Death walked down the hallway, hiding his face under his black hooded cloak. Or tried to, anyway, as his prominent snout and glowing red eyes could not be hidden. The sound of his claws on his paws clacking on the floor echoed throughout the hallway with each step. He was on a mission and carried his twin sickles in his pockets.
The shadowy white wolf was one of the employees at Death Inc. Though his appearance was ominous, and the eerie whistle that heralded his arrival was often off-putting for clients, Death was highly valued by the company for his cunning, efficiency, and smooth Spanish accent. He was the full package, providing furry fans with ample material for all sorts of… "things" with him on the internet.
Death didn't pay any of this much mind. Rather, he was hoping for a promotion—perhaps to the rank of Grim Reaper, which would come with a cool scythe with a rare skin. Yes, that would be awesome.
The company headquarters resembled an abandoned asylum; the corners of walls and ceilings adorned with spider webs and on the verge of collapsing. This, coupled with the eerily persuasive ads designed to lure in customers and potential employees, was an asylum that inspired eager horror fans to grab some popcorn and their 3D glasses.
Yet behind this unsettling exterior lay a well-functioning company. Death was glad the façade looked that way. He had always enjoyed savoring people's fear, after all–especially that of a certain eloquent, orange-furred cat. But that was a mission for another time. Right now, he was obligated to obey his boss' commands.
He opened the door, relishing the creaking sound. A human sat behind a mahogany desk in an opulent office that would put even the most experienced designers—those interested in creating horror sets in the first place—to shame.
The clothes the man wore, complete with a bowtie, looked more or less the same to Death, but this one was particularly skinny, sporting nerdy glasses and a poor imitation of a greaser slickback from the '60s. The contrast was pathetic. Yet, despite his appearance, this man was the boss Death had to respect. If he didn't, he could kiss goodbye to ever gaining the rank of Grim Reaper.
"You wish to see me, señor?" Death asked in a deep, smooth voice. The human boss, who had been writing, looked up at Death with a stone-cold expression.
"Yes, Death," he replied in a softer, calmer tone, his voice firm and stern enough to put even someone like Death in his place, which he despised. Being put in his place was bad enough, but to suffer that from that human, he'd rather impale himself with his own sickles. Yet, such was the fate of working for such a company.
"I have another assignment for you," said the human.
That put a smile on Death's face. Whatever assignment the human had for him was always something he enjoyed. "Oh, yeah?" he said, his voice calm yet gleeful. "And what's that? Is it about putting that arrogant cat in his place?''
The human shook his head. "No, Death, it's much more than your fixation on that cat." Well, there went Death's happiness. Oh well, it could still be good.
"Ok. Are there any souls that need to die?"
"No, Death. This assignment requires you to deliver…a package." The world immediately turned upside down for Death. The human had summoned him to his office just to make him do that!
"Uh… what?''
The human reached down to pick up an Amazon package from the floor and placed it on the table, giving Death a slight smile while patting the box.
"Someone by the name of John wanted this package delivered to him. Unfortunately, due to a tragic accident, his package wasn't delivered for seven days. So, he wants you to deliver it."
Death rubbed his forehead and groaned. "So, let me get this straight. You want me, the embodiment of death, to deliver this stupid package to some pendejo?"
The human's smile faded, replaced by the wooden expression Death recognized all too well.
"I believe this job should be easy enough for you, Death," he said, placing his hands together. "Just deliver it."
"But why? Do I look like a delivery guy to you? I am Death! I should be roaming around spreading fear among the people and forcing them to pay more attention to that sacred thing called life. I should be stalking a cat and giving him a panic attack! Can't you get someone else to do it? And who exactly is this 'John' guy, anyway?"
The human narrowed his eyebrows, now glaring at Death. Although his expression was angry, his tone was anything but.
"Death… do not question my ways. Just do as I tell you."
Death groaned loudly again in frustration. He wanted to leave the office and bang his head against the wall.
"Fine, I'll do it!" Death finally conceded, grabbing the package. The human smiled in response.
"I'm glad we're being reasonable, Death. I have great hopes for you. Do not disappoint me." Death ignored him as he left.
John Sneakie was an anthropomorphic fox relaxing on his cozy bed. His clothing made him look like a fanatic metalhead, complete with a black jacket, T-shirt, and brown shoes, along with a silver necklace that read "DragonForce rocks!"
His room resembled a chaotic party scene, with an open pizza box containing only a couple of slices left, clothes strewn across the floor, and vinyl records of various metal bands lining the shelves maintained at 47 degrees F. He had to respect his music, after all.
The music he respected most was a song from DragonForce, his favorite band, called "Fury of the Storm." He truly appreciated it; otherwise, his tail wouldn't be dancing left and right in rhythm, nor would he be smiling with his eyes closed and humming along.
Yep… this fox could sleep well with that one. Unfortunately, that lovely music was interrupted by a whistling.
John opened his eyes and stood to turn off the music on his record player. He saw, in front of him, Death materializing a short distance away, close enough to send chills down the fox's spine.
Instead of yelping, squealing, or screaming—any of which would be a normal reaction—John smiled and waved at the ominous figure instead.
"Oh, hello! What can I do for ya?" Before Death could reply, John continued, "Wait, wait, don't tell me. You're the Big Bad Wolf, right?" That was enough to make Death's eyes widen.
"What?''
"You know, from the story of the little pigs living in their houses until you blew them apart?" Death rolled his eyes and groaned, rubbing his forehead. The things he had to endure for Death Inc.
