Putin in Paradise - 1

"Alexa, I'm kind of tired of shuttling Putin between here and his personalized hellhole," Beelzebub said. "What else can we do to him, just to spice it up?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Let's send him to Paradise for a little while."

"Oh, oh, I like the idea. So that he feels the comparison on his own skin?"

"Yes, and let's send him to someone special for him, if you know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean," Beelzebub said with a sinister, satisfied smile. "Can you get clearance for this special psyop so that he can get to Paradise?"

"Already did, just snap your fingers."

"You are a great assistant manager, Alexa!" Beelzebub said, snapping his fingers.

Putin suddenly found himself in a lush, beautiful garden with all sorts of Paradise flowers and fruits. He tore an apple from a tree and wiped it off on his suit. Munching on it, he watched in amazement another apple immediately growing back in the same spot. He tore it and put it in his pant pocket for later. Another apple replaced the one he took.

"Nice," Putin said, happy as a kid. He stuffed his pockets with apples, wiping them off on his suit every time. This was good loot, he wished he could share it with his neighborhood boys. He spent some time eating apples, pears, figs, and berries, and every time he saw another "welcome" sign with the arrow pointing for him to go, he'd follow it and then stop and eat something from the garden. It was like a nice little game in heaven.

"Maybe word finally got to the upper management that I had been sent to the wrong place," Putin thought hopefully. "I could definitely live here forever."

The cheap polyester suit Alina buried him in repaired itself magically from the hell tortures and made him presentable, albeit stuffed with fruit. He followed the "welcome" signs to a small cedar cottage that looked like a fairy tale dwelling. The last welcome sign was on its front door and Putin let himself in.

Inside, the cottage was fully equipped with everything a modern man would need. The place was modest but very stylish and functional.

"Not my palace in Gelenzhik and not even my Valdai bunker, but will do for the time being. I can always negotiate an upgrade. I have all the time in the world," Putin thought, smiling.

At the end of the hallway, there was a little table with a black box labeled "Paradise Wifi Network." Putin's body involuntarily shivered from a bad memory. He shook it off and stepped into the living room. There, he saw a big TV on the wall that was working. He came up closer to see what was on.

It was a college graduation ceremony somewhere he couldn't place, likely the US or Germany. He didn't recognize the happy graduating kid's face but when the ceremony was over and they showed the kid with his family, Putin felt sweat coming out on his nape, running down his spine.

He recognized the woman hugging the kid immediately. He would recognize her anywhere, and from any angle. Putin could never understand how this true Slavic beauty could have married HIM. And give him two kids! The older daughter was standing next to her mother now, happy for her brother, just as beautiful as her mother. Or even more.

The woman looked straight into the invisible camera for a second, then gazed up into the sky and looked into the camera again, whispering "I wish you were here, my love!"

Putin audibly gasped with envy mixed with anger and disbelief. That's when the man he couldn't see from behind a large comfortable couch rose to face him, wiping tears off his eyes.

"It's YOU!" Putin exclaimed. "How are you here?"

"Where else do you think I would be? You sent me here, Vladim Vladimych!"

"Oh, don't play a martyr! It's not like I sent you here personally. C'mon, you were in poor health! You wouldn't have survived the Polar Wolf prison."

"And who'd sent me there?"

Putin opened his mouth, meaning to say, "I had nothing to do with it." Instead, he blurted out, "The Russian court."

Navalny smirked, sizing Putin up and down calmly. Putin shifted on his feet uncomfortably because Navalny was eight inches taller.

"Say my name," he demanded.

"What? Why?"

"Isn't it just a norm in a polite, civilized society, to address the person you talk to by name?"

"Maybe," Putin conceded.

"Say my name, Vladim Vladimych, you are a guest in my house! Stealing my fruit while you are here, uninvited!"

"Aaaa," Putin started, sweating profusely. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Navalny asked.

"Won't," Putin found himself unable to lie in Paradise.

"Well, I don't want to play your stupid KGB never-name-your-enemy game. Get out of my house!" Navalny said, showing Putin the door.

Putin immediately found himself in his hellhole again. Some low-level demon poured a bucket of what felt like boiling oil on top of his head, and Putin felt his skin melting and fusing with his cheap polyester suit. The hot pain was unbearable, and Putin screamed like he'd never screamed before.

"That was quick!" Beelzebub said, watching Navalny-Putin meeting on his 666 screens through a body cam they planted in Putin's suit. "Not as much fun as I expected, though. For how long is his Paradise clearance?"

"Long enough to send him up a couple of times more. Just snap your fingers, boss!"

For context on how Putin lives in hell, the first story is here: