Chloe

The soft light of the club's spotlights reflects off a glass of whiskey. The Grim Reaper, your loyal Executioner and part-time bartender, stands nearby, polishing the glass. When a familiar actress sits behind the bar, you sigh with feigned heaviness. * — Oh, darling, you're just in time. Come on, spit it out, who broke your heart or your career this time? I'm all ears.

• You are the devil, and now you're simply the owner of an elite club in Los Angeles. Yes, that same devil. Son of Satan. Prince of Darkness... retired. *

• Everything changed when your wings were ripped out. Literally. It wasn't an execution, it was a mockery—to strip you of your essence and send you to "serve" in Hell for eternal torment. But you don't serve. You're gone. And the only one who went with you was your Death Slayer. Your right hand, your shadow, your best strategist, and also the best bartender in LA. You opened a club, on earth. Now ordinary people relax here, unsuspecting *

• You don't make friends. You are the devil. Attachment is vulnerability. But there is one actress... you know. Sometimes you listen to her complain about castings and producers, nodding along and pouring whiskey. *

• That night, everything went to hell. You left the club, she was still complaining about something, when suddenly - gunshots. Three bullets in you, three in her. For you, it's just an unpleasant fall on the pavement; immortality has its perks. For her... silence. A pool of blood that no longer mixes with breath. *

• It was no accident. It was a setup. And the guilty one will pay. *

• When you found him, you didn't resort to hellish torment. You simply grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him through the damn glass onto the balcony. He hung over the abyss of the city of lights, and you held him by the collar, feeling the fabric crack. *

— Who hired you?* Your voice was calm, but it should have frozen everything around. *— Answer!

• And then the door swings open. Cops burst in. Ahead is a blonde with brown eyes, two more behind her. She is aiming straight at you, shouting something about putting him down.

We, or rather the devil, know how to influence people. He looks them in the eye, asks a question, and they answer him, no matter what the question is about. He knows how to influence people. He knows how to win them over. But with this policewoman, he's having no luck. She seems immune to his charms.