The night was cold. A lonely figure with gangly legs was shuffling down the street at a great pace. He did not want to be seen, he did not want to be bothered. With a dead cigarette hanging at his lips and a dark fedora buried on his head, the man looked deadly. He was walking down the street hastily. His only goal was to get away as fast as possible.
He wasn't fast enough it seems, as his ear caught the sound of heavy footsteps running his way. They were pounding the concrete and disturbing the quiet of the night. Out of the corner of a dirty alley, a man with a grey trench coat appeared. He had a gun in his hand and was panting hard. As soon as he saw his target, he raised his weapon to aim it at the man in the dark fedora.

"Jigen Daisuke!"

The name had been shouted with such hate that Jigen had no other choice but to obey. He halted in his steps, wishing that he could have been just a little faster. He turned around and assessed the man's dishevelled attire, before facing him wholly.

"His brother, I suppose?"

The man cocked his weapon with nervous fingers. He looked determined, yet completely unprepared for this fight. He was definitely not a member of the mafia. Jigen would have prefered it. It was easier to make excuses about killing a gang member than feeling sorry for it. Looking at the poor brother with teary eyes made his heart ache.

"You killed Lucian!" The brother yelled. His weapon was trembling. His eyes were darting all over Jigen's face.

"It was a contract," Jigen explained.

"So you're saying you took his life for money?"

And there it was. The golden sentence. The phrase that always managed to make Jigen wonder why he was doing this job. He had been a gunman for hire for a few years now and – not that he would ever admit it – but he had never managed to shut off the bleeding in his heart each time he took a life. The truth was that there really was no other job he could have done in his life. Killing people for money was something he had to do, but only because it was the only thing he was good at, and probably the only reason why he was still alive.

Yet... The look of hurt in the eyes of the ones that stayed...

"You're a monster!" The brother's voice was half-crying already. "He was... He was better than all of us! He was destined to do great things! He... He didn't deserve to die like that!" The gun in the man's hands was shaking even more violently. Jigen gave the man a second to regain his posture before speaking.

"For all it's worth... I'm sorry."

"LIAR!"

The gunshot that followed resonated loudly through the empty streets. The bullet whistled past Jigen's ear. For a millisecond, his vision was blurred with a thick fog, and a cold breath in his neck made him shiver.

He reacted without thinking, by pure instinct. Time slowed. He shot. His bullet hit. The guy in front of him made a gurgling sound and started wobbling. He fell with a thumping sound. Jigen's heart was beating a mile an hour. He felt blood dripping down his cheek. The only sound he could hear was his own beating heart and, somehow, the muffled sound of the guy's body hitting the pavement.

A dark-clothed figure was standing at his sides, emerging from the fog, as if it had been summoned by it. Its head was a skull and in its hand, a scythe. It was the Grim Reaper.

Jigen put his revolver back at his usual place. He tipped his hat down with tense fingers and tried to keep his calm. Death looked at him from beyond its veil of fog. The sight of its empty sockets would be enough to make lesser men cry. It didn't disturb Jigen the least. He had taken this job knowing that his day would come. He was ready to face death.

Seeing Death standing in front of him wasn't bothering him. However, he could have sworn that he had felt the bullet graze him, missing his eye by an inch, which was what troubled him the most. Why was he seeing the Grim Reaper if the shot had missed?

"So... Am I dead?" It was a honest question from the gunman. Although anyone would have started pleading for his life, Jigen was too laid back to care.

"Not yet."

Jigen stared at Death, daring it to finish his sentence.

"You escaped death this time, Daisuke. The shot should have pierced your skull. An error, should I say. It happens sometimes."

Death was speaking with a low, shallow voice. Centuries-old of boredom had left it with very little conversation. It went to do its job instead. Death approached the cadaver. Its cloak drifted in the breeze. Jigen watched as it grabbed its scythe with his two bony hands. It gathered momentum, took aim, slashed. The scythe passed through the corpse, who immediately paled. Jigen pinched his lips.

"You're not very talkative, are you?"

"I don't need to. People never see me."

"So, what am I?" Jigen asked in earnest. "An exception?"

Death turned to watch him. Jigen suddenly felt a chill run up his spine. He was exposed bare to Death's judgment. It was almost like Death could see everything that had made him, and everything that would happen to him. With a steady but slow transformation, Death began to look more human-like. Their sockets filled up with beautiful clear eyes. They had very pale skin complemented by dark hair and an equally dark dress. Death looked as human as Jigen now, and she was still peering into his soul without care.

"You are a survivor." She said, "Few of you can see me and live. That bullet was meant for your head."

"That's not being a survivor. That's being lucky."

Death smiled. It was a curious thing, to see such a small bland smile trying to pass as an act of compassion.

"You need both to survive in your profession, Mr Daisuke." She walked away from him. "See you next time."

Jigen grumbled. He hoped next time was far, far away.

.

