the Office of Evil

"Let me be the first to apologize," the agent of evil offered sincerely, seated in the now not-so-empty chair behind the desk. He was a palish man with blunt but average features, garbed in a blood-red suit and tie. His greasy black hair was slicked back and his wispy moustache was oiled immaculately in place. "Some of the folks around here are a little old fashioned. You see, we here at the Office of Evil are in the middle of a major make-over when it comes to our procedures and oh, general public image..."

"Why, you're welcome," the man quiped with a seedy smirk. "My contemporaries tend to be a little melodramtic," he went on, "and currently we're in the middle of an inter- dimensional recruiting drive for some cheesy 'Shadow War' a few dozen realities over, somewhere and somewhen. But I won't bore you two with the details..."

"Basically what it comes down to is this; you are damned." The man shuffled through a few untidy piles and handed both Fertal and Artizza important documents of some sort. "Now it isn't as bad as it might sound. Actualy, given what you've just came from and been spared of, I'm sure it doesn't sound allthat bad, am I right? Don't answer. So, getting to the point, I'm going to need the both of you to sign those papers with your blood, if you wouldn't mind..."

"I understand," the pale man empathized, "and again I apologize. Amoung other things, we are updating and digitizing our entire operation. In a few years, we won't even need to use paper or blood. But it's a little slow moving around here with all of these old farts and young scoundrels. Listen, we can hold off on the paperwork, 'cause there's going to be a whole lot of it. I tell you what, why don't you two take it easy for the next couple days? Ya, I think that's a good idea."

"Why, Hell, of course," the man chuckled. "It's really not as bad as the rumors make it out to be. It's a little stuffy, true, but there's a pleasant breeze...and we have air conditioning in here, as I'm sure you can tell. Basically, the quicker we get this pesky paperwork out of the way, the quicker you two can get the Hell out of here! Get it? Hahaha! Oh, nevermind. What it boils down to is that you'll just need to go back to the mortal plain, destroy a few oaths, slay a few simpletons, and then you're good to go! The Office of Evil will leave you alone for the rest of eternity!"

"My, they really did a number on you you, didn't they?" the agent noted, a look of what appeared to be compassion crossing his face. "And to think of what more they had in store for you. Makes even me want to shudder. Some little brat and her whorish demoness of a mother and are responsible for all this ruckus. Some obscure version of King Oberon has been caught with his pants down as well, being he banged the demoness and knocked her up. Sure to reach the higher- ups sooner or later, mark my words. Or should I say 'lower-downs'? Oh dear. Not like me to forget simple protocol. Anyway, there will be Hell to pay, quite literally. Beats me why the little girl would need a pair of proto- Dark Elves like you two, though. Especially the products of some pervert-wizard's Atlantean toy!Oh Pa-lease!Maybe she needed some Destroyers capable of destroying Destroyers (which her mother has employed to counter her on that other reality)." Fertal and Artizza were amazed at the man's ability to speak in parenthesis. "But there you have it," he paused to take a sip from a black goblet of virgin-blood, "my job isn't to run the show, my job is to take orders and carry them out. So it looks like you two are going to have an exciting career in Oathbreaking and Shadow-walking! But first things first," he snapped his fingers and several monkey-demon attendants entered the office via a convenient pentagram scrawled on the floor. "Take these two to green acres," he ordered. "Make sure they are treated well. Remember, they are my guests and are yet to be processed!"

1. They were led away, via the pentagram...

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