Pilot

                                    

                                          
In a dimly lit cellar, a men is sitting on a worn out leather chair, his figure slouched but composed. His tailored suit, once pristine is now stained with dark streaks of blood splattered across his chest and arms. His face remains emotionless, eyes cold and calculating, the dim light casting a shadow over his sharp features. He is eerily calm amidst the carnage surrounding him.
The door creaks open a group of men entered  the room cautiously. As they stepped inside their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Their boss, known as, the Viper-Devillian Giordano, sits drenched in blood that is not his own, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of those who clearly had not been so fortunate. The heavy stench of death fills the room. Devillian remains still as his expression is unreadable. The silence stretched, suffocating, and they realize they are not just afraid of the sight before then they are actually terrified of him. 
Finally his cold tone echoed through the whole room.. 
"I expected you sooner."
This simple sentence  hits them like a sledgehammer, the implied threat hanging in the air.
His cold steady gaze slowly shifted towards them and the air grows even heavier. They freeze exchanging nervous glances unsure of what to say. No one dares to speak first. The tension tightens and beads of sweat begin to form on their brows. One men visibly shaking, Steps forward to  offer an apology, but his words died in throat under weight of devillians chilling gaze. They can feel his fury simmering beneath his calm facade, a quite rage more terrifying then any outburst. 
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint sound of dripping blood. One of the men probably the most senior among them, mustered the courage to step forward. His voice tremble slightly but he forced it to remain steady.
"Boss, we-we ran in to some unexpected trouble on the way"He says , carefully choosing his words, his eyes lowered in deference..."There was"--
Devillian cuts him of with a slight raise of hand. His eyes narrowed, his gaze freezing the men in the place..
"Trouble? Is that what you call it?" He gesture vaguely to the scene around him, the bodied sprawled in  bloodied heaps..."I handled this. Alone."
 A shiver ran their spines. His voice , calm and low carried more weight then if he had shouted. 
"We didn't expect"--another men starts, but falters when devilliand gaze snaps at him.
"Did i asked for any explanation"
Devillian asked, his tone dangerously smooth, as if discussing a trivial matter. His hands remained relaxed at the arm rest of the chair, but his presence feels like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment.
"No".the senior men answered quickly stepping in to avoid any more disastrous missteps.
"we failed you boss. It won't happen again."
Devillian stand up brushing the blood of his suit as if violence had been  nothing more then an inconvenience. "Clean this up" he orders, turning towards the door "and make sure this never happens again".
Without another glance at them he  walks out, leaving his men standing frozen in fear, grateful to still be alive but terrified of what might comes next.
..................................................
In a typical college classroom, the professor stands at the front, passionately rambling on about something that only seems matters to him, gesturing wildly at the blackboard covered in some equations which only seems like some alien language. Meanwhile at the back of the room a girl was in deep concentration- but not on the lecture. 
Her notebook, meant for class notes turned in to a make shift art studio. She glanced up occasionally to make it look like to the professor that she is engaged. But in reality she is just thinking that how cool this dragon would look in sunglasses.