August 12, 2087 A.D.

A man emerged from the operating room, squinting as he stepped out into the harsh brightness of the hospital hallway. Dressed in a ruffled and wrinkled slate gray suit with a slate gray tie, and holding an oversized charcoal briefcase, this man's only adornment was a pin on his collar; a vibrant green world with silver wings sprouting from either side. As the door closed behind him, he breathed out an exhausted sigh. There were no new applicants in his ward, so he turned right down the immaculately white hallway, walking slowly back towards his corner office.

He passed by closed doors and darkened rooms. This night was a slow night, and for that he was grateful. Nothing but himself, the nurses, and the smell of antiseptics. As he came to the end of the hallway, he couldn't help but let out a dark chuckle at the name plate on his door, "Valkyries office" it read. But he knew the truth, and he knew what he was. He stumbled into the room, and fell onto his cot, suit and all.

Three days on, three days off. For half the week he lived in this room and this wing, the other half his partner did. There was always a Valkyrie on call. They couldn't afford to miss out on any new clients, or so he was told. The fatigue of two years of sleepless nights washed over him, and he quickly began to succumb to his exhaustion. He hoped he wouldn't dream about the man he just-beeeeep beeeeep beeeeep- his tablet blared, rudely depriving him of his rest.

He pulled it from his nightstand, and silenced the alarm. As soon as he saw the message, he knew it would be another sleepless night. "Two new potential clients on route to floor 14, east ward trauma center. One is urgent. Please proceed to N1403 immediately." He sighed, and struggled to gather the strength to leave his warm, soft bed so soon after arriving. But still he rose, slowly but surely; grabbed his briefcase, and began to stumble out into the hall.

He arrived at room 1403, still exhausted. He mustered what strength he could, straightened his tie, tried to flatten his suit jacket, and stepped into the operating room.

The quiet world suddenly shattered. The surgeon was quickly barking orders to the nurses, frantically trying to patch up his patient. But the Valkyrie knew, she wouldn't live. His tablet held a detailed report of her injuries; multiple bullet wounds to her torso, one through her throat. Her stomach, liver, intestines, and a kidney has all been ruptured. She shouldn't be alive now, but it wouldn't take long. Her pulse grew weaker and weaker, and the Valkyrie walked around the table to the surgeon. He waited, it took 15 minutes, but soon she was almost gone.

The Valkyrie put his hand on the surgeon's shoulder. "Paul, I'm sorry. It's time."

Paul turned, and choked out a few words, "She's one of yours, is she?"

"Yes Paul, she's one of mine. You did what you could. Go take a break. You've earned it."

Paul let his head sag, waved to the nurses, and shambled out of the room. He was new, he hadn't gotten used to failure. In time, the grief would fade. He would harden his heart, and save many lives. But now, it was time to work.

The Valkyrie hefted his briefcase onto a cart next to the bed, he opened it up and removed a thick metal crown. A large band of silver, adorned with wires and straps. He turned to the client, and truly saw her for the first time. She was pretty, and young, far too young to be here. Her long and blood stained brown hair framed a face drained to the palid color of death. He quickly rushed to complete his work, before she passed and before he lost his nerve. He gently raised her head, and slipped the crown down to her brow, setting and tightening the straps around her chin and around the top of her head. He took a step back and browsed his tablet. All the boxes were checked and all the lights were green. The crown was ready. "Goodbye Alexandra" He softly whispered to the woman in front of him. Then he tapped a button on his tablet.

There was a horrid popping noise, as a thousand needles punched through her skull, each directed at its designated cluster of gray matter. Memories, thoughts, feelings, desires, instincts, fears, tastes, and more. Everything that defined this woman, her entire soul was ripped from her body. Her green eyes opened wide, every muscle in her body contracted. And then the last light died in her eyes, and her body went limp. "Transfer complete." his tablet announced, in a heartlessly happy voice.

He skimmed over the data, still unsettled by how easily a person's personality could be quantified. He attempted to wake her, but the option was gray, with a notation that her husband was named her executor in the event of her death.

"Another housecall... Victoria, send a message to Charlie in family services, let him know we have another one for him."

"No, this one isn't for Charlie." his tablet AI responded.

"Fuck... he's here isn't he?"

"He just came out of 1404, next door. He is down the hall in the recovery ward. He will regain consciousness soon."

"Damn... fine. Page the coroner to retrieve this body... I'll go see to the husband."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A man awoke in a bed in an unfamiliar place. Bright lights, white walls, and a sparsely decorated room greet him. However it was not a peaceful wakening from a restful sleep. The first sensation to enter his consciousness was one of unfathomable pain. And he announced his presence to the world with an anguished scream, only to find it a muffled groan. A tube was blocking his throat, his body wrapped and bound. He tried to flail, to free himself, to rise, but he soon grew weak. Still panicked, and terrified, his arms could no longer continue their struggle.

