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"Mr. Harper."

Harper grumbled and shifted in his sleep.

"Mr. Harper. It's time to wake up."

The Overlord in question grumbled again. This time, one burning yellow eye shot open to regard the well-groomed imp standing by his bedside. After a moment's silence, he huffed in defeat and shuffled his way upright.

"Thank you, Drek," he grunted in his valet's general direction, though he wasn't feeling particularly grateful. "Hope you've got extra coffee ready, because I did not sleep well last night."

"Of course, sir," Drek said with a curt nod. "Your clothes are laid out and freshly pressed as well." He paused, then cocked his head. "Forgive me if I am prying, but where are the two women you took to your bed? Neither I nor any of the staff have seen them this morning."

"I sent them home last night," Harper said as he got out of bed. He groaned and cracked his back. Towering overhead eight and a half feet, the red-scaled, draconic demon was every bit as imposing in his sleeping shorts as he was in one of his custom-tailored suits. His leathery wings flexed behind him a few times before he continued. "Let's just say it didn't work out, and I think I'm done with 'hooking up,' as the kids call it."

The imp nodded again in understanding, then took his leave to finish preparing breakfast. Harper stretched and twisted a few more times to get the lead out, then set about getting dressed. As he buttoned his shirt and knotted his tie, his gaze wandered around the old-fashioned elegance of his bedroom, as well as the double-king bed occupying one wall.

Harper frowned. Though life in Hell had surprisingly enough been good to him, it was unsurprisingly filled with some rather awful people. Being obscenely rich could be a liability in that crowd. He shook his head with a sigh as he thought back to the night before. "Should probably ask the butler to take inventory of the silverware," he mused.

Once he was dressed and a fresh coat of gel slicked his black hair neatly between his horns, the dragon demon made his way downstairs to the dining room. As always, a family-sized spread of bacon, eggs, ham, toast, and hashbrowns awaited him. A big body meant a big appetite!

Harper had just sat down when Drek emerged from the kitchens baring a fresh pot of coffee. No sooner had the imp set it down than Harper had snatched it up to take a big, unflinching gulp directly from it. Household staff had learned long ago that the Overlord did not take his coffee in a mug, nor did he drink just one pot. No doubt another was brewing in the kitchen.

The Overlord listened intently as his valet took out his PDA and began reviewing Harper's schedule for the day. With deadlines approaching for the project in Dis, it was going to be a busy day. Speaking of which... "Have we heard back yet about the revision to the zoning permits?"

"Balthor informed me that the necessary paperwork is in the mail, sir."

The dragon huffed in irritation. "Well it better reach the city clerk by tomorrow or it's going to be Balthor's head on my desk."

"I was sure to remind him," Drek affirmed before scrolling to the next item. Knowing his employer, Harper wasn't speaking metaphorically. "Oh, and Max started his vacation yesterday, so you will need to organize your personal records yourself."

"Bah!" growled Harper, "I knew I was forgetting something. No matter; Max earned his time off. I suppose I should take care of those now before I do anything else."

Harper took a few more minutes to finish his breakfast, and for Drek to conclude the daily briefing. The interview with that creepy exoskeleton Katie Killjoy was going to be his least favorite activity, but he would cross that bridge when he reached it.

The Overlord took a moment to drain the first pot of coffee, then patted down his lips with the napkin spread across his lap. Once Drek had brought him the second pot, he rose from his seat and made his way back upstairs to his office, coffee in hand.

Like many of the other rooms in the house, Harper's office had undergone many renovations. While the overall Victorian aesthetic from when it was first built remained intact, many upgrades and creature comforts had been added over the past 120 or so years. Chief among them was the sleek Voxbook sitting front and center on his mahogany desk, as well as the large flatscreen television that had replaced the mantle over the fireplace.

It was the television that he switched on first. It always helped him to have some background noise while he worked, and though he found Channel 666 News insufferable, the business segment was useful for picking up leads.

Coffee pot in hand, Harper settled into his chair and opened his Voxbook. For the next hour, he meticulously pored over spreadsheets and scanned documents. To think that these were only his personal finances, which were dwarfed by those of his business empire!

The dragon demon finally scooted back from his desk to rub his eyes. He'd never understand why someone would want to pursue a career in handling this sort of thing. It was during this break that he became aware of what the voices on TV were actually saying.

"Hi there! I'm Blitzø (the 'o' is silent), and I'm the founder of I.M.P.!"

The cheerful, vaguely effeminate voice made Harper look up at the TV, to the slender, mottled imp taking up the screen beside a company logo.

"Are you a piece of shit who got yourself sent to Hell?" Blitzø continued, "Or are you an innocent soul who got *FUCKED * over by someone else?"

As Harper watched, Drek came into the office carrying a third pot of coffee. "I've brought your-" the imp glanced up at the TV and scoffed, "Oh, not this garbage again." He set down the coffee on Harper's desk and reached for the remote, but the Overlord waved him off.

"Well luckily for you, thanks to our company's special access to the Living World," Blitzø said as he waved his hand over a book and a flaming portal opened in the floor behind him, "we can help you take care of your unfinished business by taking out anyone who screwed you over when you were alive!" As the imp fell backward into the portal, the commercial cut to an upbeat jingle.

"Most remarkable," Harper said, "A company that appears to be owned and operated by imps, but one that possesses access to the Living World?"

"Apparently so," said Drek, who turned off the TV, "No idea how they got their hands on that fancy book, but even if their service is legitimate, they're nothing but trouble."

The Overlord tilted his head toward his valet, "Surely you don't think so lowly of your own kind?"

Drek chuckled softly. "It isn't that they are imps, per se," he said, "But even if they do have access to the Living World, how do you think them killing people left and right to avenge Hell's citizenry will go over? You know how difficult it is to get into Heaven, sir. This will only make Hell's population crisis worse."

Harper leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk spreading across his face. "Oh Drek. Dear, dear Drek. You have been my valet for what, 24 years?"

"27, Mr. Harper,"

"Close enough. You should know by now that the population crisis isn't getting worse. No, it is getting better. And if these 'Immediate Murder Professionals' hasten more Sinners' arrival in Hell, things will get better still!"

The draconic demon slowly got up, and wandered over to the broad window overlooking his spacious grounds. "Tell me, Drek, as the population of Hell increases, where will they live?"

Drek shuffled to his master's side, dawning realization on his face. "In apartments, sir. Houses if they're lucky."

Harper sagely nodded. "And who builds homes for the citizens of Hell?"

"You do, sir!"

"Clever boy!" Harper exclaimed, before gently slapping his valet on the back. "Where others see crisis, I see opportunity. Demand for housing can only go up. And my subsidiaries will prosper so long as the population continues to grow."

The Overlord moved back to his desk. He had hastily scrawled I.M.P.'s phone number and address on a scrap of paper. "Drek, reschedule my afternoon appointments. I am interested in making contact with this humble band of assassins. Let us see what they can do."

With that, Harper pulled his smartphone from his pocket and began to dial.