It was the first time Trad realized that running could be this painful.

  He'd been on the move since sunrise, chased by men dressed head to toe in black. For once, his athletic skills were being put to real use — and not for medals or records.

  But even with exhaustion clawing at his lungs, Trad couldn't deny it.

  The adrenaline felt good.

  The rain hammered down, soaking him to the bone, but the cold barely registered.

  "These guys have been chasing me all day. Not even someone like me can keep this up forever."

  His steps were getting slower, his legs heavier. Hiding from a massive organization was impossible. At best, the city streets and the cover of night were buying him time.

  Then he spotted it.

  A narrow, half-hidden alley with a dead end. It wasn't much, but it would do.

  Trad ducked inside and slumped against the wall, panting. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe. To feel. He dropped the bag onto the rain-slick ground. Inside was money. A lot of it.

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  "If they're trying to take my freedom... I might as well take something from them."

  He zipped the bag shut and tilted his head back, letting the rain hit his face. Running was all he had left. The only thing that made him forget everything else.

  But then... a light.

  At the far end of the alley, deep in the shadows, something glowed white.

  "What the hell? Am I tripping?"

  Trad squinted.

  There, standing over another man, was a figure cloaked in black. Nearly two meters tall, with a massive sickle resting on its shoulder.

  The man beside it looked terrified.

  Trad watched as the creature raised the sickle. But when it swung, there was no blood. No scream.

  Instead, a shimmering light — almost like a glowing spirit — was dragged from the man's chest. The body crumpled, lifeless, but untouched.

  The figure groaned.

  "Come on! I don't want to hit you a third time. You're making me look like an idiot. Just give up already. Dying's not that hard, is it?"

  With one final pull, the glowing soul detached completely. The Reaper slung it over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  Trad blinked.

  "I don't remember taking any LSD today..."

  But the Reaper heard him.

  "Who's there!?" It said.

  Trad froze.

  "Huh?"

  "You shouldn't be here."

  "What do you mean? I'm being chased by a hundred guys right now. Do you really think there's a place I should be?"

  The Reaper paused. "Well... if you're running, doesn't that mean there's somewhere waiting for you?"

  "...That doesn't make sense. Does it?"

  "I don't know."

  "What? You really don't know what you're talking about, do you?"

  "Anyway... looks like you've gone too far."

  The Reaper stepped closer. The sickle gleamed in the pale light.

  And this time... it was aimed at Trad.