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Heaven and Hell are much more similar than one would think. For instance, both desperately wanted to eviscerate the other during Armageddon, and were inevitably devastated when it was thwarted by a bookselling angel and the snake who lost the Antichrist. Each realm also houses ten million residents, give or take an entity, and most residents either are or were once angels, aka celestial in nature.
Perhaps the most striking similarity between the two is their bureaucratic, business-like method of dealing with everything; they are run like human corporations, and are in fact located in the same “building” dimension (angels of course occupy the asylum white and sterile top floor, while demons inhabit the moldy, damp basement). Each realm contains alike departments, such as BR (Being, as opposed to Human, Resources (obviously run quite differently depending on the realm in question)), Accounting, Customer Service (it is a running joke in Heaven that no one ever needs to phone, and in Hell that this department consists solely of a rubbish bin), Mail, Marketing and, of course, Incorporation.
It is fairly common knowledge that demons and angels utilize “corporations,” or human forms, to wreak havoc or harmony (respectively) on Earth. In the Beginning, everyone requested or designed their corporation (efforts not included) to exist on Earth without having to declare “BE NOT AFRAID” or “Stop trying to burn me! This is getting old!” every five minutes.
Inevitably, corporations go through normal wear-and-tear, including discorporation (dead of the body but not the soul). After being discorporated, the celestial or infernal soul in question returns to Head Office, specifically the Incorporation department, for Reincorporation. Some are more familiar with this process that others. For example, Aziraphale, former Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, has only been discorporated once in over 6,000 years, while the demon Crowley has “expired” so many times he is on a first-name basis with everyone in Hell Incorporation and sends them Halloween cards.
Heaven Incorporation has always been less frequented than its infernal counterpart, largely owing to the lack of angels willing to venture downward and their proclivity to smite demons upon sight (and they are rather well-endowed ocularly). However, it has recently acquired a regular customer, specifically an Archangel who began a torrid affair with a certain Prince of Hell after neither the world nor the traitors were destroyed.
“Hello sir,” waved a tired-looking angel behind a neat little desk. “Same form?”
“Yes, Madriel—thank you. I, er—”
“No need to explain, sir. I’m sure you have excellent reasons.” They smiled understandingly at the flustered Archangel, who relaxed.
“Thank you, and as always I appreciate your….discretion.” Gabriel winked ostentatiously at the secretary, who nodded patiently and returned to their work as he sat down with a pen and a clipboard holding a blindingly white sheet of paper.
“Request? Corporation….1175G,” he mumbled, writing with perfect penmanship. Gabriel knew the questions by heart now, but still found himself reading both them and his answers (which tended to be rather repetitive themselves) under his breath.
“Reason for discorporation? Called…..the Lord….of the Flies……adorable…….again. Method of discorporation? Disembowelment….and…..decap—hey, how do you spell ‘decapitation?’” he asked the secretary, frowning slightly. “Two Ps and three Ts, right?”
The secretary shook their head, completely unfazed. “No sir, it’s actually D-E-C-A-P-I-T-A-T-I-O-N.” So, one P and two Ts, as it were.”
“Oh. You sure?” Gabriel cocked his head and continued frowning like an adorably confused puppy. “I thought it had three T’s………well, okay, thanks.” The secretary nodded as Gabriel wrote and murmured, “Decapitation. Alright, what’s next again—oh yeah. What could you do to avoid this happening again?”
Here the Archangel paused, tapping the bottom of the pen against his strong, cleft chin. Well, he thought reasonably, I mean, it’s not like I just can NOT call them adorable—look at zir! Those socks alone are the cutest things ever!!!!! He sighed the frustrated sigh of a mind not accustomed to a great deal of thinking, creative or no. “Alright, let’s think…..um….oh, got it!” he hissed, clean-shaven handsome face lighting up. “Only…..call zir…..adorable…..when….ze…..are…..very…….drunk.” Gabriel grinned, quite proud of himself. “Perfect!”
Ten minutes later in the back room of Incorporation, Remenael (having just read Gabriel’s request), groaned loudly and dialed a number bearing a 666 area code. “Hey, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just got handed.”
“Your ass?”
“Haha, very funny, you’re hilarious. It’s a request form for Corporation 1175G.”
“Oh for fuck’s--Again?!” the voice at the other end cried. “That’s the third one this month! What is WRONG with this dude?!”
Remenael rolled his eyes and sighed. “How much time you got?”
“Shit, that’s really fucked up. What does he SEE in zir?”
“What does ZIR see in HIM?”
“Good point.” The other voice sighed. “What’d he do this time?”
“Same thing.”
“Oh fucking HEAVEN! At least the others learned their lesson after the first time. I mean, personally I don’t see it, I don’t tend to find people who could literally incinerate you with a look adorable, but to each their own, I suppose.”
“I suppose. Well, anyway, Lesario’s at 8?”
“You’re on.”
Remenael set down his sleek celestial smart phone, stamped “Approved” on Gabriel’s form and handed it to an angel with curly black hair in the next cubicle over. “Hey Janiel, can you hand this to the Reincorporators? I think if I do it again they’ll just throw it back in my face.”
Janiel smiled knowingly and took the form. “Sure, Reme. No problem.”
“Thanks. We’re going to Lesario’s after work if you wanna come.”
“Will Mamot be there?”
“They are Abaddon’s best ally, so I reckon.”
“Sure, I’d love to. Thanks!”
“No problem.”