The daily Life of an IMP

The bustling streets of Hell were always alive, even during the deep hours of the night. The city pulsed with neon lights and infernal hums, a chaotic symphony of the damned. At the heart of this disorienting mess was I.M.P. (Immediate Murder Professional), a small but infamous assassination company. Its offices were perched atop one of the many skyscrapers that jutted out of the crumbling landscape, a sharp contrast to the filth and madness below. Inside, the atmosphere was less businesslike and more... chaotic.

Blitzo, the hyperactive, somewhat unhinged boss of I.M.P., lounged on the couch, his legs thrown over the back as he scrolls through his phone, clearly uninterested in the recent paperwork that had piled up on the desk. Moxxie, the more grounded and competent member of the team, was at the other side of the office, carefully sharpening his knives, his posture stiff with impatience.

"Blitzo," Moxxie said, his voice tight, "we have a meeting with a client in an hour, and you're just going to sit there, ignoring the chaos around you?"

Blitzo barely glanced up, his smirk never fading. "Meeting? Pfft. We have a meeting, Mox. But I have a better idea," he said, holding up a video on his phone. "Check this out, it's a new hellgrammite video, and trust me, you'll lose your mind."

Moxxie rolled his eyes. "Focus, Blitzo. We're getting paid for this job. We can't keep blowing off clients like this. Hell, you've already missed three last-minute meetings this week."

"Meh," Blitzo said dismissively, "people are just so needy, Mox. I'm doing them a favor by showing up, honestly. Plus, I need a little me time, y'know? A guy can only take so much responsibility before it all starts feeling like… like work, and work is for suckers." He grinned broadly, his teeth almost too sharp. "Which is exactly why I'm a genius."

Before Moxxie could reply, the door slammed open with a force that rattled the windows. Loona, the team's no-nonsense receptionist (and Blitzo's adopted daughter), strode in, holding a file folder in her hand. Her usual deadpan expression softened just a bit at the sight of Blitzo sprawled out on the couch.

"Boss," she said, her tone flat but firm. "Get up. The client's here, and she's pissed."

Blitzo made a theatrical groan as he slid off the couch, his expression transforming from one of lazy indifference to one of exaggerated frustration. "Can't a guy get some peace in this godforsaken office, Loona? Whatever, whatever. Let's see what this little lamb wants, then I'll be back to my peace and quiet."

Moxxie shook his head in exasperation, following Blitzo as he marched into the meeting room.

The client sitting at the table wasn't just any run-of-the-mill demon; this was someone with a reputation. She had piercing crimson eyes and dark, sleek hair that shimmered like obsidian, a stark contrast to the fiery red glow of the room's lights. Her appearance alone was enough to make Moxxie uneasy, though Blitzo seemed unfazed, grinning widely as he approached the table.

"Ah, Mrs. Drathys," Blitzo said, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. "How lovely to see you again. I'm sure we're both as eager as the other to get this little 'situation' sorted out, right?"

Drathys didn't smile, but her gaze narrowed, and her fingers tapped rhythmically on the table. "You're late, Blitzo. You've been late every time I've had to hire you, and I'm tired of it."

Blitzo flopped into the chair opposite her, slouching in a way that somehow still managed to exude confidence. "Oh, come on, Drathys, it's not like I keep you waiting on purpose. I just have a lot of important business to tend to, y'know?"

Drathys' eyes flashed. "This isn't a social call. I need you to take care of a problem for me. Someone is encroaching on my territory, and I need it fixed. Quickly."

Moxxie straightened up, always cautious around dangerous clients like Drathys. "We can handle it, ma'am. We'll need some details. Who's the target?"

Drathys handed over the file Loona had just brought in. It was thick and dark, covered in sigils and arcane symbols. "A rival. A low-tier demon running his own racket in the eastern sector. He's been siphoning off my territory's resources for weeks. I want him gone."

Blitzo opened the file with an exaggerated flourish, scanning the contents quickly. "Hmm. Sounds like a Tuesday to me. I like that. A quick, clean job. Nothing too fancy. We can make him disappear without a trace."

Moxxie frowned, flipping through the papers as he noted some of the specifics. "This guy doesn't sound like a 'low-tier' demon, Blitzo. It says here he's got connections to some of the bigger players in Hell. We might want to be careful on this one."

Blitzo waved him off, flipping a knife from his belt into the air and catching it with ease. "I'm always careful, Mox. Socareful. What could possibly go wrong?"

Moxxie gave him a disbelieving stare, but before he could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Blitzo turned to Loona, who had followed them into the meeting room.

"Loona," he said brightly, "let's get this show on the road! We have a rival to eliminate. Moxxie, grab the guns. We're heading out."

Loona narrowed her eyes. "You guys can't just go in guns blazing. You do remember what happened last time, right?"

Blitzo's grin stretched wider. "That's exactly the point, Loona. We'll do it bigger. We'll do it better. And this time, we'll do it my way."

As the team prepped for another chaotic mission, Moxxie could only sigh, rubbing his temples. There was no telling what kind of mess they'd be wading into this time, but one thing was certain: wherever Blitzo went, disaster was sure to follow. Still, that's what made the job so… exciting.

"Let's just hope we don't end up having to deal with the big guy," Moxxie muttered under his breath.

Loona snorted. "Not unless you want Blitzo's contract for eternity."

Moxxie grimaced. "Yeah, that's definitely not something I'm in the mood for."

And so, the team of misfits prepared for another dangerous and unpredictable mission, as the flames of Hell continued to burn beneath their feet.