🕸𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍🕸 | Hazbin Hotel OC

Chapter 1 | Wrong Number

342-1762-8666, 54432 Killing Str.

Leeroy rubbed his hands together as his eyes darted across the screen. There was so much information he could exploit on a certain "Boris Pot." He wrote down the most vital and interesting of the information, namely that he had been fired, got a divorce 3 weeks ago, and was tied up in some shady business these days.

Criminals had the juiciest secrets to uncover, and the most money to give if Leeroy threatened to release their information to the police. Of course, other people caught his attention as well—ever since he learned how to gather people's sensitive information via the dark web, Leeroy had an insatiable obsession with looking up information on anyone and everyone that he could get his hands on.

Leeroy pulled the landline up to his ear and punched in the phone number. When the phone rang, he crinkled a sheet of paper over the receiver to filter out his voice.

A gruff man picked up the phone. "The hell do you want?"

"Listen closely, Mr. Pot. I've got your current location and the police on the other line," Leeroy lied about the police, a smile creeping its way onto his lips. "You've been involved with dealing illegal substances to kids, racketeering, illegal gambling... it would be awful if the police had all this information."

"Who the hell is this??" Mr. Pot demanded. "What are you going on about?"

Leeroy's eyes flicked back to the computer screen. It now displayed a live video feed of Mr. Pot's residence.

"I don't want much, Mr. Pot, all I'm asking is you give me $2500 as a one-time payment, then I'll drop everything. You can leave it in a suitcase in the Walmart parking lot on Main Street. Whatever day works for you," Leeroy negotiated, drumming his fingers on the desk.

Leeroy waited in silence. He clicked around on the computer screen, pulling up a different man's profile-the profile of a certain "Charles Roach." He smiled and petted the screen.

Mr. Pot broke his silence. "One minute is all I needed, Parker. You're going to regret this."

Click.

Mr. Pot knew his name.

🪰🪰🕸🕸🪰🪰
 

Chapter 1

Leeroy's head compressed and contorted like a can getting run over by a bus. His neck was killing him, and his wrists ached in pain from ropes that tied him to an old movie-style chair. He opened his eyes and saw the blurry figures of two men standing in front of him.

They were both wearing safety orange vests and brightly colored hard hats, so the three of them looked like they were straight of the nineties.

"Look who's finally awake," one scoffed with an indistinct accent. He grabbed Leeroy by the hair and forced him to look up at him. "That's a concussion. You know it's dangerous to fall asleep after a traumatic head injury, don't cha, computer freak? You'll wake up with a stutter." He chuckled and dropped Leeroy's head.

The other one pulled out an orange package envelope and threw it on the ground, its contents spilling out on the floor at Leeroy's feet. It was his collection of photos that he had tacked to the wall of his room—just photos of random people doing all sorts of things—a woman pushing a stroller, a couple holding hands, a kid eating an ice cream cone.

"What kind of monster would take these photos?" The second one asked, sticking his nose in the air.

"Don't you think it's fun to do a little people watching?" Leeroy retorted, his throat clenching on every word.

"Disgusting."

The first one picked up a photo of a young woman combing through her hair and stuck it in his pocket. "Before we do away with ya, the boss wants to know how you managed to get his private number."

"It was easy, I just dialed every number sequentially until I got his. You know, I was going to give him the option of just giving me $30 instead of $2500 because he's clearly in financial need, but he hung up too quickly," Leeroy said, looking around at the building to gather as much information about it as he could.

Bad Guy #1 stuck an oversized foot under Leeroy's chair and flipped it onto its back, making Leeroy crush his arms with his own weight. "You think you're so cute, don't cha, Parker? Cuz you ain't."

Leeroy was barely paying attention. The building was an abandoned small-town clinic, so he was likely in the condemned part of town. His apartment wasn't too far from here.

"I hope the 20-minute walk to here wasn't too much of a bother for you, big guy."

The first guy stormed closer to Leeroy and stomped on his chest, forcing a wheeze out of him.

"Now, now, that's enough," the second one stopped, looking at a watch. "It's about time we take our leave. Blasting time."

"You're leaving so soon? If you leave now, the missus should be banging the mailman around this time," Leeroy wheezed out; his voice barely audible.

"Lucky that I have to leave after such a short time, freak," the first one added, kicking Leeroy one final time. "Say hi to Satan for me."

The two guys left after literally accomplishing nothing. Once they left the building, Leeroy forced himself onto his side to start working away at the knots keeping him tied to the chair.

After spending 3 years in prison, he had picked up a thing or two from fellow inmates. He got the first knot undone, then the second. He tried to stand up but the pain in his chest was too great.

That's fine. He could always snake his way to an exit.

But then there was a loud BOOM. A series of dynamite blasts exploded from the corners and walls of the building, throwing debris at Leeroy's face at unprecedented speeds. He covered his face as best he could and tried to snake around faster, but he couldn't move fast enough.

The entire roof of the building collapsed, landed right on Leeroy's back, and squished him like a bug.