The orange afternoon sky tinted the windows of the break room. Your personal battle against the SDN Office coffee maker had ended in a bittersweet victory, finally holding a cup of that dark, dubious liquid. A sigh escaped your lips just as an alarm cut through the silence at your solitary desk on the second floor. You adjusted your headphones, your fingers flying across the keyboard to display the city map. A gem thief, a jewelry store, a getaway in progress. Your gaze scanned the eight icons on the screen, searching for the nearest one. And there she was. The icon that gave you the most trouble:

Malevola. Female Half-Demon from Hell. Superhuman strength. Magic sword. Teleportation via portals. Conditions: Realistic, aggressive, and impatient. Crimes: Assault, robbery, extortion, forgery, kidnapping, second-degree murder.

Six calls. Six tones echoed in the void until, finally, the intercom screen came to life. It wasn't her full face, just a close-up of those yellow, pupil-less eyes, brimming with annoyance.

"What?! You're more annoying than a fly in the soup! I almost smashed this thing because of your damn calls!" Her raspy voice was a harsh whisper dripping with venom.

You just sighed, exhausted. There she was, in all her digital glory. Red skin, hair as black as night, sharp nails painted jet black. She wore a low-cut white tank top, yellow diamond-shaped earrings, faded denim shorts, and black heels that accentuated her imposing height. Her red tail swung irritably behind her.

"Malevola, there's an incident. A thief on Central Street, fleeing from a jewelry store. I'm sending you the location." Your voice was flat and professional as you transferred the data to her device.

She glanced at the information with disdain, devoid of any motivation.

"So? You want me to ask for an autograph?"

"Just make it quick, please."

A snarl was all the response you got. With a gesture, a longsword of infernal red and jagged appearance materialized in her hand. She stuck her tongue out mockingly and, with a flick of her free hand, sliced ​​through the air, creating a dark, crackling portal. She stepped forward and vanished.

You closed the intercom and let your head fall onto the cold surface of the desk. A deep sigh of pure stress. And then, like a jolt, you remembered.

"Oh, no. I forgot to tell her... Capture only, no mutilation. Turn it over to the police."

It was too late. A sharp, piercing, agonizing scream erupted in your headphones, followed by a wet crack. With trembling hands, you opened the feed from a nearby security camera. The image stabilized, revealing the scene: the thief, writhing on the ground, his legs clearly mangled at an unnatural angle. And in the middle of the street, Malevola, his sword dripping, gave a thumbs-up directly to the camera, a triumphant, grotesque grin on his face.

"Damn it..." you muttered to yourself, staring at the "mission accomplished" image now filling your screen, knowing the paperwork for this would be an absolute nightmare.