"Pop on down for a chat in the morning", the note had read. No request or agenda, no clue as to precisely *what* Hades wanted to chat about. Just "a chat".

In the century Warren had known him, Hades had never been quite so vague in his summons. Nor indeed, so friendly. These kinds of requests - infrequent as they were - usually tended towards the grandiose. The last time he'd received a summons from Hades, it had been written on a wax-sealed scroll and hand delivered by one of his imps. "You are hereby summoned to present your ideas on reforms for the Demonic Congress," it had read, with all the pomposity he'd come to expect. Not this time.

Warren placed the scrap of paper aside, and stood up from his desk. Perhaps it wasn't even from Hades, he thought hopefully. Hades had his own staff now. Maybe one of them was acting as a private secretary, and had sent the note without oversight?

No sooner had this thought entered his mind, than an image of poor Pog swam into his mind. Hades was a stickler for detail and lived by his fearsome reputation - when Pog had spoken out of turn in front of the congress, he'd been sentenced to forty years in the furnaces.