The Devil's Work Is Never Done

Detective Devil Finder-of-Lost-Souls enters Fox News network building, gliding past the guards with only a whisper leaving the faint smell of decay in his wake, security cameras as oblivious to his presence as humans have always been. The devil is that connoisseur of souls and feels now that  he might really hit the jack pot in this place, looking around thinking slyly, hit the jackpot".

He had been patting himself on the back for this intuition ever since he had it - wait, something brings detective Devil to a halt: rage boiling quickly over as he realizes that someone or something had beat him to the punch.

Murdoch? Damn him! It really pissed him off these few humans that cropped up here and there who could actually beat him to the punch.

Murdoch will have sold the souls along by now to God knows who, detective Devil thinks a little wildly. Dammit this is going to take a lot more time and effort? After some moments to collect himself,  he sighs - sometimes you get the bear, sometimes the bear gets you. Only he had expected this to be as easy as a wolf in a chicken coop and now here he finds himself having to work for it, right. Story of his life. He could not shake the indignation at the bottom of it - it was simply beneath him this ... work ... hunting these human souls like any common predator

I am suppose to be a goddamn Prince, dammit!

On the way back out, he hisses loudly in one of the security guards ears, raking a claw across his pretty, young human face, watching his stunned reaction as if in a rear view mirror. The human head so vascular, bright blood,surprise, pain, disbelief and confusion. Petty yes but rewarding - moving through it and away as though it were a dance practiced a thousand times. A Devil’s work is never done, he thinks a little wryly. There were just not enough hours in the day.