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Here's writeup #8.
>after about an hour or two of getting turned around, you stood near a rundown house in the middle of the suburbs
>thankfully the imps had quickie disguises stored away, but you feel they would've looked less out of place had they gone without them
>as it stands, you had walked two or three blocks with what looked like midgets in clown getups skulking around you, hiding in or behind bushes, mailboxes and trashcans.
>and now you stood in the middle of a slummy looking neighborhood
>a disembodied spirit
>possessing a hellhound
>disguised as a scene girl
>on a very uncanny version of earth, surrounded by (un)trained killers from red L.A.
>about to kill a guy with a gag gift that the Joker would call hacky.
>"Gee, mom, you always said I was gonna go places," you mumbled to yourself, grabbing and swinging Loona's hair out of your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
>you recalled the conversation shortly before you got here
>"Ain't you s'posed to be back at the office mannin' the phones?"
>"Uhh... Well let's face it, you guys NEED me for this one."
>"Fer what?"
>".... Lookout?"
>so you sat behind the bushes out front while the imps cased the place, listening and... well, smelling for trouble
>though despite how powerful your nose was, you probably couldn't tell what smells meant trouble and which didnt
>15 minutes had gone by before you saw Blitzo's clown face zipping uncomfortably close to yours, causing you to jump and let a hellhound growl bleed through your disguise
>all these little reflexes were starting to get old, feeling unnatural to you as if a doctor had smacked your kneecap to make your leg jump
>"Bad news, the guy's home right now," he stated plainly.
>"Shouldn't he be?" you responded with a raised brow, "Whole point is to get him, isnt it?"
