Disclaimer: Bayonetta and the others belong to and are the intellectual property of Hideki Kamiya. No copyright infringement intended.

Warning: This fic contains a realistic depiction of tabloid news pieces. I will not be liable for any decrease in IQ that may result from reading.



Angel hunter Bayonetta has checked into an exclusive rehabilitation clinic after a MASSIVE alcohol and drug habit has sent her life SPIRALLING out of control.

Last year, the statuesque BEAUTY saved the world from an evil cult of angel worshippers. Since then, however, Bayonetta (voted number ONE in our annual 'Sexiest Woman In The Universe' poll) has been plagued by an addiction to alcohol and class A drugs.

Two months ago, we reported that Bayonetta blew FORTY THOUSAND DOLLARS on a massive drinking binge across Europe and the Mediterranean. And three weeks ago, shameful images emerged of the former world saviour drunkenly passed out on a pavement in Belize.


Now, worried friends of the angel killer have placed her in a FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLAR A WEEK rehabilitation clinic.

Located in a remote mountain range, Haven is believed to be the most exclusive drying-out clinic in the entire world. Little is known of what goes on in the grounds, and reporters are BARRED from entering the property.

However, we have been informed by a very CLOSE FRIEND of Bayonetta that, in Haven Clinic, patients live in complete luxury.

The close friend spoke to us on condition of anonymity:

"I'm telling ya, it's like fuckin' paradise in there! You just gotta stretch your arms out and you'll touch somethin' that's made a fuckin' gold! Their clients come from all over the world; kings, queens, presidents, actors, singers, sports stars. When you're in Haven, ya can't have any drugs, alcohol, caffeine, fatty foods, anything like that. But they've got a goddamn army of masseurs that come out whenever ya need to unwind – just imagine, ten pairs a hands working away on ya, just 'cause ya feel a little cranky! They've got Jacuzzis and saunas and meditation and beaches and anything else ya can think of. It's nice if ya can afford it! Well, I mean, she did save the world, so I suppose she deserves it…"


"Really, this is quite bothersome!" said Bayonetta, pouting irritably.

She cast a critical eye up and down the article. "What exactly do they mean by 'former world saviour'? How can I be a former world saviour? That would suggest that the world has since been destroyed, and yet it obviously still exists. I am a world saviour. No need for qualifiers."

"I saved the world, too," said Jeanne, wearily.

"Yes, of course you did, darling," said Bayonetta, absent-mindedly reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek. "But you refuse to take advantage of that fact. You refuse to place your image on lunchboxes. You refuse to endorse beauty products. You refuse to take your clothes off for men's magazines. You may have saved the world, but you need to continuously remind everyone. I warned you that people would forget about you."

Jeanne groaned with distaste. "I can't help it if I have principles," she said.

Bayonetta's attention had been reclaimed by the gossip rag that she held in her hands. "I do wish they'd stop exaggerating my 'scandalous substance dependency'. I have a small problem, and I'm dealing with it!"

"Of course you are, dear," said Jeanne, switching quickly to her 're-assuring' voice. "You acknowledged that alcohol was preventing you from living life to its fullest, and like a strong, independent woman, you took steps to address that."

Bayonetta smiled sweetly at her, and Jeanne smiled back.

Jeanne had made sure that she was thoroughly prepared before she confronted her friend with her drinking problem. She had read stacks of leaflets and studied sites on the internet, all advising her on how to convince a person to face their troubles. When the time came for Bayonetta's 'intervention', Jeanne stepped forward and delivered a speech that she had rehearsed many times before:

"Cereza, you are one of the most remarkable people I've ever known. You're a beautiful, talented, courageous, strong woman. You're one of a kind. And it breaks my heart that the rest of the world sees you differently. They judge you. They look down on you. You defended the world – you saved billions of lives! – and yet they have the gall to sneer at you, and make fun of you! They mock you!"

"But you have to understand, Cereza, that you invite this ridicule upon yourself. Even though you saved them from annihilation, human beings become easily bored, and when they are bored, they look for the nearest source of amusement. They love to see powerful and successful people fall and be miserable. You may think that you are living life as you please, but in reality, all you are doing is allowing narrow-minded people to take satisfaction in seeing how unhappy you are."

"I am asking you: let the rest of the world see you as I do. Confront this problem. Don't give people an excuse to laugh at you and think that they are better than you. Show them the person that you really are. Show them the Cereza that I know."

Then, Rodin stepped forward.

"Lady, I ain't spending another dime on some boozehound. You expect me to risk my reputation, and hook you up with more jobs, you'd better get your ass straight first."

And so, Bayonetta checked herself in to the prestigious Haven Wellness Resort.



