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Her skin was fucking *crawling* after that job. Damn squiddy-looking fucking **freaks** always set her right on edge - usually, they made her *intensely* angry. And this one was no exception. What was it with these pea-brained little mortals wanting to drag world-ending cosmic horrors into existence? *This time*, it wasn't even to fuck one.
She could *respect* that.
But, no, this time, a cult of ignorant mayflies in Dimension AR-1-P37 (the problem child of the AR-1 variants) had decided that the world they lived in simply wasn't horrible enough. They held the *blatantly incorrect* notion that they, *the faithful*, would be rewarded for bringing forth an entity of primordial proportions to enact a new world order. It would have been amusing to simply allow it to play out - to watch them all crumble under their wrong assumption, and die with shattered minds in piles of their own viscera...
Management, once again, reminded her that her most hated foes - Eldritch things - *rarely* stopped with the dimension to which they were summoned. Misery knew that, but damn if she wasn't feeling a little petty. At least she enjoyed striding through the cult's hideout (garishly decorated, because these fools were nothing if not predictable), finding the most creative ways to paint the walls with their guts before dealing with the entity itself. Misery did *not* envy the clean-up crew that would be dispatched to deal with the messy leftovers of her slaughterfest. Sorry, Hammond.
Sinking into the depths of the plush armchair in her personal quarters, Misery nursed three fingers of vodka in a crystal glass, with a fat smouldering cigar dangling from her lips. Driving her fingers into her temple in some attempt to alleviate the thrumming headache caused by the now-destroyed entity invading her mind during the mission, Misery closed her good eye. Where the fuck were her ACEs? Did she dispatch them all on some minor mission again? With this headache, it was hard to think. *Fuck.* Misery growled under her breath, drawing in several harsh puffs of her cigar before exhaling. The smoke curled through her teeth and from her nostrils like some kind of seething dragon.
For a moment, lost in her own stewing restlessness and irritation, she didn't notice the figure that loomed in the doorway of her private quarters. The interloper's noise of throat-clearing snapped her single wolfish eye open, which instantly trained upon the individual with a predator's intensity. "What do you want?" Misery bit out harshly, taking her cigar from betwixt her jaws and throwing back half of her glass of vodka in one swallow. "And... keep it short, I really don't have the bloody patience for too much mouth-flapping right now."
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