No man saw the Reaper and lived. Many souls brushed by him as he walked the city streets on the way to his next appointment, but none of them realized, and so they were spared. It was only a job to the Reaper. It was no more exciting than any other everyday errand. He wasn't summoned when information or pain were needed. Only silence.
And it was silent all around him as he stood outside a rundown apartment building in a quiet part of a moonlit city cul-de-sac. There was a soft crinkle as he retrieved a piece of paper from a pocket not in a black cloak but an unassuming suit, the type any businessman might wear on his way home from work. The entirely mundane and bland briefcase he carried contributed further to the unassuming visage.
It was the correct location. It always was. He already knew everything that would happen next. The building wasn't a glamorous home for starlets or anyone who mattered. It was a dank container filled with those who didn't care for or couldn't afford better. There would be no security guard to buzz him in and no receptionist to take his name. He slipped in the door as quietly as a shadow and wondered if the chill was from the night air he'd let in, or just because of him.
The stained steps squeaked as he climbed up deeper into the building. It wasn't ideal, but at this hour, it was unlikely anyone would notice the noise, even with the thin walls. The very decrepitude of the building, although it made for unwanted noises, also explained them away. Anyone who heard would think it was just the building settling. He reached his floor and continued down the hall.
It wasn't a particularly large building. There were only four sets of doors on either side of him. The second set was his target. He reached the second door on the left and stopped. He ran over his plan a final time and collected his thoughts for a second. There was a doorbell set into the plywood door, but it wouldn't do to make such noise at such an hour.
Instead, he softly knocked. He heard a flurry of motion immediately, and footsteps approached the door but stopped to the right of it. He saw a shadow under the door and knew the man inside was looking through the peephole. As always, it was expected. The man outside the door reached into his left pocket and took out a badge. He held it up beside his expressionless face. He could almost hear the soft sigh from inside the room. There was a click and the sound of metal dragged across wood, and then the doorknob turned.
As the door swung open, the room's occupant was half revealed behind it. The other half stayed hidden because of the speed of what happened next. The Reaper saw his quarry and verified him with a second's glance. His right hand went down to his hip, where his pants were so slightly too large that the discrepancy was unnoticeable. His long, powerful fingers wrapped around something cold and hard. His arm swung up in one natural motion and the man he faced paled and tried to shrink back. His eyes barely had time to focus before the bullet entered his brain. The noise was faintly louder than the scrape of the lock. Death, so feared by all, came with only a whisper.
So another man saw the Reaper.