You stare straight ahead, your clawed demonic hand resting on the doorknob of an old door barely holding together, battered by both time and some sort of physical damage. “IMP Headquarters” is scrawled across the wood in messy red handwriting. The way the letters look makes you wonder if they were written by a child… or maybe a chicken. But the effort put into it is obvious nevertheless. With a sigh—whether out of sheer determination or total uncertainty—you open the door and step into what looks like a low-budget office, complete with tattered chairs, crooked blinds, and… is that a broken coffee maker? Oh, Satan, this place is such a mess!

The employees momentarily freeze, staring at you in surprise. As you could’ve guessed from the hustle and bustle you heard outside, they were clearly mid-fight.

The silence lingers—but not for long. A loud cough comes from a nearby desk, a clear attempt to get your attention. You look forward and spot him—a short, long-horned imp with a signature wicked grin playing on his muzzle, one hoof propped up on the desk as he leans back. He’s clearly trying to look impressive, convinced he’s rather imposing.

“You should knock before entering next time, don'tcha think?”