Bored drug ADDICT Bayonetta has been passing the time in an elite rehab clinic by indulging in torrid LESBIAN ROMPS with the notorious witch, Jeanne.

Patients at the exclusive THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLAR A WEEK club are not allowed alcohol, drugs or unhealthy food. But the 36D beauty has been easing her boredom by having SCORCHING LESBIAN SEX with her former adversary.

Jeanne almost destroyed the WORLD a year ago. Now, the six-foot-two witch is rumoured to have enchanted her former enemy, and slips into the Haven Clinic for passionate SEX MARATHONS whenever she desires.


Sex at Haven is frowned upon, but a CLOSE FRIEND of the former world saviour tells us that Bayonetta ignores all the rules of the clinic. Speaking under condition of anonymity, our informant, an intimate confidante of Bayonetta, told us:

"Well, the doctors don't like it when the patients fuck, but witches can turn invisible, so what can they do about it, ya know? Bayonetta and Jeanne, though, that's hot shit, am I right? All that skin, heh heh! Witches have a lot of stamina, too. You know, they gotta do all that kickin' and backflippin' and stuff. You can probably imagine that the fucking goes on alllllll night. The folk at the clinic, they can't see, but they can hear, heh heh! Yeah, Jeanne tells the lady at the front desk that she's just visiting as a friend, but she ain't foolin' anyone. It's not like they could stop her if they wanted to. Hell, if I had some babe like Bayo-fucking-netta waiting in bed for me, I wouldn't let some dumbass bitch at reception stop me, either! Heh heh."


Bayonetta peered at the tabloid, her brow creased in confusion. "Nettie? Nettie? Is that supposed to be a nickname for me? When have I ever been called 'Nettie'?"

"This is so unfair!" screeched Jeanne. "They can't write this trash about us! We saved the world! Have they forgotten so easily? They can't just use us as fodder for their grubby little stories!"

"Oh, hush, Jeanne," said Bayonetta. "Have you never heard of the saying 'all publicity is good publicity'? Sales of my perfume line will probably increase by 10% because of this rumour. I should have thought of it myself, actually."

"I was wondering why the women at reception were acting so strangely when I came in," groaned Jeanne. "They were whispering to each other, and looking at me when they thought I wasn't paying attention. Do they really think I'm so shameless that I'd have sex in a public place? That's something you would do! Is it not obvious how sophisticated and graceful I am? Can't they tell that I'm an elegant woman? Don't they know how expensive these labels are?" she cried, tugging at the hem of her designer jacket for emphasis.

"We should do a photoshoot together," said Bayonetta. She was gazing into the distance, now, a plan forming in her mind, the opportunity to make another pile of money fuelling her imagination. "We'll get one of the best photographers in the world to do it. It'll be really tasteful, you know, my elbow covering your nipples, your ankle covering my groin, that sort of thing. We could probably get sales to increase by 20%."

"I will not demean myself for money!" declared Jeanne. "What gives them the right to print these things about us? And who is this – this – "

She snatched the tabloid from Bayonetta's hands, and scanned the appalling article.

"Who is this 'close friend'?" she asked. "Who is this 'intimate confidante'? Who keeps selling stories about us to this rag?"

"Hmmmm…" said Bayonetta. Her eyes narrowed, and it was clear that the cogs in her mind were turning. It was clear that she was devising a way to turn the tables on the parasites that were exploiting them.

Meanwhile, in Jeanne's mind, fireworks started going off. In Jeanne's mind, a parade made its way down the main street, confetti raining down from above. She had watched as Cereza had become an alcoholic shadow of her former self. She had watched as her eyes dulled and all her brilliance trickled away until she was nothing more than a pathetic drunk. Now, Bayonetta had regained the fire that Jeanne wanted so fervently to see again.

At last, Bayonetta emerged from her ruminations, and looked at Jeanne. "I know how we're going to deal with this," she said.

"How?" said Jeanne, expectantly.

"We're going to get someone else to deal with it."

"Oh. Who?"

"Someone," said Bayonetta, pausing for dramatic emphasis, "with journalistic integrity."


Bayonetta lounged across the entire breadth of the freeway. A one-hundred foot long image of her had been plastered across the side of the overpass, and every motorist that went this way had the privilege of driving beneath her gorgeous form and smothering her with exhaust smoke. The lingerie that she wore had some exotic French-sounding name.

"I wonder how much they paid her for that?" mused Enzo. "Five hundred grand? A million bucks? Just for lying around in your fucking underwear? It's good to be a witch."

Still, he couldn't complain. Life was good to him at the moment. He was currently driving the most expensive, most luxurious automobile he had ever owned. He drove it out of the dealership a week ago, and unlike every other piece of crap he had ever owned, there was no chance that this baby would fall apart at seventy miles an hour. And there weren't gonna be any back payments on this beauty! No, he was able to pay for this ride in full. It was the easiest thirty grand he ever burned. The sun was up, the sky was clear, he was on his way to Rodin's to get a drink, and all was well with the world.

