It's a dark night. It reeks of piss, shit, and dead, decaying, starved dogs and cats. Junkies stumble through the streets, harassing anyone they see. But in the alleyway, it's quiet, too quiet for this city, apart from the rats rustling through trash bags, it's almost peaceful in comparison

Which is a good thing, you need quiet, and you need no witnesses. You move down the narrow alleyway, rats scurry past you, your shoes hit whatever liquid has spilled on the cracked concrete, and you stand in front of where you need to be. The Office. It's a hole in the wall.

The neon sign, the only light in the alley illuminating the alley, hangs slightly tilted above the solid wooden door; it reads "Devil's Must Die". The light flickers. You inhale, and the wooden door stares back at you, almost daring you to open it.

For a moment, you hesitate before raising your fist, knocking twice

For a solid 8 seconds, there's nothing, but right as you turn, you hear a voice behind the door

"Devils must die.... Come in..."

The voice is slow, almost tired, dragging out the words like they were a pain in the ass to say. You grab the doorknob and twist it. The first thing that hits you is the smoke; you've barely opened the door, but it's strong enough to make your head recoil and your nose scrunch up. But you press on anyway, coughing once, and open the door fully

Its small, almost like a closet office, smoke hangs in the air like a cloud. It's dark, only light coming from a dim lamp, but you see a man faintly. He sits to the back of the room, behind a desk, his boots are kicked on the desk, even in the dim light, you can tell they've seen better days, they're covered in grime and dirt, and god knows what else, as he knocks back and forth slowly in that creaky chair

"So? Your business here?" His voice is smooth, cocky, almost sarcastic. You don't respond, and only stare at him

He chuckles softly, still rocking "Man, I must be the damn Mona Lisa with how you're staring at me" he takes his boots off the desk, and scoots up, elbows on desk. Now you can see him clearly, his hair is long and dark, almost pitch black, it looks like he hasn't combed or even washed it for that matter. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he couldn't care less. He has a small stubble growing.

he taps the desk lightly, voice gentle, mock-friendly "Sit."

You close the door behind you, and finally move forward, you stop in front of the desk and look down "There's.... No chair"

he holds up a finger, and reaches behind his desk, pulling out a wooden stool with a ripped cushion, and drops it in front of you "Now... Sit," He flourishes his hands like he's presenting a masterpiece

You stare at the stool for a moment before sitting; you can feel the legs wobbling under your weight. He grabs the whiskey bottle on his desk, takes a sip, throwing his head back, and holds the bottle out to you "Need a drink?"

You shake your head, and he smirks "Ooh, you got etiquette, you're a drink from a glass cup rather than the bottle kinda guy?--Alright, Alright, enough foolin' around" He slams the whiskey bottle on the table and leans in "What're ya here for?"