordial Fear! I am the Narrative End! When I approach the counter, they will tremble and grant me the license to drive the Hatchback!"
*Ding.*
The overhead screen flashes.
**NOW SERVING: A-01.**
Satan smiles. "See? They begin."
**10:30 AM.**
The screen flashes: **NOW SERVING: A-04.**
Satan is vibrating.
Dark energy leaks from his ears. The potted plant next to him withers and dies.
"Why..." Satan hisses, "does the A-line move? I am B-line! What is the difference?"
"A-line is for commercial licenses," a voice says from the next chair.
Sitting there is **Loki**.
The Trickster God is reading a magazine titled *'Better pranks & Gardens'.*
"B-line is for general. C-line is for deity exemptions. Did you not file form 10-D?"
"Deity exemption?" Satan asks, horrified. "I filed as a human! The cyborg said it was safer!"
Loki giggles. "Rookie mistake, Lucifer. Rookie mistake."
**1:15 PM.**
Saitama has read three volumes of manga. He has eaten a sandwich. He has gone to the bathroom twice.
Satan is gripping his ticket. The paper is smoldering.
The screen reads: **NOW SERVING: B-12.**
"How?!" Satan stands up, horns growing slightly from his forehead. "My number is 666! If they go sequentially, I will be here until the heat death of the universe!"
"Sir," a security guard (a converted troll) grunts. "Please sit down. No outbursts."
"I WILL OUTBURST!" Satan roars. Shadows erupt from his back, forming wings of pure malice.
**"I AM THE ADVERSARY! I DEMAND SERVICE! BRING ME THE MANAGER!"**
The room goes silent.
The lights flicker. The air turns cold.
Satan floats above the chairs, glowing with red hate.
*Ding.*
A window opens.
Window #13.
Behind the glass sits a woman. She wears glasses on a chain. She has gray hair tied in a bun so tight it pulls her soul backward.
Her nameplate reads: **HEL.** (Goddess of the Underworld).
Hel looks up from her paperwork. Her face is half-beautiful woman, half-rotting corpse.
She stares at the floating Devil.
She adjusts her glasses.
"Sir," Hel says. Her voice is drier than the desert of Niflheim. "Take a ticket for the complaint line."
Satan freezes.
"Complaint line?"
Hel points a rotting finger to a machine in the corner.
The machine is out of paper.
"B-but..." Satan stammers, shrinking back down. "I just... I just want to drive."
"Without form 12-B 'Proof of Residency'? Unlikely." Hel stamps a paper. **DENIED.**
"Next."
Satan falls back into his chair. He is defeated.
He looks at Saitama.
"This torture..." Satan whispers, eyes wide with trauma. "It is worse than the void. In the void, at least I had silence. Here... there is only the hum of the air conditioner."
Saitama pats Satan on the back.
"It's okay, Roommate. Just think about the destination. Think about driving to the supermarket. Think of the sales."
**3:45 PM.**
*Ding.*
**NOW SERVING: #666.**
Satan gasps. "It is time!"
He rushes to the counter.
Window #4.
The clerk is **Hermes**.
"Hello!" Hermes beams. "Welcome to the DMV. Documents please."
Satan slams his papers on the counter. "Here! Proof of existence! Proof of residence (Saitama's Apartment)! Proof of non-malicious intent!"
Hermes scans the papers.
"Hmm. Says here your name is 'Mr. Red'."
"Yes. That is my alias."
"And occupation... 'Line Cook'?"
"I AM A CHEF!" Satan corrects. "I make the curry!"
"Right, right," Hermes types. "Eye exam passed. Written test... passable. Just one issue."
Satan holds his breath. "What?"
Hermes points to the photo.
"In your ID photo... your horns are showing. Regulation 4-Alpha states no headgear or protrusions."
Satan stares.
"They are... part of my skull."
"Sorry," Hermes shrugs. "Regulation is regulation. You need to file a medical variance form."
"A MEDICAL VARIANCE?" Satan slams his fists. The counter cracks. "I AM A COSMIC ENTITY! THIS IS MY ANATOMY!"
"Sir," Hermes presses a button. "You're making a scene. Do I need to call security?"
From the back room, a shadow emerges.
**King** walks out. He wears a 'DMV Supervisor' sash (he works part-time here for extra cash).
*DOOM-DOOM-DOOM.*
The King Engine echoes in the quiet office.
Satan freezes.
He looks at Hermes. He looks at King.
"I..." Satan swallows his pride. "I will file the variance."
Hermes hands him a clipboard with 40 pages.
"Fill this out. And grab a new ticket. We're on break for 15 minutes."
*Clack.*
The shutter closes.
**WINDOW CLOSED.**
Satan stands there.
A single tear of pure blood rolls down his cheek.
Saitama walks up.
"Hey, Red. You done?"
Satan turns. He looks broken. More broken than when he was punched by the Serious Tantrum.
"The variance..." Satan whispers. "I must describe the curvature of my horns..."
Saitama sighs.
"Let's go home. I'll drive the scooter. You can sit on the back."
"Can we..." Satan sniffles. "...can we stop for ice cream?"
"Yeah. Sure."
They walk out.
Behind them, Loki is laughing so hard he falls out of his chair.
"Wait until he finds out about the parking ticket on his scooter!"