The Reapers

[HappyMango]

This is the first chapter to a story I'm working on, let me know what you think

Have you ever seen someone, who just didn't feel right to you? You've probably seen these kinds of people a million times in your life. They usually keep to themselves, twiddle their thumbs in a coffee shop, alone. Smoke a cigarette in the park, reading the New York Post. Millions of these people exist in the world.
But, what if I told you, that guy you caught staring at you on the bus, that creepy guy who bugged you for your name at the bar last week, wasn't a guy at all? I'm not saying he was a trannie or anything, but what if he wasn't a human at all?
"Nice to finally meet you sir." One business man said to the company president. This happened in Japan, but I don't speak Japanese, and I'd guess you don't either. The two men bowed to each other.
"I'm really excited to be your new vice president sir." The young businessman said.
"Well, your hard work here has proved yourself worthy." The president said. Their conversation was cut short by the president being needed elsewhere.
"I got to go, here's my card." The president said. He handed the young vice the card. The man read the card intently.
"Hiraku Kimura" the name on the card read. The man ran to catch up with the president. He met him in the hallway, and patted the president on the back when he walked by. The vice turned into the bathroom, and sat in a stall.
I hope you caught that, because I'm not going to explain it again. Now, the next day, I read this on my computer.
In National News, Hiraku Kimura, president of KIMURA Industries, was found dead today. Japanese Police report that Kimura broke into his own office building late last night, spread his own feces on the office walls, then beat himself to death on a water fountain. He was found completely nude on the fourth floor of his corporate building. Police were baffled by the turn of events.
When I read this, I was shocked. I did some private investigating of my own. I cross referenced his name with all family members, no reported cases of insanity or mental illness at all. I did a lookup of his wrap sheet, no prior convictions other than a couple unpaid parking tickets. The story didn't add up. I realized it could be only one thing. It was a Reaper.
You might all know the Grim Reaper, he's got the scythe, and the cloak, and the skull head. What you don't know was that he had children, millions of them. The Grim Reaper needed a way to take more souls, in less time. He summoned his offspring, and had them take the places of human babies, which gathered souls right there. The offspring needed human bodies to survive in the human world. These babies that were born, were those who's mother died during birth.
I'll bet you're asking yourself how I know all this, well it's a simple question, with a simple answer. I am a Reaper myself. I don't share a thirst for souls like my brethren. My life's work has been dedicated to ridding the world of Reapers, once they're dead, they're gone forever. Some day, when the world is rid of Reapers, I'll kill myself as well.
Kimura's death could be explained by me. The first mistake he made was giving the young vice president his business card. A Reaper can't kill you if you don't know his real name. Just like how the real Grim Reaper has your name on his list, a Reaper needs your name to kill.

The second mistake he made was being in a position where being killed would benefit the Reaper. Some Reapers love killing, and do it often, others are much more cautious, and mostly do it when it suits them. The Reaper was able to kill Kimura when he patted him on the back. The finger's touch by a Reaper is your death sentence.
The whole incident with the break-in, and the smeared crap on the walls wasn't the Reaper's doing. When the touch is done, the victim becomes a ticking time bomb. They could die suddenly of a stroke or heart attack, at any time. Sometimes the touch effects the brain first, causing the victim to go completely insane. This was the case with Kimura. What happened after the touch was entirely up to chance. The only thing every touch has in common, is that the person will die.
A Reaper can live forever, their spirit can, but their human body can't. If a Reaper's human body dies, that spirit will just find a new baby host to live in, and grow in. The spirit can only be killed, if another Reaper kills him. The rules for this are very strange. The kill has to be done with a gun, at no more than two feet. I have no idea why. I guess doing that somehow kills the spirit too. I think it's a stupid rule.
When I'm not out, popping caps in asses, I usually just waste time in my apartment. I live in a tiny apartment in New York City. Not near the famed Apollo Theatre, or on the corner of Wall St. You know those tiny alleys you see, that have the bricked up windows. You pass by with your buddies, you look up, and say something real smart-ass, like "What kind of tard would live there? Why not tear it down?"
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am the kind of tard that lives there. I don't even know why I got it. Its basically filled with my futon, a fridge I got in collage, a computer I got back when Kirk Cobain was still alive, my TV, and my Xbox. What's sad is that the computer is the biggest thing in here. The walls are the kind of green you would only see when you throw up in a toilet at some bar, after too many shots of Jager. The paint is more chipped than painted on the wall.
Believe it or not, but killing Reapers doesn't provide the steady income you'd think. I had to get a real job, to pay the bills. My skills as trained fighter, and being a green beret, landed me a job at a fish market. Are you as surprised as me? I learned how to kill a man with a thumbtack, but here I am, coming home most nights stinking like low tide, or New Jersey.

[HappyMango]

20 pageviews, 0 posts hmm......

[Kajenx]

The writing style was weird, and didn't flow as nicely as it could have, but it was interesting enough to keep me reading which is the most important thing. It felt like someone was telling me about their life, and while I suppose that's a common kind of narration, like a big let-me-catch-you-up-on-the-story at the beginning of a movie, I still wouldn't want to read something longer written like that. I think if you continue you could blend the narration into something that flows a bit more in the background.

