Mis-Ex-Communication

Death walked down the hallway, hiding his face under his black hooded cloak. Or tried to, anyway, as his prominent snout and glowing red eyes could not be hidden. The sound of his claws on his paws clacking on the floor echoed throughout the hallway with each step. He was on a mission and carried his twin sickles in his pockets.

The shadowy white wolf was one of the employees at Death Inc. Though his appearance was ominous, and the eerie whistle that heralded his arrival was often off-putting for clients, Death was highly valued by the company for his cunning, efficiency, and smooth Spanish accent. He was the full package, providing furry fans with ample material for all sorts of... "things" with him on the internet.

Death didn't pay any of this much mind. Rather, he was hoping for a promotion—perhaps to the rank of Grim Reaper, which would come with a cool scythe with a rare skin. Yes, that would be awesome.

The company headquarters resembled an abandoned asylum; the corners of walls and ceilings adorned with spider webs and on the verge of collapsing. This, coupled with the eerily persuasive ads designed to lure in customers and potential employees, was an asylum that inspired eager horror fans to grab some popcorn and their 3D glasses.

Yet behind this unsettling exterior lay a well-functioning company. Death was glad the façade looked that way. He had always enjoyed savoring people's fear, after all–especially that of a certain eloquent, orange-furred cat. But that was a mission for another time. Right now, he was obligated to obey his boss' commands.

He opened the door, relishing the creaking sound. A human sat behind a mahogany desk in an opulent office that would put even the most experienced designers—those interested in creating horror sets in the first place—to shame.

The clothes the man wore, complete with a bowtie, looked more or less the same to Death, but this one was particularly skinny, sporting nerdy glasses and a poor imitation of a greaser slickback from the '60s. The contrast was pathetic. Yet, despite his appearance, this man was the boss Death had to respect. If he didn't, he could kiss goodbye to ever gaining the rank of Grim Reaper.

"You wish to see me, señor?" Death asked in a deep, smooth voice. The human boss, who had been writing, looked up at Death with a stone-cold expression.

"Yes, Death," he replied in a softer, calmer tone, his voice firm and stern enough to put even someone like Death in his place, which he despised. Being put in his place was bad enough, but to suffer that from that human, he'd rather impale himself with his own sickles. Yet, such was the fate of working for such a company.

"I have another assignment for you," said the human.

That put a smile on Death's face. Whatever assignment the human had for him was always something he enjoyed. "Oh, yeah?" he said, his voice calm yet gleeful. "And what's that? Is it about putting that arrogant cat in his place?''

The human shook his head. "No, Death, it's much more than your fixation on that cat." Well, there went Death's happiness. Oh well, it could still be good.

"Ok. Are there any souls that need to die?"

"No, Death. This assignment requires you to deliver...a package." The world immediately turned upside down for Death. The human had summoned him to his office just to make him do that!

"Uh... what?''

The human reached down to pick up an Amazon package from the floor and placed it on the table, giving Death a slight smile while patting the box.

"Someone by the name of John wanted this package delivered to him. Unfortunately, due to a tragic accident, his package wasn't delivered for seven days. So, he wants you to deliver it."