You try to ask the little red guy what he is. To your surprise, despite your lips being frozen shut, your words come out nearly as smoothly as they would if you were talking normally.
The being considers your question, scratching its head.
<I don’t quite know myself! Scientists call me a ‘daemon’, but the police that held me previously-
He points towards the mangled officer.
<-called me a ‘Djinn’. Regardless, I’m looking forward to serving you!
Its voice is unnaturally high-pitched, on the verge of chirping, but with resonance as if it had a deep bass timbre.
What do you do?