He finally truly saw the room, and its sole occupant. A man wearing a gray suit and a shiny pin on his collar stood calmly at the side of his bed. With a strained smile and sunken eyes from a thousand sleepless nights, this stranger had waited over an hour for this feeble man to awaken.

The patient froze in his bed, his eyes wide with fear. One word echoing in his mind, "Reaper". Then, another horrifying realization washed over him. Someone was missing. This reaper stood where another should, had she been able. He remembered laying in a pool of blood, but he hadn't been alone. Terror racked his consciousness, and he began his struggles anew, this time more frantic, more determined. He clawed and fought to right himself on the bed, but only managed to lean on his side. Unbearable agony coursed through his body, but still he reached a hand, covered in bloody gauze out to the reaper.

The reaper accepted the outstretched arm, clasping it in a gentle grip by the forearm to support the dying man's weight. With his other arm, he gently but forcefully returned him to his original position on the bed. Still clasping arms, the Reaper finally spoke. "Please relax. I will remove the tube if you let me." The man weakly nodded in reply, and allowed the Reaper to remove his tube. Although not a doctor, he had long since learned how to take it out himself. Adding in a doctor to these negotiations always proved troublesome.

"It won't be comfortable, but you can speak now." Said the reaper as he reached for his tablet which rested on the bedside table.

Before he could continue the man cut in. "Where is she? Where is my wife?"

"Sir, I'm sorry. She-"

"No, where the hell is she?"

"She died."

"No. no..."

"Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but we don't have much time. do you know who I am?"

"You're a fucking reaper."

"I am the Valkyrie assigned to this wing. But yes, you would call me a reaper."

"You killed her didn't you?"

"Her file said she gave consent for her soul to be preserved."

"Don't fuck with me."

"Sir, she was shot 8 ti-"

"Did. You. Kill. Her?"

"Yes. But she still-"

"Bastard. You love this don't you."

The reaper hefted his tablet, "ENOUGH. What is left of your wife is in this tablet. You have to decide what happens to her, since neither of you took the time to arrange death insurance or write a proper will. Do I have your attention now?"

"...yes"

The reaper sighed. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard. But this is important. It's not just your wife. You are dying as well. I'm sure you've guessed as much by now."

"I feel my body failing... How long do I have?"

"Minutes. 20 at most."

"What happened? We were attacked? Who did this to us?"

"I don't know. It wasn't in the report. But it's time we got to business. Both you and your wife are in need of rebirth."

"Two of us... It's too expensive. We don't have enough. I can't join her can I?"

"That isn't necessarily true. If you agree to sign over all of your assets our estimates value you just over $200,000."

"That barely covers the lowest rebirth... You take everything from us but we will have nothing! We won't even be together!"

"Sir, there is a group discount. It takes off enough to cover two basic transfers, a linked start, and about 3 Aurels, if your actual assets prove more than estimated, you will receive a bonus equal to its worth."

"I don't know... isn't there something else we can do? Anything? We can't just start over with nothing."

"The stimulants and transfusions the doctors here have given you will only keep you alive for a few minutes. You either take the offer I'm giving you, or you take your chances with with the automated system. I promise this is the best offer you can get in your situation."

"I don't have much choice... do I?

"No, not unless you wish to die."

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes, terribly. But only for a moment."

"Hell... just get it over with."

"For the record, you wish to sign over your assets to the Aesir Corporation, purchase two class 20 rebirths, a linked start, and for the remainder of your assets to be converted into Aurels?."

"Yes."

"Relax, this will only take a moment."

The dying man watched the reaper bend down to retrieve something from below the bed. It was a metal ring, the device which would be his end. They called it a gateway, the tool of the Valkyrie to bring you into the next life. But everyone knew, it was a scythe, and its wielder. the Reaper. They roamed the halls of the hospitals, visited the terminally ill, sold afterlife insurance, and profited from death and despair. Everywhere they walked, death followed.

He smelled the harsh clean of antiseptics, this helmet had been sterilized recently. Was this the same helmet that had ended the life of his wife? Did she feel this same terror as it was slowly placed on her head? He would see her soon at least... but he didn't think he would ever ask. He winced as the reaper adjusted the helmet, and tightened the straps. The reaper spoke to him one final time. "Goodbye Marcus." In an instant his mind was on fire, searing pain rushing through is brain, but before he could scream, his world went black.