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The Office Killing
The moon hung high above the night sky, casting silver light across the city.
A car door clicked open. A figure stepped out, calm and deliberate. From the trunk came a coil of rope, tossed easily over a ledge. Minutes later, the shadow was scaling the side of a towering building, disappearing into its silent frame.
Inside, the elevator carried the figure upward. The doors parted. A swift leap down into the compound, landing softly on the grass. A ghost. A whisper. Death.
The office door slammed shut.
The man in his sixties stirred at his desk, half-asleep. His voice was hoarse, confused.
"D-Dian? Is that you?"
A voice emerged from the darkness. Calm. Smiling.
"It's not her."
The man jerked upright. "Who are you?"
Death stepped forward, just enough for the dim light to kiss the edge of the mask.
"Death."
Recognition hit him like a bullet. "Y-you… you killed the governor."
Death smirked. "Mmm. I love how you all remember me." Slowly, the mask was removed, revealing a face that looked almost ordinary—human, beautiful even. That was what made it terrifying.
"H-how can you be Death?" he stammered.
"Say my name again," the figure whispered, "and I'll slit your throat."
The man's breath quickened. "How did you get in here? How—"
"Don't ask questions."
The moment Death turned, the man lunged. His hand snatched up a fruit knife and slashed toward the shadow. But Death was faster. With eerie calm, the knife was caught, twisted, then flung back. The blade drove clean through his hand, pinning it to the wall.
His scream echoed across the office.
"Nice try," Death purred. "Now—where is X? Tell me, or I'll carve holes in you until you're nothing but a rag of flesh."
The smile vanished. What remained was deadly cold. Death picked up another blade and pressed it to his cheek, carving a thin red line. Blood welled up and dripped down his neck.
"You're the first person I've drawn blood from," the voice whispered. "So. Talk. Or bleed."
Minutes passed. His will crumbled as the blade severed finger after finger. The air filled with screams.
"I'll talk!" he gasped, broken. "Behind the painting—the map, the letters—you'll find it there. The code is 1257."
Death unlocked the safe, retrieved the prize, and turned back toward him.
"You're not… not going to kill me, are you? I told you everything."
Death smiled faintly. "If I planned to let you live… why would I show you my face?"
Before he could beg again, the needle sank into his neck. His body convulsed once before slumping lifelessly to the floor.
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Meanwhile
Outside, tires screeched to a halt.
The Chief stepped out, gun cocked, eyes scanning the building.
"Are you sure the president's alarm came from here?"
"Yes, Chief," an officer replied, tense.
"Then be careful," the Chief growled. "She's close."
From the rooftop above, the masked figure crouched in the shadows, watching the police swarm below. A smirk curled beneath the mask.
Let them hunt. It only makes the game sweeter.
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