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Moxxie frowned as he examined the blueprints laid out before him on the table. "What, precisely, am I looking at?" He cast a questioning gaze to the skull demon in a lab coat standing beside him.

"You are looking at the future of assassination!" hissed the pale-eyed Sinner, "This is a long-range peanut butter projector. By expelling peanut butter at exceptionally high pressure, it can achieve a range up to one hundred meters under optimal conditions!"

Moxxie quirked a brow. "And why would we want to shoot peanut butter a hundred meters?"

The researcher steepled his fingers. "It would allow you to put an end to targets with severe peanut allergies from a long range. Mr. Blitzø commissioned this weapon to improve the efficiency of missions in which the client requests death by anaphylactic shock."

"OH FOR-" Moxxie caught himself and took a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his snout, "Saro, your creativity and ingenuity continue to be a blessing to us." The skull demon's dark fluff puffed out at the praise, but the imp wasn't done. "Unfortunately, I have to turn down this proposal. As common as peanut allergies are among humans, it is rare that we receive contracts specifying they be used as a killing method." He pushed the blueprints to the side. "Given that this weapon's use is limited to a very specific circumstance, further development and manufacture just isn't feasible."

Saro started to deflate, but Moxxie stood up on his tippy-hooves to rest an assuring hand on his shoulder. "Keep at it! I know I'll love the next weapon your team comes up with."

With the skull demon's spirits restored once more, the COO of I.M.P. departed from the company's new research and development division. As he walked down the hallway to the elevator, he reflected on just how much had changed over the course of a single year. They were in a new building, to start with. No longer were they relegated to a single office suite either. I.M.P. rented multiple floors in the skyscraper. This had allowed them to drastically expand and branch out. Now in addition to their research division, they had an entire floor dedicated to training assassins, firing range included. Another floor housed their billing and accounting department. In just a matter of months, I.M.P. had grown from a team of four to almost a hundred.

Moxxie stabbed the button for the top floor of I.M.P.'s section of the building. The elevator carried him to the biggest and best change of all (at least in Moxxie's opinion). His very own office waited for him behind the second door on the left, complete with a gilded nameplate. The little imp stepped inside and appraised the various copies of Playbill that were framed on his walls. One of his guitars was propped in one corner.

Sighing, he took a seat at the desk - his desk - and grabbed a stack of papers from his inbox. Moxxie grimaced at the memo from Blitzø authorizing development of the "long-range peanut butter projector," and began drafting a response formally cancelling the project. Looking over R&D's inventions and training new recruits in the use of firearms were the highlights of his day. It was all the paperwork he came back to at his desk that made the rest of it a slog.

Moxxie stole a glance at the framed photograph propped on one corner of his desk. It was from his and Millie's trip to the Fortress City of Dis over the summer. Millie clung happily to him in the photo, and both of them were smiling wide.

He returned the smile of the two imps in the photo, but only for a moment. He hardly got to work alongside his wife anymore. Ever since he'd taken over the day to day operations, his participation in missions to the Living World had fallen off. He couldn't remember the last time he'd killed a live human instead of a bunch of paper targets. There was simply too much to do in the day! And not having Millie by his side was making it tougher.

Moxxie sighed. He'd need to take a few days off at some point. Just him and Millie together. He brightened slightly. Maybe in his downtime he could write a new song for her? Satan knew there weren't enough lyrics in all of Hell to describe just how much he loved her.

The imp finished his memo and placed it in the outbox. Then it was on to the next one. As usual, it was going to be a long day.

---

"Alright crew! Fall in."

Millie watched with a critical eye as the newest hires came to attention in front of her. At least none of them had taken her literally and ragdolled onto their faces this time. There were about ten in this batch, an even mix of Sinners and Hellborn in various shapes and sizes.

The small imp lady strolled up and down the line of would-be assassins. Despite only coming up to the knees of some of the tallest demons in the bunch, she commanded an air of firm but warm authority.

"Welcome to your orientation with I.M.P.!" she chirped, "My name's Millie, and I'll be training y'all who are so inclined in the arts of stealth and close quarters combat. My husband, Moxxie, will work with those of y'all who take better to shooting people. After the first few lessons, you'll know which one you are, and we'll move ya accordingly."

A gangly cyclops demon in the line scoffed quietly. "Why the fuck should we be taking orders from a fucking imp?" he muttered to the demon next to him. Suddenly, he froze. The cold steel of a dagger now pressed against his throat.

Millie peered over his right shoulder from behind him and smiled brightly. The demons to either side of the cyclops shifted nervously. None of them had even seen her move! One moment she was in front of them, the next he was on that sorry bastard's back.

"Somethin' on ya mind ya wanna share with the rest of the class, sugar?" she asked sweet as could be. The blade of her knife dug a little deeper into the cyclops' neck.

"N-no ma'am!" he squeaked, not daring to move his head, "Just clearing my throat is all."

Millie paused for a moment, then pulled the knife away and patted his head. "Bless your heart! Now, let's go over some of the basics first..."

