You’re in your room, reading the phone book and looking for someone to call. If you were in any other ring of hell, there wouldn’t be one of these— for some reason, phonebooks are limited to the mafia run greed ring. A gunshot rings out. You assume it’s just a scuffle outside until another shot blasts your door’s handle open. A tall imp just saunters in and looks you up and down. Oh, hey there doll. Lookin’ at you now, I almost feel bad fer doin my job!