Four:
Death was having a bad day. No really, an awful day. Even with an infinite amount of time to accomplish his tasks, it seemed like every time he pulled out his Death Journal, it had more pages in it of things he needed to do. Skeletal fingers pinched the small amount of nose-ridge he had in hopes of relieving the headache pounding away in his skull. With a put upon sign at the senselessness of an empty skull having the ability to feel pain, much less have a migraine, Death crossed out item number 327,422,611,003 on his to do list. It had been a fairly straight forward meet-and-greet for a taxi driver from Taiwan.