"So I didn't even go through a probationary period before being rushed into the job. Is there something important going on?"
"That hardly seems to follow the recruitment process, especially in a dignified Hell like this."
"You tell him, my secretary!"
Harry D'Amour looked at Deep Throat, who stood waiting nearby—the culprit who had torn apart his flesh, kneaded his soul, brought him into Hell, and subjected him to nightmarish modifications.
"Yes, you guessed correctly. There was originally a very rigorous process, but there's no time for interviews now."
"Due to certain unforeseen circumstances, the previous Hell High Priest is gone. Well, the person who caused her disappearance recommended you," Deep Throat said.
"What an honor. So when you say the situation is urgent, you mean we shouldn't keep exchanging pleasantries? If that's the case, I have plenty of topics to discuss, along with a great deal of curiosity about Hell."
"Perhaps you could give me a tour of Hell," Harry said.
"There's no time."
"I just took the newly appointed Hell High Priest on the same tour a few days ago. All I can say is that your luck is terrible—you arrived at a bad time."
"This is a Thought Prison. Inside is imprisoned a numb soul. Everything currently happening has been carved into its soul. Use the power within your body to sense it, and you'll understand everything."
Deep Throat extended her deathly pale right hand, and a fist-sized, dark-blue glass sphere appeared in her palm.
"A bad time—or perhaps I should blame myself for not having connections."
"That's truly an unpleasant thing to say. No one told me that even after entering Hell, I'd still need connections."
"And the result of not having them is becoming the Hell High Priest!"
Harry D'Amour did not seem particularly urgent.