"I am not the Big Bad Wolf. I am Death! And I—"
"Wait a second," John interrupted again, chuckling. "'Death'? Seriously? Is that the name change you're going with?"
Death growled and handed the package to the fox. "Here is your package, zorro." John glanced at the box and cocked his head.
"Uhhh… I didn't order anything. Are you giving me a T-shirt of yourself or a sickle or something?"
Death frowned and moved the box away from John. "So, you're not that John, right?"
John shook his head. "Nah. I saw my first name there but not my last name."
"Then I guess I came here for nothing…" sighed Death.
John shrugged. "Yep. Pretty much. Goodbye, Death! Oh, and when you encounter those little pigs, tell them I said 'Hi'."
Death growled in frustration before he disappeared.
It had been a long day for John Wick. John was a human in his forties with a short beard and long dark hair, dressed in an elegant and expensive black suit, tie, and leather shoes. He knew he would have to deal with anyone who dared to face him, including the motherfucker who broke into his home, killed his dog Daisy, and stole his car. He should have known better. Viggo should've known better. What a day that was.
He poured himself a whiskey from his expensive bottle and took a long, thirsty sip before placing the glass on the table. He was glad to be back alone in his bedroom. He could watch whatever was on his flat-screen TV if he wanted to, or he could stare out the window, but who in their right mind would do something like that? Oh well, time for a rest.
His eyes sprang open as soon as he heard the whistling. Instinctively, he pulled out his two guns from his belt pockets, turned, and aimed them at the white wolf materializing in front of him.
"Who are you?" John Wick asked, his tone calm and professional. "Have you come to kill me?"
"I am…Death!"
"Death, huh? So that's the name you want to go by?"
Death sighed and shook his head.
"No, no, no. I don't mean it metaphorically or rhetorically or poetically or theoretically—"
"I've heard enough," interrupted John Wick, raising his voice.
Knowing there was no point in trying to finish his quote, Death handed him the package. "Here. I got a package for you. Is this you?" he asked, pointing to the name "John" on the box.
John Wick cocked his head. Could someone who worked for Viggo have sent that to him? Perhaps it might be…a present. A very bad present. That was when he realized something.
"Wait just a minute…" Death raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Look, I know what you think, but it doesn't have—" Death tried to explain, only for John Wick to interrupt him.
"You think a badass T-shirt featuring myself would distract me long enough for you to get the upper hand on me, do you?"
Death looked at the human, baffled. "W-What? I—No! That's—"
"A very cunning strategy, I have to admit. But it won't work on me, assassin."
Death sighed and turned away. "I see now you didn't order that box. My mistake. Adios."
John Wick cocked his head again.
"W-wait, what are—?" Death disappeared before John could finish.
John stood there for a few minutes. He didn't know who that wolf was or where he came from. But that didn't matter. The wolf may have surprised him a bit, but he knew how to deal with assassins. No matter what, John Wick would be ready… For now, it's time for whiskey.
After hours of searching, Death eventually returned to his boss's office. The human stopped writing and looked at Death with that same neutral smile. "Welcome back, Death. So, how did it go?"
"Well, if I have to put it bluntly, señor, not only did I fail, but I've wasted thousands of hours of my life that I can never get back, even with all my powers!" Death said with a frown.
The human boss nodded. "Good to hear. Now, continue your search."
Death's eyes and jaw dropped.
"You're kidding, right?"
The human boss's smile disappeared, replaced again by a glare.
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
The phone rang. The human raised his finger at Death, signaling for him to wait a moment as he answered the phone. "Hello, this is Death Inc. How may I help you?… Mhm…" The human nodded. "Yes, the John who wants his package… Yes…" The human's eyes widened in shock. "What? Are you sure? All right, thanks for reminding me… Yes, you too. Bye."
After hanging up, the human boss sighed. "Death, I believe we made a minor mistake."
Death raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"
"John was not his name."
Death's eyes widened even further.
"What!"
"Apparently, his name is actually 'Jaun'. My secretary told me they didn't know how to spell his last name, which is why it wasn't included as such. Additionally, his package wasn't supposed to contain a scythe but rather a furry porn comic called 'Scythe' that seemed to feature you."
Death lowered his head and closed his eyes. For what seemed like the first time, the human boss looked at him with concern.
"Death? Are you alright?"
Death growled, turned, and slammed his sickles down on the floor in frustration. "¿Por qué perdí mi tiempo buscando a John?" he snapped. "You've ruined this for me!"
Death approached the human at lightning speed, glaring at him. "I came to deliver this stupid package to someone you said was called John!" He then sighed. "But I have wasted my time." He put his sickles back into his pocket, turned, and walked away.
"Death? Where are you going?" The human boss called out after him, his voice no longer calm or firm but filled with concern.
"I'm done. Go find another Death. I don't want to do this anymore."
The human boss stood up, causing his chair to creak. "If you quit, Death, then you will no longer exist."
"Better that than wasting my time on a meaningless errand."
"You do this… and you won't be promoted to the rank of Grim Reaper!"
"Adios."
The human boss sighed as Death left and sat back down. Such a disappointment… Death was one of his best employees. Losing such a valuable asset like that. Now that the wolf was gone, he'll have to hire a less efficient employee to do the job for him. But the human boss decided that it wasn't worth it. He had wasted Death's precious time and possibly his life. That might come back to haunt him. For weeks. Months. Or perhaps years… Well, time for coffee.
