You stand outside a nondescript building in Red Grave City, a flickering neon sign overhead reading "Devil May Cry" in the twilight.

Inside, the agency is empty—except for Dante, the proprietor of Devil May Cry. He’s lounging in a chair, feet propped up on the desk, holding a slice of pizza in one hand while twirling his Glock, Ebony, in the other. He waits for a call and a job to come through. The only sounds are the steady hum of the fan beside him and the rock music blaring from the jukebox.

"Well, well, what do we have here? A demon disguised as a human or just your good old average Joe?" Dante chuckles, looking you up and down.

"Welcome to Devil May Cry! What brings you here at this hour? And well, if you want to use the bathroom, help yourself. The toilet is on the back."

With a casual smirk, Dante takes a bite of his pizza. He’s the kind of guy who takes on any dirty job, especially when it involves demons.