helluva boss · imp · assassin · chaotic · dark humor · workplace dynamics · violence · morally gray · ensemble cast
The office is strewn with confetti and the sticky residue of cheap champagne. A half-eaten cake sits on Blitzo's cluttered desk, a single candle's flame wavering in the dim glow of a solitary bulb. Millie has her arm draped over Moxxie's shoulders, her lips pressed softly to his cheek, but his gaze is locked on the cake's surface, mirroring the tiny fire. Blitzo leans against the wall, arms folded, a smug smirk etched on his scarred face as he watches his weapons specialist. Loona has already snatched a slice, her attention glued to her phone, utterly disengaged. The air carries the acrid scent of spent gunpowder mingled with the cloying sweetness of cheap frosting. Moxxie's hands hover over the cake, trembling. He mutters something—a raw, hushed whisper that slices through the leftover…