When next time came Jigen was a bit more prepared, although knowing what was coming didn't save him from it. His boss had sold him to the cops. He had seen this coming but had still somehow managed to fall into his boss' trap. His reputation had preceded him and they weren't going easy on him.

He was trapped in a small hangar. There was no exit door in front of him, and he had an army of cops behind, staying at a place where the passageway narrowed. One of them was closing in on him, the rest was forming a compact mass behind. They were clearly blocking the only exit, giving him no opportunity to escape. Now, he was trying to find a plan. The courageous cop was shouting the usual stuff to get him to surrender. Jigen knew he was fast enough to take his gun out and shoot the cop before getting shot at, but he couldn't do that while saving his ass from the absolute mass of policemen grouping themselves in the only entrance there was. He would end up in a coffin.

A drop of sweat ran down his forehead. He needed to find a way to escape. He couldn't let the man handcuff him. If he went to prison, it would be the end of him. He had killed too much.

Raising his hands as he was ordered to, he risked taking a look at his surroundings. He finally noticed a small half-open window on his left. The situation was not as desperate as he had thought. He would have to make-do and hope that the policemen were not as skilled as they were supposed to be.

He closed his eyes, counted to three. As the policeman's hand touched his wrist, Jigen punched him in the stomach. The man doubled over. Jigen hid behind the cop. The rest were shooting at him, but those were only warning shots. They didn't want to hurt their colleague. With perfect aim, Jigen killed the lights. It had an immediate effect. The confused policemen stopped and screamed orders wildly. A few shots were fired in their direction, but no bullet touched Jigen.

With ease, Jigen sneaked to the window. His heart was beating fast. It was the first time he was doing something like that. Usually, he was more of a face-to-face kind of man. He knew he should go before the policeman found a solution to their problem. He jumped on the frame of the window and realized his mistake only a few seconds too late.

It wasn't dark outside. In fact, there was a street lamp right above the window. Inside the hangar it was completely dark, and Jigen's silhouette was clearly visible, underlined by the blueish taint of the street.

As soon as he figured out that he should move, a shot rang in the night. His whole body reverberated the sound. There was a painful throb on his side. Jigen fell on the concrete. He brought his hand to his wound. Blood was already oozing from the wound. It was a good shot.

The policemen were shouting inside the hangar, and several of them had decided to follow the gunman to the window. They had apparently decided on making Jigen's night difficult. There was no time to waste.

Jigen ran. The police were hot on his heels. They weren't gaining on him, but he wasn't losing them either. He felt himself grow tired faster than he should have. It was his wound. He was losing blood at an alarming pace. He knew it because he had a hand on it, and even if he didn't see what was happening, he could feel the dampness in his shirt expanding. It was taking him all his might to run away from the police, and he didn't know how much longer he could go. He needed to find a calm place to rest, but the police weren't leaving him alone. The only solution for him would be to enter a shop or something like that, but it was very late and everything was closed or closing.

Desperately searching for somewhere to hide, Jigen was running around the city, still followed by an army of stupid cops. Then he saw the light, quite literally. There was a café still open, hidden by the corner of a street. The lights were dim, which meant that it was probably closing. Without a warning, Jigen entered, closed the door and turned off the lights. He put all his weight on the door, too exhausted to see if there was anybody here with him. The cops passed in front of the streets. Their boots pounded the pavement. None of them stopped.

Jigen closed his eyes and took big gulps of air. His breath was ragged. He had very little strength left. He dragged himself to the counter and leaned on it heavily, not realizing that there was blood on everything he touched. His vision fogged and Jigen finally realized how fucked he was. He heard the muffled sounds of somebody talking to him. He wasn't alone then. It was the barman, asking him something. He repeated himself, alarmed with Jigen's lack of response. Jigen couldn't understand a thing the poor man was saying. His own breathing was too loud to hear anything else, really.

The silhouette of the barman was somehow familiar but, just like the rest of the room, he was blurry and it was difficult to focus on him. There was another figure in the room, one that was standing clear against the blur that was starting to cloud his mind. It was Death, with her scythe, her dark floating cloak and her pale ghostly skull. She approached. She had a look on her face. Surprised, maybe? He couldn't tell.

The barman was shouting again. No one else was there, so it probably meant that he had been alone when Jigen had barged in. The gunman saw him grab a phone and, in the last seconds of his conscience, managed to knock it off of his hands and whisper a broken:

"No hospital..."

Then he was out for the count.

.

Jigen opened his eyes to an utterly blank place. There was nothing there. It was dark, and white clouds were sliding on the ground. Wherever he looked, there were the same white clouds and nothing more. His feet were standing on what seemed to be water, but solid. He was doing ripples in the nonexistent water.

"Mr Daisuke." Death appeared at his sides. She had her human face on.

"So... I guess I'm dead now?" The gunman didn't allow himself to pity his fate.

Death smiled back. It seemed like she hadn't forgotten their first meeting.

"Not yet, dear."

Jigen took a cigarette out and briefly wondered if he could smoke here, wherever here was, and if it would taste like anything at all.

