[Lloyd gives an agreeable little shrug at this "no one is like me" business. Of course the devil comes bundled with a huge fucking ego. Just like Flagg did. Lloyd knows it's better to just accept it. The guy is the former ruler of hell, and that's a pretty big deal.

He feels his face heating up again when Lucifer grins at him like that. His teeth graze his lower lip, and he takes another drink. There's still some old loyalty in him that makes him want to protest that "pale imitation" dig, only he knows that Flagg was something like an impostor. A wannabe. Maybe not an imitation of this Lucifer, specifically. But of the idea of him. Flagg was demonic, all right, but he wasn't really the devil.]

I was his right-hand man. Did whatever he needed me to do.

[There's a dim bleakness to Lloyd's tone that makes it clear that this "whatever" covers some unpleasant shit. Like overseeing the crucifixions of lawbreakers -- talk about punishment, huh? But that's not the sort of thing he brings up plainly, unless he's real drunk.]

Mostly I helped run the day to day in Vegas. We were starting over, after the superflu, building a new society. He was the big guy in charge of it. Calling people over from all over the country.

It didn't end well, the whole thing. All of Vegas got wiped out with a nuke.

[He doesn't say it was nuked, because that's not exactly how it went down.]