A/N: This is basically a long one-shot which I divided into parts due to very slow translation process from my original language. It is really quite a deviation from my normal style of writing (especially the present tense).

I apologize for all the mistakes and weird sounding phrases. Please bear with me: it's my first time translating my work in english.

This story mostly deals with the timeline before and after the actual movie action, and I intentionally changed some things, but mostly used the fact that creators didn't elaborate on Baltazar's background.

The scenery of the part of Hell made for sinners' punishment is hideous as always. Blackened ruins and fields burned to the ground are such an unwelcome sight that I just want to turn around and let someone else do my duty this time. I generally prefer human world to being here. Even other parts of Hell are preferable to this disgusting parody of my favorite plane of existence.

I'm floating above pseudo-New York trying to find my target and not snag my pants on some piece of rubble protruding from the surrounding dump. My only consolation is that all my business is on the surface: the most foul and disgusting things are all underground and I wouldn't go down there even if Satan himself ordered me to.

At last I see the reason for my venturing here: there is a rusty battered ambulance crawling along the road to the "city". Skeletal figures with parts of their heads missing – demon soldiers – creep around it. They bow deferentially when I land on its' roof. I don't even try to cover my disgust.

Inside I meet a demon of higher rank – it a least has a whole head and more or less defined features.

"Milord came to deliver the verdict?" he rasps from his crouched position.

I glance at the second resident of the ambulance. It's a young man, almost a boy, with prominent cheekbones and sharp features, and long tangled hair dark with sweat. He is tied to the bed with wide leather bands and the blood is unendingly dripping from his cut wrists and seeping though cracks in the floor. His eyes are surprisingly sane for a man between life and death. He looks at me with a disturbing mix of inconsolable grief and absurd hope. It seems he understands that it is for me to decide whether he will return to the human world of will forever remain in this nightmare.

"Who is he?" I ask. It is hard to break from his stare.

"Medium, milord. Probably exorcist."

Poor child… It's not in my nature to commiserate with sinners but this almost extinct brood deserves my sympathy. In all times those who saw what others could not were treated with distrust and caution. But in the middle ages there were more of them and there was still a chance that they would be called saints and not sorcerers. But now this boy had ahead of him a life of constant solitude and fear of unknown and dangerous creatures roaming among humans. Or a charming alternative of a white room with barred windows and daily dose of tranquilizers.

But this boy in his desire to run from a known nightmare landed himself in one much more sinister. And in doing so destroyed his only way to escape it even after death. In this time when humans believe that they know the secrets of the universe much better than in Middle Ages there is little thought of salvation. And there was no one near the boy to explain the consequence of slitting one's veins.

I slide a finger along the wrist closest to me and rub the dark red liquid between the pads of my fingers. Even in Hell among the smells of sulphur and burnt iron I can feel the faint copper of blood. The fragrance of life in this kingdom of eternal dying.

I put my bloodied hand on the boys forehead damp with perspiration and say the standard phrase.

"In violating the God's covenants you reject the privileges bestowed on you by the sacrifice of The Son. Before the Heavens you are proclaimed dead and sentenced to eternal torment of Inferno."

Gray eyes which followed me with the same mix of hope and hopelessness close, and two silvery drops run form the corners of his eyes to the temples.

"What is your name?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.

The pale lips move.

"John," he whispers. So he does see and hear everything. Poor child…

"Hell gives you a chance, John. You will return to the world of living and continue with your life. But you will remember what awaits you upon your death. Now go."

The body begins to fade before my eyes. In the last moment gray eyes open again and pale lips form words "thank you".

Silly boy. You shouldn't thank me for the torment to which I condemned you. To live every day with the thoughts of the horrors waiting you after death and with the knowledge of their inevitability…

The convoy demon is still half bowed and I'm not certain if he moved at all for the duration of my presence. Without a word I disappear from the punishment section still smelling of burnt iron and garbage.

Perhaps I should forget for a time about my archdemon responsibilities and travel to my favorite plane of existence. World of living is changing rapidly and one risks loosing understanding of humankind if one stays away for too long. Understanding, which is a key part of our work.

And this way I will get a chance to once again see an unfortunate child with gray eyes by the name of John, medium and probable exorcist.