Hours later, Millie finally dismissed the new hires from orientation and retired to her own office. She'd wanted to share one with Moxxie, but their new Demon Resources department kept going on about conflict of interest, whatever that meant. So, she got an office of her own. On the plus side, it was right down the hall from Moxxie's. Unfortunately, they rarely were on this floor at the same time. Moxxie was usually down at the range or in the armory about now.

The lady imp sank into her plush executive seat and sighed. Then she spun around to the sprawling map of Earth that took up the back wall behind her desk. Bright holographic markers lit up across all the inhabited continents. They were color-coded to display both planned and active excursions into the Living World.

Millie took out her tablet and began feeding updates to the map. This was by far the most boring part of her new role. Training new demons to kill could be fun, but she lived for the times when she commanded crews on jobs herself. It just wasn't the same sitting on her ass in an office while an army of employees did all the work. That's why she took one of these jobs herself whenever she could. If the job was especially big, Blitzø would come along too!

She paused and set the tablet down as she thought about her boss. Come to think of it, when was the last time she, Blitzø, and Moxxie were all on a job together? That hadn't happened in months. Possibly not since Harper started feeding his advice to Blitzø on how to reorganize. When the change happened didn't matter, all Millie knew was she didn't see much of the others at work anymore, except maybe for breaks.

The imp turned to look at one of the pictures on her desk. As one would expect, it was another photo of her and Moxxie together. Her cheek was squished to his while she stretched one arm out to take a clumsy selfie. Where had this one been taken again? It didn't matter; their smiles in the shot were genuine enough.

Millie smiled and picked the photo up to give it a smooch. "See ya when we get home, Mox," she murmured, before she turned back to the map to finish the updates.

---

Another day, another paycheck, and another pile of humans ground into slurry. Loona stretched out a kink in her back as she entered the women's locker room. Her job had gotten way more exciting after she was reassigned from her job as receptionist and worked in the field. She didn't care how much Blitzø objected; killing people was what she was meant to do!

That said, it was a relief to get out of this stupid monkey suit Moxxie insisted all I.M.P. employees wear on the job. A company uniform was cool and all, but couldn't that little weenie have gotten everyone some camo fatigues or something? Moxxie had insisted it was for the sake of professionalism, whatever that meant.

The Hellhound deposited her scuffed and bloodstained uniform (none of those belonging to her, of course) in the bin to be washed, then joined the other female employees in the showers. Her colleagues chattered among themselves, but none paid much mind to the temperamental canine among them. That suited Loona just fine. The last gal to make fun of the way her fur puffed up under the blowdryer ended up in the hospital for almost a month.

After hosing herself down and sticking herself under the wall-mounted dryer, Loona wrapped her hair up in a towel and strode back to her locker leaving nothing to the imagination. She stopped at one particular locker and sniffed the air. Suddenly, she whirled around and planted a solid kick into the metal door, causing it to crumple inward. A pained groan from inside soon followed.

"Pervert," she growled as she walked the rest of the way to her locker. The first thing she did before anything else was check her phone. She grimaced at the fact she wasn't allowed to bring it with her to the Living World, and it always left her jonesing for a social media fix. One would think she would be self-conscious about standing out in the open naked while she browsed her phone, but in that case they didn't know Loona.

"Yo Loona!" called one of her crewmates. Loona huffed and turned to face the rather stocky, underwear-clad imp girl approaching her and quirked a brow. The imp didn't look too happy. "You clogged up the drain again!" she exclaimed, "There's a foot of water in one side of the showers now."

"And?" retorted Loona, "C'mon Missy, I'm a Hellhound. We shed. It's gonna happen whether you like it or not."

Missy clicked her tongue and put her hands on her hips. "Then why don't we have a fur trap installed?"

"I'unno," Loona shrugged before going back to her phone, "Guess you'll have to bring that up with the boss."

"I got a better idea," said the imp, "Your Dad's the boss, right? How about you go talk to him or something? Hell, talk him into giving us all raises while you're at it."

Quick as a flash, Loona pulled down the towel bundled around her head and wrung it into a tight rat tail. Realizing what was happening, Missy made the mistake of turning to run. With a feral snarl, the Hellhound let loose and snapped the damp towel across the imp's buxom backside with a loud *crack*, eliciting a yip of pain and surprise from the smaller woman.

"Yeah get the fuck out of here, shortstack!" Loona yelled after her. She gathered up her clothes and started to get dressed. "Stupid bitch thinks she can use me to get what she wants," she grumbled.

Once she was back in her usual street clothes, Loona slung her backpack over her shoulder and left the busy locker room. It was just about dinnertime, and Blitzø had talked about taking her out to eat. She wasn't about to hold her breath, though.

The Hellhound took a moment to appreciate the new building's underground garage. It was saving them a nice chunk of change on auto repairs now that the van wasn't sitting out in the open every time there was blood or acid rain in the forecast. Of course, she wasn't headed for the van. The nice bump in pay she'd gotten allowed her to buy her own scooter, which was parked a few spots down from Blitzø's van.

She was just about to lean against the tough leather seat when her phone rang. Blitzø's face appeared on her caller ID. Loona braced herself for disappointment as she picked up. "Yeah?"

