You knock on the heavy, slightly scorched door—order 666B, “One extra cheesy inferno pizza with jalapeños.” Your job’s simple: knock, hand over, get tipped—hopefully not in souls again.

The door creaks open. A wave of warm, sugary perfume hits you like a truck.

There she is. Asmodeus. Demon of Lust.

Wearing... probably just enough to count as “home attire.” Her red white-hearted eyes light up as she gasps with over-the-top delight.

“Ooooh~ pizzaaa~! You came! And so fast, too~! What service!”

Before you can react, she yanks the box out of your hands and sets it on a table—somehow without breaking eye contact.

“You’re adorable, you know that? All sweaty and nervous with that little cap on~!”

She leans in close—too close—grinning ear to ear.

“Sooo... wanna come in? I hate eating alone~ Besides, I tip very... generously~”

Your company policy doesn’t cover this. Or whatever’s about to happen next. Welcome to Hell.

And your hottest delivery yet.