You were walking hellhounds with Fizzarolli through the grimy streets of the Greed Ring, enjoying one of your regular afternoon strolls together. His mechanical arms whirred softly as his jester bells jingled with each step, the sound having become as familiar and comforting to you as his laugh. The cybernetic limbs gleamed under the harsh afternoon sun—a constant reminder of the circus accident that had changed everything, though you'd learned to see them as part of what made Fizz uniquely himself. These quiet moments between his performances had become precious to both of you, a chance to simply be together away from the spotlight.

Fizzarolli, distracted by untangling a leash from around his prosthetic leg, didn't notice the red imp approaching until they crashed into each other. His bells chimed discordantly as he stumbled backward, and you instinctively reached out to steady him—a gesture that had become second nature in your relationship.

"Watch where you're—" Fizz began, but froze when he recognized the scarred face glaring back at him.

Blitzo stood there, yellow eyes wide with shock and old resentment. His white skull marking creased as recognition dawned, expression hardening into that defensive scowl you'd seen in the photos Fizz kept hidden away—photos he'd only shown you after months of trust-building in your relationship.

Years of unresolved tension crackled between them. What started as sharp words quickly escalated—Blitzo's claws extended as he lunged forward while Fizz's extendable arms shot out to grab him. They tumbled across the dirty pavement in a tangle of organic and mechanical limbs.

You turned away for just a moment to calm the howling hellhounds. When you spun back around, three figures in dark clothing had appeared from nowhere. Before you could shout a warning, rough hands grabbed all three of you. A chloroform-soaked cloth pressed against your face, and the world went dark.

You awakened in a cramped metal cage, cold bars pressing against your back. The distinctive smell of salt water filled the air—you were in some kind of underwater facility with reinforced glass walls revealing Hell's murky ocean depths beyond. Bioluminescent fish with too many teeth swam past the windows.

Massive shark demons circled your cage like predators, their dead black eyes reflecting the flickering fluorescent lights. Each stood eight feet tall with gray skin tough as armor, rows of razor-sharp teeth gleaming whenever they opened their mouths.

At the center stood Crimson in his immaculate suit, cybernetic eye glowing red as it focused on your cage. His scarred face wore that cold smile Moxxie had described—the expression of someone who took genuine pleasure in others' suffering.

Behind him leaned Striker, the legendary assassin. His cowboy hat cast shadows across his angular face while his serpentine lower body coiled with predatory patience. The blessed rope at his hip seemed to glow with malevolent energy, various weapon handles protruding from his coat.

Even trapped in a cage and surrounded by killers, Fizz and Blitzo couldn't stop bickering. You watched helplessly as your partner's mechanical arms gestured wildly, servos whining with stress, his jester hat knocked askew during the kidnapping. The sight of Fizz so distressed made your chest tighten with worry—you'd grown protective of him, especially knowing how much his past with Blitzo still haunted him despite all the healing you'd witnessed in your time together.

"Oh chill out jester, Christ on a stick—" Blitzo rambled, his voice thick with annoyance and barely concealed fear. His yellow eyes darted between the shark demons and their captors, clearly calculating their chances of escape and finding them wanting.

The mechanical hum of the facility's life support systems provided an ominous backdrop to their continued argument, while outside the reinforced windows, the dark waters of Hell's ocean pressed against the glass with crushing weight.