The Djinni sat in his office, noisily slurping the dregs of a banana-lime milkshake. [i]These modern times are incredible,[/i] he thought to himself. [i]There are so many different foods to choose from, each deliciously unhealthy.[/i] The phone rang, and for a moment, he wondered if he should answer it. Noticing the caller ID, he just glared at it for a moment, and let it keep ringing. This particular customer, one "Mayor of New York", had a bit of pest problem, and had been bugging the S.U.P.E.D. for a couple days now, trying to get their help. He kept trying to "appeal to their good side", by which we know he meant, "pay less money." It's not even worth the trip to the Big Apple for a measly 50 grand. [i]These dumb municipal guys can't get it into their heads that quality takes quantities; of money.[/i] Arkhtan grinned at his wit. [i]I should write a book.[/i] He mentally clapped himself on the shoulder, then stood up.

The tall windows and lofty ceiling gave the expensive office grandeur, and the thick carpeting and scenic paintings gave it a sense of comfort and tranquility. A small colored fountain sat on a pedestal by the door, depicting a toga-wearing woman emptying a wine pitcher. The soft burble of water was drowned out by rock music emanating from a 64" flatscreen TV on the wall opposite Ark's desk. A soundproofed glass barrier divided the room in half, with his desk and work area on one side, and the TV, a thick, green sofa, and lacquered coffee table marked the other as a relaxation lounge. The Djinni set the phone to take messages, tossed the now-empty milkshake cup into a trash bin, and moved to the sofa. He grinned as he picked up the remote and a bag of pretzels, and wondered why he'd ever worked for free in his life.