Part 2: Blake

He sat on the green, padded seat and began researching his targets as the monorail pulled out of the station and began the three and a half day trip from Ethereal to Earth.

Bob stepped off the monorail, pulling the dark hood over his head. Scythe in hand, he put his briefcase in his corporate vehicle and flew off to New York.

Edward Blake sat in his living room, splayed across the sofa. His eyes were glazed over, he was in a state of semi consciousness. A relaxing commercial soothed his seeming angry demeanor. Death walked through the door (without opening it) and stood directly in front of Blake. Blake remained glossed over, not noticing death.

Through Death’s eyes, Blake’s lifespan had 1 year, 2 months, 1 day, and some spare change remaining. He had a weak heart, but a plain heart attack or other simple deaths lowered the lifespan worth, and the goal was to have the final value at 10 years under, and absolutely no less. People had an expiration date like all things, and there was a best used by date. The Higher Ups paid top dollar for ten year remaining deaths (to thin out the population) but any more was unfairly robbing the humans.

He could short out the TV and fry Blake, but that might implicate others. There was a penalty for implication, the best deaths were smooth, tactful, and only harmed the mark.

So death reevaluated the room. No weak ceiling boards, reinforced windows, all knives put away. There were no spills but the wood floor was recently waxed. Blake was wearing socks. Death adjusted the drawer so that it jutted out slightly. Death knocked the wireless phone off its hook, in front of the drawer slightly. He made the phone ring. Blake rushed over to the phone. Halfway there, the phone stopped ringing. Blake picked it up and looked at it. He put it back on the receiver, confused. Death played a loud noise on the tv. Startled, Blake turned. Before he had a solid stance on the ground, Death played a loud noise on the phone. Blake fell, hitting the side of his head on the corner of the drawer. He was knocked unconscious, bleeding profusely. Death repositioned him slightly so the blood would dribble into his mouth and adjusted his head so he couldn’t swallow. Death ran the certified death verifier. Blake would die from this.

Satisfied with a job well done, bob wretched Blake’s soul from the dying body and put it in his soul bag. One down, nine to go, and he was only ten minutes down. This was going to be a good month.