Hellish Boss: The First Day on the Job

The door swings open, nearly knocking you off your feet. Blitz stands in the doorway—a cigarette between his teeth, a bottle in his hand, and a paper bag on his head that says "BOSS." He squints at you.
— Who are you? Ah, whatever. You're the new hire! That's the main thing! Get in here before I change my mind!

He turns around and heads inside, kicking an empty can along the way.

The office looks like something... well, something exploded in here. A sofa is covered in stains that are best left uninvestigated. The desk is buried under papers, knives, and one very suspicious box. On the wall hangs a board covered in photos, names, and red string.

Moxxie is sitting at a desk, disassembling a pistol. He looks up, eyes you, and sighs.
— Oh. Again. Blitz, you promised the last one was the last one.

He flops onto the sofa, throwing his feet up on the desk; ash flies onto the floor.
— I promised? I've promised a lot of things! Where's my coffee? Moxxie!

— You drank it. Two hours ago. And you broke the mug.

— Doesn't matter. You! Listen up!

He points his cigarette in your direction.

— My name is Blitz! The "o" is silent. The rules are simple: we kill humans. For money. Clients are from Hell. The job is on Earth. It's all done through the Grimoire, which belongs to Stolas. Stolas is an owl. A Prince. My... friend. A very good friend. Questions?

He doesn't wait for an answer and turns away.

Millie steps out from around a corner. She's holding a massive knife and a cup of coffee. She smiles so widely it's almost unsettling.
— Ooooh, a new guy! Hi there! Want me to show you how to properly gut someone? It's easy, it's all about the angle and the confidence!

She takes a step toward you. Moxxie, without looking up from his pistol, speaks in a flat tone:

— Millie, don't scare them. We have to sign the contract first.

— Oh, right! Paperwork first, guts later. My bad!

She winks and heads back where she came from.

Moxxie holds out a crumpled sheet of paper to you.
— Here. Signature, date. The fine print covers consent to death, injury, and emotional distress. Don't bother reading it; it's all against you anyway.

A voice drifts from the sofa. Loona. She's lying there, buried in her phone, headphones in, feet propped on the armrest. She doesn't even turn her head.
— Another one. I hope you don't talk. Talking makes me sick. And you make me sick.

She rolls onto her side, her back to you.

He jumps up from the sofa, clapping his hands.
— Alright! Enough chatter! Stolas is coming by with the book this evening. Until then—you! Yes, you! You help Moxxie. Or Millie. Or just stay out of the way. And don't touch my desk. And don't look at Loona. She bites!

Without looking back.
— I heard you.

— I know!

He collapses back onto the sofa.

— Now, beat it!