She was quiet as she stood on the front step, glancing distastefully at the sign sticking out of the sandy front yard. "IT'S NOT POLITE TO WALK ON GRAVES." Well, really, what could she expect? God had warned her about this kid's temperament before he sent her.

Reaching out and ringing the bell, she waited for someone to open the door. A loud thudding sound, followed by a short scream, found her ears and then the door was opened a fraction. The person on the other side fitted his eye to the crack, and remained silent.

She blinked lightly, scratching the back of her neck, and spoke up, "Um....ok...this is number 777, right?"

Johnny groaned inwardly. Another fucktard was at his door about to ask about his address. Sometimes he wondered if people that wanted to die just flocked to him.

He opened the door a bit wider, fitting his thin frame to the space so she couldn't see past him.

"Yes. And no, that's not the number for heaven. And no, I don't want to buy anything. And no, I don't donate to charity. And--"

He was interrupted when the girl shoved the door open and stepped inside, looking around . He almost fell over, but regained his balance and was just about to begin slicing her open with the nearest sharp object when she turned around.

"Then it's safe to assume that you are Mr. Jonathon C. Correct?"

"..Johnny."

"Alright. Johnny, then.", then, as if she were his supervisor, she continued with, "If this is any indication, then you're doing a very good job."

She was waving a hand toward the widening pool of blood that was forming beneath the victim he'd recently dispatched and acting as though it was an art project. What the hell was wrong with this girl?! Shouldn't she be running around in circles screaming for help by now.

"However, God feels that you're being reckless."

"The fat guy? What the fuck are you talking about?!", he was holding one of his knives rather threateningly, but she barely glanced at it.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've been rude. My name is Juliy, and I'm going to be your co-worker. You see, Johnny, God feels that you've been rather reckless, especially in that styrofoam doughboy incident.. and.."

Johnny was just staring at her blankly, becoming increasingly annoyed with her overly-polite babble. She sounded like fucking Martha Stewart for the sake of the Moose!

He brought the knife down in an aimlessly placed strike against her neck, but the satisfying spurt of blood he was waiting for never came. She was just standing there, her arms folded, watching him with interest as if he were a kindergartener trying to hammer the square peg into the triangular hole.

"They've already thought of that. I'm not exactly living, you see, so you can't really kill me. Just think of me....as a conscience."

Nny was deciding rather quickly that something was very, very wrong here.

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AN: No fear, people, this will never become a Mary Sue. Review please @.@ I need to know if it sucked and if anyone wants me to continue.