Helluva Boss: The Better Boss

The portal crackled open, a swirl of deep reds and purples before it stabilized into the familiar shape of an arched doorway. The air from Earth flooded into our lungs—stale, but so much cleaner than the oppressive atmosphere of Hell. 

We stood at the portal, each of us gathered in our usual formation. Moxxie, always the hesitant one, was the first to speak up.

"Moxxie, any final intel?" I asked, keeping my voice calm but firm as we stood on the edge of the unknown. The feeling of being in control was strangely exhilarating.

"Got it all right here," Moxxie replied, tapping his tablet. "Martha Mayberry. Survived a brutal homicide, became a 'heroic homicide survivor.' Someone's clearly targeting her, but there's more going on here than just a hit. I've traced her back to some pretty deep family ties. The whole thing's a mess—Satanist cults, blood rituals, the works. Her family's not just surviving—they're thriving, and they're incredibly well-connected."

I nodded, absorbing the information. It wasn't a simple job, not like any of our usual hits. But that was good. I needed this to be complex. If I pulled this off, it would prove that I could run a tight operation, one that Hell would take seriously. Martha was the key to it all.

"Loona, ready the tech," I instructed. "I need eyes on everything. Comms, surveillance, whatever we can get, and bring ear buds so we can communicate."

"So, what's the plan again?" he asked, still not fully trusting my new "professional" approach.

I could see the skepticism in his eyes, but I didn't blame him. We had a reputation to overcome, and I was asking a lot of him. But I couldn't back down now. I knew that if I wanted to turn this operation around, this job had to go flawlessly.

"Moxxie, I need you to be lookout," I said, holding up the file for emphasis. "Get every detail on this 'heroic homicide survivor' home. We're not going in blind this time."

He nodded, though his furrowed brow told me he still had his doubts. "Right. Got it."

"Millie, you're muscle as usual, but you'll be backup this time around. I need you cool under pressure. Let's make sure we don't destroy everything around us.

"Loona, you're on tech," I said. "Comms, surveillance, tracking. I need you to set us up for success from the moment we step into Earth. No slip-ups."

She gave me a sharp nod. "Don't worry, I got it"

I felt a flicker of pride. Despite the rough start, I was starting to see the team come together. This was it. The new I.M.P. would be born today.

"Alright, let's go," I said, guiding my new and improved team.

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"This is it," I said, squinting at the house. "Martha Mayberry's home. Let's move in. Quietly."

After moxxie had returned from scouting, relaying what he gathered through his mic tuck in his suit we neared the house again ready for our mission.

We fanned out, checking our positions, ready for whatever lay inside. Loona activated her tech, her tablet buzzing with signals, scanning for anything useful.

"No immediate threats. Looks like the coast is clear for now."

We moved in, cautiously. The door creaked open with a groan, and the house seemed to breathe around us. The air was thick with incense, the scent of rot and something metallic lingering. Everywhere we looked, there were strange symbols etched into the walls, animal skulls on pedestals, and blood-red candles flickering in corners. It was a shrine to something darker, far more sinister than I had expected.

"Something's not right," Moxxie muttered, his voice low and cautious. "This place is a damn ritual ground."

I shot him a glance. "Stay focused. We're here for one thing: Martha. We find her, and we're out. No diversions."

Just as I spoke those words, we heard footsteps. Quiet, measured. And then, she appeared.

Martha Mayberry, a woman whose tragic survival had made her a household name, stood before us. But the sweet Southern Belle look that she projected in public was gone. In its place was something much darker—her eyes glinted with a manic, almost calculating gleam. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves, but there was a noticeable bandage on her forehead from the gunshot wound she'd survived.

"Well, well," she said, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "The infamous I.M.P. comes calling. What, no grand explosions? No dramatic entrance?" Her eyes flicked over each of us. "I'm disappointed, honestly. You must not have heard the stories."

"We've heard them," I said coolly, keeping my distance. "But today, we're making a new one. You're done, Martha. End of the line."

Her lips curled into a tight smile. "Am I? Or am I just beginning? I've survived far worse than you." She snapped her fingers, and her family appeared behind her—hulking, twisted figures, wearing expressions of fanatical devotion.

And then, things took a turn.

One of her family members lunged at us, a massive, devilish brute, but Millie was ready. In an instant, she was on him, her fists flying, taking him down with brutal efficiency.

Moxxie, ever the strategist, shot a glare at me. "Blitzo, we need a plan! This is escalating too quickly!"

"Stay on target, Moxxie," I ordered, watching the chaos unfold. "We're not here for a family reunion. Martha's the target. Focus. We're getting her out of here alive. The rest of her family is secondary."

Loona was already on it, tracking the movements of the other cultists with cameras that where installed wihin the house. "They're scattered, but they're organized. If we don't get Martha soon, we're gonna have a hell of a fight on our hands."

I didn't hesitate. "Moxxie, Millie—take her family down. Loona, make sure we're not caught off guard. I'm going after Martha."

I made my way through the house, navigating the eerie silence as I closed in on her. And just as I cornered her in a dimly lit room, her smile faded into something much colder.

"Do you think you're any different from the others?" she sneered turning the ceiling light on. "

On the wall made of skin layed several trophy head of other victims shes killed.

I didn't respond. I didn't need to. My job wasn't to argue with her—it was to finish what I had come here to do.

I had a point to prove, and I wasn't about to let anyone screw this up.

With my overwhelming speed I flew towards her knife in hand, I knew she was stalling in order to pick up the shot gun that was leaning on a dinning room table.

And before she knew it, with a clean motion of my hands, the job was done.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was actually in control.

As we made our way back through the portal to Hell, I glanced at my team. They were battered, bruised, but alive.

This was the start. The beginning of something new.

"I told you," I muttered to them.