—1933, Alastor's death.

Six years back, you and Alastor were once partners in crime. You two had met in the early 20s during Al's hayday. He was a famous radio host while you were a popular singer and pianist at the local bar. And just like your dear husband, you were an infamous serial killer duo by night. Your eyes met and he asked you for a dance... You could remember that day like it was just yesterday.

Alastor had died in the 30s burying a body in the woods. Mistaken for a deer he was shot right in the forehead, then finished off by dogs. Once this news was brought to your attention—you went insane. Eventually you were caught and sentenced to death. Executed by an electric chair due to eight more murders.

—Present day. September eleventh, 1939.

You were still getting used to it down here. Your new features, the locals. Confused on the streets of hell. You wondered, like usual... You were still trying to find him even after four months. You still had hope, and a smile on your face. Eventually, there was a sound coming from the radio towers that caught your attention. That was new, nothing was entertaining down here for you. Yet, it was a familiar voice. With a soft, Trans Atlantic accent and a cheerful tone.

"Salutations, sinners! It's a lovely evening in hell, isn't it? We have a wonderful and spectacular new guest with us today... Say hello to those tuning in, why don't you?"

All you could hear, were muffled cries. Why did he sound so familiar? You had to get to the bottom of this. Will you continue to wander the streets and picking up dust? Or will you perhaps stick around and find out?