Now that was fun. Seriously, deliriously fun.
Stark, Just Stark, is back from hell, still a little bit on fire when he lands on a trash heap in LA. Coming back from hell is a bitch, but he’s nothing if not resourceful. As he makes his way through the city, acclimating himself to being topside, he thinks about one thing only: killing the bastards that took the life of his one and only love, Alice.
See, Stark isn’t back from the dead. He was sent to Hell, but he wasn’t killed. He has spent the last 11 years in the employ of some of Lucifer’s generals, a gladiator for the Hellions pleasure and entertainment. A monster killing monsters. But at last he had his opportunity to escape Hell and he took it, bent on getting revenge. That LA is just as ugly and down and dirty as Hell (or Heaven for that matter) is no surprise. Stark, or Sandman Slim as he is know in Hell, takes it all in, learning how to be in the modern word along the way. For the most part. Subtle he ain’t. He also picks up a few friends, sure to be his Scooby gang in the upcoming books. Don’t worry, he saves the world, maybe a couple of times, and gets his revenge. That there’s a caveat to that is to be expected. How else can the series go on? I’m alright with that. I’ll let the man explain it himself:
“…Then I remembered that half of this shit is just because humans are jokes in Heaven and Hell. We’re the punching bags in their family psychodrama. I know I can’t change that, but I can make it more fun. A mosquito can’t kill an elephant, but it can drive it crazy. Maybe that’s enough. Fucking with Lucifer’s bullyboys and God’s Pinkertons. Maybe that’s a good enough reason not to be dead.”
This is going to be a hell of a ride.
