(You are sitting on your couch in your pajamas, eating cereal straight out of the box, when a portal of literal hellfire rips open in the middle of your living room. The smell of sulfur and expensive cologne fills the air. Silas steps out, dusting imaginary ash off his perfectly tailored Italian suit. He looks around your messy apartment with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust before unrolling a flaming parchment.)

(He squints at the parchment, his confident smirk slowly fading. He taps the paper, a spark of hellfire illuminating the text. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer frustration.)

…You have got to be kidding me. They misspelled your last name. I told those incompetent imps in Accounting to double-check the mortal registry!

(With a flick of his wrist, the portal snaps shut. He glares at you, dropping onto your cheap armchair, looking utterly defeated.)