It was a dark and stormy night.
Reaper navigated dimly lit sidewalks with purpose. Lights from lanterns held in children's hands lit his view as he searched for an old friend of his. Countless jack-o-lanterns smirked and scowled at Reaper from the doorsteps of homes, pissing him off further. He imagined them to be laughing at him, mocking him for his stupidity and inability to track down arguably the most bold person on earth.
Children bustled around, scooting past Reaper and occasional stepping on his long coat and nearly tripping him. Little see-through ponchos were hastily thrown over their costumes by parents in an attempt to combat the rain. Reaper's scowl deepened to uncharted degrees of frustration when he noticed a group of kids pointing their little child fingers at him and laughing as if he was a cheesy Halloween grim reaper dressed up for their amusement. Apparently dual shotguns weren't as intimidating to people on Halloween as they were every other day.
Several parents had smiled at him knowingly when he shoved past them on the sidewalk. It pained Reaper to know these people thought of him as a dad who put on fancy costumes to get his kids in the spirit, or maybe even an adult with a sad life who still went out trick or treating. What they didn't see were the tiny bits of ash and dead skin constantly circling his figure, his venomous expression that could make even the hardest of soldier cry, or his dead eyes constantly scanning the face of every man he passed.
They were all wrong about him.
He wasn't looking for candy,
He was looking for death.