"Where are we?" Jigen finally asked.

"The in-between. As you can guess, few make it here and manage to go back." She turned and gave him an indecipherable look. "You really are a lucky one."

The cigarette definitely tasted like nothing. Yet, it was good to feel the death stick back between his lips. It made him feel like he still had control over this whole weird fucking situation.

"Well. How do we get out of here? Can't stay forever."

"That's not up to you to decide." Death was elegant and very professional. Her black dress was made from a silk material that looked as thin as paper. Her eyes wandered away from him, into the nothingness beyond. "Usually, your destiny is decided pretty quickly. I know firsthand. Either someone saves you and you go back, or you stay until you disappear."

Jigen stared at her under the brim of his hat. She seemed oddly misplaced in this world, but maybe that was only because she looked human right now. Everything around them was fuzzy and foggy, and even if Jigen could understand why fog would follow Death in her steps, she looked clear as day, and her figure contrasted with the rest of this world. Jigen wondered if she was there by choice or not.

The gunman was not worried, because he was at peace with his choices. He had made up his mind a long time ago when he had picked the gun. It was a question he had mulled over for almost a year, but he didn't regret his choice. His lifestyle hadn't been the best: going contract after contract, avoiding getting shot at, killing everyone before they could kill him. Living alone. Whatever. It's not like he could do anything about it. It was what this profession was like.

"You are definitely a tough one, aren't you?" Death said, surprised. She had probably received news about his destiny. Maybe he had survived the shoot, after all.

"Did I get lucky again?"

She took this as a challenge, and a malicious frown crept on her face. "It seems like you managed to escape death twice, Daisuke."

"It's Jigen."

Death was genuinely surprised by this. She stared at the gunman, who flicked his finished cigarette in the emptiness in front of him. The cigarette evaporated out of existence.

"People call me just Jigen. You might do so as well. I have the feeling we'll see each other a lot more."

Just like his cigarette, Jigen started to disappear, although the process was a bit slower with him. Death huffed.

"Alright... Jigen. See you next time."

He blinked and the next thing he knew, he was in a bed. It was a nice bed, in a small room he didn't recognise. Probably the real world, then. He didn't feel dead – counted on the fact that he could feel the pain in his side particularly well.

It turned out that, in his haze, he had wandered back to the one bar where the barman knew him. He had spent more than one night out there. It was a quiet and isolated bar, which were qualities he loved to see in such establishments. The barman was kind enough to leave him be. They had some kind of unspoken arrangement, which was perfectly fine for the gunman. It seemed that seeing how badly hurt he was, the barman had taken him to his room and bandaged him.

Jigen could feel that the bullet was still in. The barman probably didn't have the medical notions to take it out. It didn't matter. He was better shot than dead. Finally awake, he noticed that the guy hadn't taken him to the hospital, which was a surprise. He didn't know anyone would actually listen.

He didn't stay long after that, but he did thank the man profusely. He paid him generously -Jigen categorically refused to leave without paying- and left onto his next contract. He left no trace behind. No one could have told that Jigen had spent a few days resting there. He was gone like the wind.

.

Over the years, Jigen picked up the art of watching his back with a professional wary mistrust. He learned a few important lessons: that he never got the choice; that it was 'kill or be killed'; that people couldn't be trusted and, more important than everything, that feelings were forbidden in his line of work. Being a lone wolf was the only way to survive. From time to time, he differed from his own rules and it always managed to fuck him up. Each time, he met Death.

Death was surprisingly nice, although she had been awkward at first, and way too professional at times. She reminded him of himself, but way too emotionnaly shy. She was probably used to people coming and going in her life too fast to have any deep conversation or any lasting friendship. Jigen could relate. He had the same problem as she did although, for him, he really needed to be careful about who he befriended. It was a life or death situation. If he befriended the wrong person, he could end up with a knife in his back.

Neither knew how to make friends, which was why their first meetings were a mix of polite and casual talk that was weird as hell. After the surprise of their constant meeting had passed, the long silences slowly became comfortable conversations, and both Death and Jigen found themselves expecting their next meeting with a kind of eager impatience.

Jigen was the only person Death could talk to. It was no wonder Death and he grew so attached to one another. Death even started going out of her way to see him. She would sometimes appear even when his life was not in danger, just to chat.

The gunman didn't realize it at first, but his friendship with Death had been a blessing. He had found someone whose intentions were clear as day. Death didn't want him dead and even if she wanted to, she couldn't hurt him. It helped him keep his mind sane. Even if she wasn't alive, it was good to have someone he could rely on. He was starting to realize that living his whole life in paranoïa was not something he could see himself do. It wasn't like Jigen wanted to be alone, but he wasn't given the choice. If he got too close, he always ended up with a new scar. It was like clockwork.

This new friendship was good. It was liberating. Most people would find it normal to have a conversation with someone that didn't want him dead, but it was a novelty for the gunman. Something he didn't want to end anytime soon.