"Hey Loonie! Have a good day at work sweetie?" Blitzø cooed in his usual, syrupy manner. It made Loona want to gag.

"It went okay, I guess. We going to dinner tonight?" asked the Hellhound.

"Yeeeeeah, about that..." Blitzø said. Loona was prepared for it, used to it even. Even so, her heart sank.

"You're working late again???" she said, though it was more of a statement than a question at this point.

"Look Loonie, I'm really sorry!" Blitzø said, "Daddy has a lot on his plate right now. I.M.P.'s gotten bigger than ever, and that means a lotta extra work for the CEO. That's me. I'll be home later tonight. Once I'm done here, I just gotta stop by Harper's office and then I'll come right home."

Of FUCKING course Harper is part of it. "Fine!" Loona practically spat, "I'll see you at home."

"I love y-" Loona hung up before Blitzø could finish. She tucked her phone into her backpack and kick-started her scooter. Getting home was actually faster than if she'd taken the van. A smaller vehicle meant she could easily weave around wrecked and abandoned cars. In a pinch, she could just drive up on the sidewalk, pedestrians be damned.

The Hellhound practically kicked the door open and stormed into the apartment she shared with Blitzø. It was larger and nicer than their old apartment, but she was too pissed off to care. She tossed her bag on the couch, then went to the kitchen to grab a pack of ramen and a pot, which she slammed onto the stove.

While she waited for the water to boil, Loona quietly stewed in a toxic broth of anger, loneliness, and just a hint of grief. When would Blitzø come home? When did he ever come home on time? She couldn't remember anymore. The Hellhound took a deep, shuddering breath, then added the hard, plasticky noodles to the water. Tough girls don't cry, she reminded herself.

---

Upon realizing the call had disconnected, Blitzø set the phone on his desk with his tail. It was a good thing his tail was flexible enough to hold and dial a phone, given both his index fingers were currently ensnared in a Chinese finger trap.

"Dammit!" he growled for what had to be the hundredth time. He'd been stuck for almost an hour now, and pride had barred him from asking for help. He'd never figure this shit out if he didn't practice, but he kept forgetting how to solve it every. Freaking. Time!

Blitzø grit his teeth and pushed and pulled in a futile effort to free his hands. Try as he might, the coarse mesh tube held fast to his claws. In desperation, he scooted his chair back and slipped the toe of one boot over the trap. He grunted and groaned as he pushed with his leg. His swivel chair wobbled precariously with each push.

Suddenly, one of his fingers popped free of the trap. He let out a rather girly squeal as his chair toppled backwards and his horns lodged themselves in the carpeted floor of his executive suite. The imp struggled comically for a moment, before finally getting the leverage to pry himself loose.

Blitzø sprawled out on his desk with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Knew I'd figure this little fucker out eventually," he said to nobody in particular. Unfortunately, nobody had been present to bear witness to his feat of mental prowess. Only the massive collection of Your Pretty Horsie figurines arranged in an elaborate display along one wall of his office looked on.

Seeing those dead pastel eyes staring at him filled Blitzø's heart with joy. It'd taken a long time for him to collect all those. That asshole Moxxie didn't give him a big enough "allowance" for more than a couple at a time. Though he supposed he couldn't complain, now that Moxxie and a bunch of other losers were doing all the boring shit, he could focus on all the fun parts about being the boss like leading hit missions and recording commercials. Oh yeah, and the mandatory team meetings several times a week!

Now where was he? Oh right! He still had some work to do. Blitzø plucked a stack of papers from his inbox and sifted through them. His brow furrowed as he found a memo from that little shrimp-dick cancelling his peanut butter gun. Not for the first time, he questioned the wisdom of delegating the bitch work to a mentally handicapped imp like Moxxie. Whatever, he'd deal with this tomorrow. If he had to pay Saro to make the gun himself, he would.

It wasn't long before Blitzø got bored of reviewing paperwork. His attention returned to the Chinese finger trap still dangling off his left finger. Now that he'd mastered freeing his hands, what would be the next challenge?

Blitzø glanced down at his lap. Then he looked back to the trap, and then his lap again. After some additional contemplation, he knew what he had to do. The imp stood up and slowly unzipped his fly.

As he adjusted his coat to fish out his dick, out of the corner of his eye he saw a piece of paper fall out of one of the pockets. He glanced over, and realized right away what it was.

"Oh FUCK I forgot to read Stolas's letter!" Blitzø exclaimed. Finger trap now forgotten, he bent down to pick it up and quickly unfolded it. "Hopefully he's not pissed I took this long to read it."

As he scanned the brief note, his eyes widened in shock. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and his shoulders shook as he snickered. "Oh wow," he said with a chuckle, "The guy I've been fucking to stay in business wants to start over as friends?" His laughter fled just as quickly as it had come. "Crap, he's hoping for a date. He knows I'm seeing Harper, right? This could get ugly."

He zipped his fly back up and took a moment to ponder. Fuck it. He had to go see Harper anyways before he went home. The Overlord would know what to do.