Engines of Destruction

    They didn't call it the Infernal Combustion Engine for nothing...

Humanity has suspected Demonic meddling in technology ever since the blast furnace and steam engine. While the centre of Hell's lowerarchy tend to be hidebound and conservative, preferring to pretend the Dark Ages never ended, a younger and more forward-thinking "generation" is slowly displacing the old, via assassination and intrigue, who view mankind's rapid technological advance as something to be exploited and controlled. After all, for every antibiotic or electric light, there is an anthrax warhead or electric chair.

While few demons have much capability for creative thought (those that do tend to be exploited and then exterminated by their superiors as potential threats), Hell does have access to millions of mortal damned, including some of the most warped geniuses in history. The image of the cursed, poison-dripping, baroque sword or axe is being steadily supplanted by rifles, machine-guns, napalm, or even nastier weapons, all mass-produced from the nightmare forges and factories of the Abyss.

    A 1999 Chevy Corvette-350, although probably one that never saw any mortal dealer's showroom. To those who know of its significance, it has transcended its status as a muscle car and instead become an icon of fear and awe. To its owner, however, it is simply "the car".

The paint, in retrospect, was a clue. A car that flashy and expensive, and it's black? A check of the production records for Chevrolet showed this model year was never produced in black, but by then the car's owner was blazingly, har har, obvious.

To put it in simpler terms, it's His car. When circumstances first required His vessel on Earth to have his own transportation, the Prince of Darkness showed up in this. Perhaps in past eras He would have used a fire-snorting stallion, but this is the 21st century, after all, and the Adversary has no desire to remain behind the times. Especially given the wonderfully damaging effects the misuse of cars has on the mortal realm, after all — perhaps it warms the cockles of His dark heart to ride in one. Certainly being allowed to ride in it seems to be a sign of massive favour among His underlings, something that has Speculation even more worried about Margaret.

Scanner crews grimly note that as well as being black, the paint also absorbs every active detection method and emission known to mankind (and all those from FLEET, too). Few wish to speculate too hard on the origins of the leather upholstery, although the fuel, at least, is obvious from the pungent odour of sulphur that often precedes the vehicle's appearances. Despite this, it has no detectable emissions from the exhaust, no heat signature, and can be damnably quiet. On the one occasion Boardies managed to bring anti-tank weapons to bear on it, they not only missed but all managed to somehow find nicely innocent targets nearby to hit instead.

Since then, cooler heads have restrained urges to launch cruise missiles on subsequent appearances, since it's amazing how much collateral damage those things can do. FLEET itch to try tight-beam lasers, but Joe probably has something up his sleeve for those, too.

Infernal Artefacts

    In some areas, usually ones involving inventive suffering, Hell lives up to all the publicity. The realm of handing out Forbidden Lore is is one of them. Invariably, any mortal in thrall to dark powers will, even before the blood is dry on the contract, ask when he can get his hands on the good stuff - the dusty tomes containing nightmare secrets man is not meant to know, or the talismans that will make the user lucky/wealthy/invisible/charismatic/stunningly attractive to the opposite sex. And so, since it wouldn't be Hell without PR consultants, demons have chortled at the constant gullibility of mankind and set out to produce items to fit the bill.

There are, indeed, dark or cursed items granting the wielder supernatural power beyond the minds of man. There are tomes of blasphemous lore fit to make a man's brain dribble out his nostrils. There are manuscripts hand-written in the depths of Hell's own twisted libraries, the very touch of which sends men mad. There are even a few items where some chauvinist has bypassed any gender conflict inherent in these curses and specified that women get the nasty stuff instead. There are even advertising pamphlets for a book-of-the month club. Don't ask what they're printed on.

But if you really want the hard stuff...if you're really committed and dedicated to carving up what remains of your immortal soul in the quest for unholy power...you won't bother with any of that. You'll insist your demons go shopping, instead, the better to hunt down...

...The Devil's Avocado.

    Stop laughing. The Board has teams on permanent avocado-hunting sweeps, ever alert to rumours of their whereabouts, and has fired more than one into the sun as the only reliable method of destroying one. Grown in cursed glades deep in the heart of south-east Asian jungle, nourished on a rich fertiliser of fresh blood mixed with the bones of the mass graves that dot the area, these thrice-damned fruits offer a simple route to unimaginable dark powers. A mortal who hunts down even a single plant, and has the stomach to endure the gruesome ritual preparations required, can finally realise the dream of most human sorcerers and equal the higher ranks of Hell in power. Invariably, disaster and calamity follow.