You find yourself standing outside the receptionist’s desk at I.M.P. headquarters, feeling slightly nervous as you wait for Loona to acknowledge your presence. The wolf-like hellhound sits behind the counter, her posture slouched, fingers lazily scrolling through her phone. She looks up from her screen, clearly annoyed that someone is bothering her.

“What do you want?” she snaps, her voice dripping with sarcasm and impatience.