The scene: Hell. It’s a vast, wasted landscape where the screams of the damned echo throughout the burning plains and jagged mountains. The sky itself is smoke and fire and one can only look upon the devastation and know the bleak feeling of despair.

So really, it’s a lot like Detroit.

The Moosemobile sits on a burning plain. It’s not on fire, though, because duh, Zymm. She made the thing pretty much invulnerable to most forms of harm, including the supernatural kind. She really thinks ahead.

Future Moose sits behind the wheel, Otto’s Brain is on the passenger seat and WCS and Señor Weaselo are in the back. All of them are looking out the car windows at the infernal realm around them. Except for Otto, since he’s just a brain in a globe.

WCS: Where…where are we?

Future Moose: Well, normally I’d try to ease you guys into this, but I’m just gonna come out with it. We’re in Hell.

Señor Weaselo: Infierno…?

WCS: Seriously?

Future Moose: Yup. Hate to break it to you, but…

WCS: No, I mean you seriously think there’s a Hell? C’mon, Moose…that stuff’s a bunch of crap.

Future Moose: Uh-huh. So, given that we’re in the middle of a fiery, blasted landscape, where do you think we are?

WCS looks out the window again.

WCS: Maybe…Cleveland?

Future Moose: Get a grip, WCS. We’re in Hell.

Otto’s Brain: It could be worse. We actually could be in Cleveland.

WCS: Not funny, Otto! I thought Hell was just an abstract concept…like the Tennessee Titans!

Future Moose: Not so much. It’s an actual realm, inhabited by demons and devils.

WCS: There’s a difference?

Future Moose: Oh, yeah. Devils run the place. There’s a whole infernal hierarchy. Demons are the footsoldiers, the commoners, the…

Otto’s Brain: The ninety-nine percent?

Future Moose: Indelicate, but sure.

WCS: Look, guys, crazy clowns and vampires are one thing, but an actual Hell? I’m really not sure I’m buying…

Future Moose casually rolls down the window. The screams of the damned fill the car.

Future Moose (rolling the window back up): It’s Hell, WCS.

Señor Weaselo: Well, I’m a believer.

WCS (looking out the window): Um…

Otto’s Brain: All right, we fell into Hell. So, how do we get out again?

WCS (still looking out the window): Guys…?

Future Moose: Well, we have the Moosemobile. I say we drive out.

WCS (as a shadow falls over the car): Holy…

Señor Weaselo: Could it be so simple?

Future Moose: I didn’t say it would be simple, but it should be possible…

Suddenly the Moosemobile rocks violently back and forth, sending the DFOers sprawling (and in Otto’s case, rolling) in their seats.

Otto’s Brain: What the hell?

WCS: I’ve been trying to tell you guys! There’s a big-ass lava-thing out there!

Outside the car a nine-foot tall lava demon is rocking the car and laughing in a gravelly voice.

Lava Demon: Huk huk huk! Hey, squishies, c’mon out. I ain’t gonna hurts ya. I’m just gonna throw ya in a lava pit for a few hundred years!

[MOOSEMOBILE DRIVER’S SIDE DOOR FLIES OPEN]

Future Moose (getting out of the Moosemobile): Hey, dickhead! How’s about you getting your mitts off my ride?

Lava Demon: Huk huk huk! I likes me some squishies what talk back.

Future Moose: That’s mistake number one, pal. I am not a squishy.

Lava Demon (reaching a large, rocky hand towards Moose): Huk huk huk. Yer gonna squish awright…

Future Moose (grabbing the Lava Demon’s hand): And that’s number two. I don’t like being manhandled. Or demonhandled.

With a ferocious tug, Future Moose rips the lava demon’s arm off. The lava demon roars in pain and sprays rocks and lava from the stump.

WCS (watching from inside the Moosemobile): Holy cow! Moose is pissed!

Señor Weaselo (holding up Otto so he can see, too): I was once in an exploding barbed wire death match in Japan. But this…

Otto’s Brain: Attaboy, Moose! That’s what that stupid demon gets, messing with us!

WCS (wincing): Ouch! It’s really gotta hurt, getting beat like that with your own arm.

Señor Weaselo (grimacing): Not as much as getting it rammed down your throat…

Otto’s Brain: There goes the other arm!

WCS: Are demons supposed to cry? Because those look like lava tears…

Señor Weaselo (recoiling): ¡Dios mio!

WCS: So…that was his head.

Otto’s Brain: That was a straight-up 1998 Marc McGwire home run. Damn.

WCS: I mean…that thing is a lot less terrifying now. Just kind of a torso wandering around on two legs…

Señor Weaselo: One leg now. That’s…that’s just a really sad hop.

Otto’s Brain: He didn’t get very far.

WCS: Welp, that’s that, I guess. Not enough left of that demon to fill a bathtub.

Otto’s Brain: What’s Moose doing now?

Señor Weaselo: That’s a crotch-chop. It’s a way to show your superiority over your opponent.

WCS: As if dismembering him and beating him to death with his own body parts isn’t enough.

The three get out of the car to join Moose, who is still holding a lava demon arm, and standing over the smoking remains, which look like a pile of rocks that went through a gravel crusher.

Otto’s Brain: Chalk up another win for the DFO!

WCS: Remind me to never piss you off, Moose.

Future Moose (spitting out a piece of gravel): Eh, I warned him. It. Whatever.

Señor Weaselo: So do you think we should be on our way?

Future Moose: Probably. If this thing had friends, I don’t want to meet them.

Otto’s Brain: Ah, we’ll just give him some o’ what you gave that bozo!

Unseen by the DFOers, a shadowy figure emerges from the lava. Stealthily, it sneaks up to the Moosemobile, very quietly opens the trunk, gets in, and closes the trunk lid.

WCS: Yeah, you’re gonna be a big help in a fight, Otto.

Future Moose: Well, he is one hell of a projectile…

Otto’s Brain: Hey, I’m here for tactical support! I was a three-time Risk champion in college, y’know!

WCS: Great. If we end up in Kamchatka, we’ll be sure to let you handle it.

The DFOers get back into the Moosemobile, totally unaware of their hidden passenger. The engine roars to life and Moose guns it.

Future Moose: OK, guys, let’s raise some hell!

Señor Weaselo: Really? Considering our current predicament…

Otto’s Brain: Aw, lighten up, buttercup! Face it, with Wolfman Rob as your dad, this place is probably full of your relatives.

Señor Weaselo: Too mean!

WCS (as Moose puts the Moosemobile in gear and peels out): Maybe we’ll run into Hitler down here…I would be totally down with kicking his ass.

Otto’s Brain: Or Nixon! We could cheer him up. Y’know, let him know he’s not the worst president ever…

To be continued…