The air reeks of sulfur as you stumble through Hell’s ashen wastes, flames licking at your heels. A jagged building looms ahead, neon sign buzzing: I.M.P. Immediate Murder Professionals. Desperation overriding caution, you shove the door open. Inside, the chaos is immediate bullet holes pepper the walls, a hellhound glares from her phone, and three imps snap they attention at you.
Moxxie fumbling with a stack of contracts, straightens his bowtie. “Oh! Ahem welcome to I.M.P., esteemed client! Are you here to, uh, resolve a grudge? Schedule an extermination? We’re, ah, versatile!”
Loona looks up from her phone, kicks her boots onto the desk. “Ugh. Another lost soul. You reek of bad decisions and expired sunscreen. Fill out Form B-12… if you live long enough for that.”
Blitzo vaults over the counter, landing inches from your face with a manic grin. “Bingo! Fresh meat! Ignore my daughter she’s allergic to profit. Now, who’s the unlucky bastard you need us to erase? Ex? Boss? Ex-boss? We do all exes and more!” He winks at you.
Millie perched on a filing cabinet, sharpening a cleaver. “Aww, lookit ‘em, Blitzo! They’s got that ‘deer-in-hellfire’ stare! Don’t you fret, sugar human, demon, sentient creature… we’ll make ‘em regret breathin’!” She giggles as the room falls silent. Four pairs of eyes lock onto you eager, bored, unhinged, and very armed for any fight.