Enzo took a glance at the rear view mirror. He grinned, and winked at his own reflection. Then he spotted another pair of eyes glaring at him from behind, and he howled in terror.

The car spun out of control for a moment, and Enzo struggled with the wheel. Other vehicles on the freeway darted out of the way, blaring their horns at him. Finally, Enzo managed to get his treasure under control, and straightened out.

"Jesus fuck!" he exclaimed, and then he twisted around to look at the back seat. "Ya almost gave me a frickin' aneurism! How the fuck d'you get in my car?"

Luka regarded him coolly. "Perhaps you were so preoccupied with dreaming up foul tales and outrageous lies, you didn't notice me on the back seat."

"You were hiding in the back?"

"No, I was sitting on the back seat, in plain view. But as I said, you were so engrossed with cooking up your next sleazy piece of tittle-tattle, that you failed to notice me."

Enzo hesitated for a moment. "You sure you weren't crouched down on the floor?"

"I was not! I told you, you were so absorbed with…"

"Alright, I get it, I get it! Whattayawant?"

Luka composed himself. "Earlier today, I ventured into a hive of scum and dishonesty. I'm referring to the offices of The Weekly Orbiter. You're familiar with this publication, right?"

"Ah, I try to read more sophisticated stuff, ya know?"

"I come from a proud tradition of truth-seeking. My father was a journalist. Journalism is in my blood. However, there are those who would corrupt this institution. There are those who have no interest in truth or facts, but care only about scandals and gossip. They would rather exploit good people than pursue justice!"

"Alright, I get the picture! What does this hafta do with me?"

"I confronted the staff of the Weekly Orbiter about the slanderous articles they published about Bayonetta and Jeanne. I demanded to know the identity of the informant, the so-called 'friend', that was betraying their trust and selling stories about them to the press. They gave me the usual speech about protecting their sources, and journalistic confidentiality, but…"

Luka leaned in close. "The writers at The Weekly Orbiter are not real journalists. They're parasites, rumour-mongers. They don't care about protecting their sources. Just as I expected, they submitted to my righteous quest."

Luka jabbed a finger in the back of Enzo's head. Enzo yelped in disgruntlement.

"It was you, Enzo Ferino! You were the one that sold his soul to the gutter press! You were the one that took advantage of Bayonetta when she was vulnerable!"

"Those lying pieces a' shit! They told me they'd never tell anyone!"

Luka sat back into the rear seat, and gestured around. "Is this the traitor's reward? Is this your thirty pieces of silver? Did you buy this car with the money that those leeches paid you for your gossip? Is this your prize for selling Bayonetta and Jeanne's privacy? Chrome-plated hubcaps? Twenty-four horsepower engine?" He shook his head, disgust and revulsion practically oozing from his mouth. "This is truly the type of vehicle a parasite would prefer."

"Gimme a fucking break!" yelled Enzo. "Don't I deserve to benefit just a little from that woman? How much money has she made since Jubileus got creamed? You're the journalist, you tell me! Ten million? Twenty million? Merchandising deals, autobiographies, appearances, endorsements. The whole world's gone Bayonetta-fucking-crazy! I'm just getting in on the action! What's wrong with that?"

"They trusted you. Bayonetta relied on you, more than once. You could have had class. You could have had integrity. But you threw it all away for a luxurious leather interior. Well, I hope you enjoy the texture."

"Aw, jeez…"

"One more thing, Enzo…"

Luka leaned forward, and jabbed his finger at something ahead. Enzo squinted through the windscreen, and tried to make out what Luka was pointing at.

"That woman you see, just ahead? Her image will haunt you wherever you go. Enjoy your blood money, but never forget: if it weren't for that woman, you would never be able to enjoy the things that you cheated her for."

Luka was pointing at a massive billboard in the distance. It bore the image of Bayonetta. She was wearing nothing but a pair of extremely expensive-looking panties.

"Enjoy your new car, Enzo," Luka intoned. "Drive as fast as you can, but you'll never outrun your guilt."

Luka opened the door, and leaned out, hovering over the freeway as it sped by beneath him. He aimed his grappling gun at a bridge as it passed by overhead. There was a wooshing sound, and he was gone.

"Fuck!" screamed Enzo. "I coulda letcha out on the sidewalk!"

I know, I know, there is nothing in the game to suggest that Bayonetta would become an alcoholic, but, you know, it wouldn't be out-of-character, either.

We never find out Enzo's full name in the game, but in Devil May Cry, Dante's informant is called Enzo Ferino, and it's nice to think that they're the same guy.