I will have you without armor

It’s not that he isn’t fond of his job. Quite the opposite, in fact; he finds it both rewarding and endlessly compelling. Every person is a unique experience, and it seems that, although Death really needs a holiday (Bermuda is exceedingly lovely this time of year), he will have the chance to meet each and every one of them. 

His pager beeps. Death drains the last of his coffee (milky, two sugars) and inputs the final answer of his crossword: (Termination of a contract period (6): expiry).  The world is for the living, but Death’s got bills to pay. 

His cloak is regulation, but he thinks it suits him rather nicely. He likes the way it swishes around his ankles while he walks along the silent fifth-floor corridor of an apartment building to his first appointment. Plus, the hood is great for anonymity. Have you ever seen Death doing his groceries? Exactly. 

07:00 AM Death watches as the investigators examine the body. The kitchen is cramped, and it’s a messy scene. His overnight oats are threatening to make a secondary appearance.  Death has seen a lot. Everything, in fact.  He generally has a hardened constitution — it’s a requirement of the job — but he still sometimes feels a bit iffy just after breakfast.  He only has to hang around an end-of-life zone until his client has made an appearance, but, understandably, they can sometimes take a moment to emerge. He imagines it is something of a shock. He double-checks his pager to pass the time: CLIENTName: Ginevra Bradbury Age: 28 Final Destination: Above The screen is pixelated and difficult to read under dim artificial light. He’s been waiting for his promised upgrade for over twenty years now. Not a long time for Death, but still long enough to grow resentful of his pager. He's already at 60% battery, and has only just begun his day. Head Office will be hearing from him again. Death’s good friend, Anubis, has recently been given an iPhone 16 Pro for work purposes by his handlers. It isn’t fair. Death throws the piece of junk back into the pocket of his cloak and leans on the doorframe to wait for Ginevra.  Everyone reacts differently when they see Death. He’s had the screamers, the wailers, the criers, and the non-believers. Ginevra is an interesting mix between a howler(louder than wailer) and sobber (more intense than crier). The reaction surely can’t be helped by the horror show of her Old-Self on the kitchen floor. Death is glad to see that her Incorporeal-Self is much more…whole. His stomach would have heaved at anything else. Death is patient, they had said it was one of the reasons he was so suited to the job, and so he waits for Ginevra to tire herself out before saying his piece: ”I am Death. It is good to meet you.” He always pauses here to see if anyone responds in kind to his niceties. They very rarely do. Ginevra is young; it’s a shame that she has to leave before she learned proper manners.  ”If you would kindly come with me, I will escort you to your ultimate destination.” Death still hates to say ultimate destination. He used to say final, but then a franchise of horrible slasher movies was created, and some people started to ‘freak out’. As if he would ever be so petty. Head Office thought it safer to change the phrasing, but Death still despises it.  Death takes Ginevra by the hand. It’s part of the procedure, but he wishes he didn’t have to. Her sleeves are damp with snot. He notes that she stops crying as soon as she sees the big shiny gates. Humans. So predictable.  First appointment complete, Death makes sure to stop by the Above’s visitor bathroom to wash his hands before his next client.