Also, lines like "I hope you caught that" are kinda silly, I think. You don't need to point a big neon sign at foreshadowing, it makes it feel like you're overly proud of your grasp of basic storytelling elements. :3

[HappyMango]

thats what i was going for. the other chapters aren't written like that. i went for the let-me-catch-you-up thing. he goes to being a normal narrator, and often makes jokes to the reader, or gives some backstory, still acting the way he does, you want to see chapter 2?

[HappyMango]

the reapers is the only story ive written with that type of narration. i have a more longrunning series that uses normal narrating. i posted the reapers on NG cuz its a young concept, and its got alot less density

[Kajenx]

Sure go ahead and put up the next part! I can understand putting up experimental works for critique.

[HappyMango]

this one, you get so see what kind of anti-heroes these two are. you can tell by what happens here

Right now, it's about seven in the morning. I've been passed out on my futon since one. There was someone knocking at my door. The door wasn't locked, I knew who'd be coming. The door opened. There was only one person who would be busting into my apartment at seven in the morning. Her name was Kara Samud. She had brown hair, that was cut like a guy who's in a really bad grunge band. It looked great on her though. She wore a dark green shirt with a black coat. She had brown eyes that could stun you with one look.

She looked around, and saw me passed out. She walked around and laid on the futon, next to me. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a joint. She usually blazed up by herself, but occasionally I'd take a drag. She lit it up, and inhaled. She blew the smoke in my face. She held the reefer in my face, the fumes wafted into my nostrils. The noxious smell woke me up. I looked up at her. She smiled, and put the joint in my hand. She got back up, and started playing with the stuff on my nightstand.

"I thought I told you not to drink before we go somewhere?" Kara said.

"And I thought you said you quit pot." I said. I took a drag off of the joint.

"I did, and now I'm smoking it again." she said.

"Look, I didn't even drink that much-"

"I've known you for three years, Shawn. I know how much it takes for you to get drunk." she said. My name isn't Shawn. Kara is a Reaper, like me. For our own good, we made up our names. Her name isn't really Kara either. To protect ourselves, and others, we both wear black gloves, this way we can't kill someone by accident. I know it sounds hypocritical, that someone who kills Reapers would be dating one. Well, if you are someone else who's as sexy, fun, and cool as Kara, and can kick anyone's ass, AND grows her own pot, then form a single file line outside my apartment. I didn't think so.

"I'm being honest, I really didn't drink a lot." I said. I got up and went to my dresser. I took off the t-shirt I was wearing, and put one on that said "That's what she said." I also put on a leather jacket I got from a friend who rode a motorcycle. When he broke both legs, he gave up biking, and gave me his jacket. I found an old pair of cigarettes in the pocket, and put one in my mouth.

"Well, we gotta haul it, cuz we gotta talk to Doza today." Kara said. Karl Doza, who's the district attorney in New York. On the outside, if you asked him if he supported what Kara and I do...he'd deny it all. Yes, I said it, Kara fights Reapers too. On the inside, when all the doors and windows are closed, Doza loves everything we do for the world, and he fully supports us. He never has us meet him in his office, it'd be too obvious, not to mention how hard it'd be to get in with no questions asked. We always meet in a disclosed location, never the same place twice. Today he wanted us to meet him behind the McDonalds on 53rd.

We didn't have a car. We took a taxi most of the way, then we walked the rest. We round the corner where McDonalds was. He was waiting for us there. Doza was a pudgy black man. He had hair like that guy from Lethal Weapon, I forget his name. He had on a brown suit. His teeth were stained by coffee.

"For god's sake Shawn, if you're going to be late, you have a cell phone." Doza said.

"Good seeing you too." Kara said.

"Okay, so what's the meet about?" I asked.

"You're going to be happy about this one...I think I've been able to find a Reaper right here, in New York City!" Doza said.

"Wow, that's great...What made you think this?" Kara asked.

"Well, It was quite obvious that there has to be one inside of Wall Street. The other day there was a reported incident, where one of the stock brokers started screaming at the top of his lungs, and jumped out of a window."

"Are you sure he wasn't just some whacko?" I asked.

"That's what I thought, but when they examined his body, they found someone else's fingerprints on his right hand. Also that his heart stopped before he hit the ground. This is no coincidence. The lab scanned the fingerprints on his hand, they belong to Jeffrey Thomson, acquitted for attempted murder charges.

"So you want us to find him?" I asked.

"Yes, one more thing too." Doza said "Try not to kill him, if you can."

"Goddamn it, how do you expect us to work under a condition like that?" I exclaimed.

"Look Shawn, I cant have you killing people before my men can get in, before forensics does, or if we can't get him in for some questioning."

"So, then what do you need us for?" I asked.

"I want you to follow him around. Check for any behavior that would dictate him being a Reaper. Kara, try to get a good look at his eyes." Kara isn't like other Reapers. She can actually tell who a Reaper is, just by looking at their eyes. She's told me that their eyes look bright purple to her. We parted ways with Doza. He had given us the address to Thomson's apartment complex. We took a cab over to the building, when we arrived, we both crossed the street and chilled outside some restaurant, each smoking a cigarette. There was a guy selling hotdogs on the corner. I've learned from experience, never trust a hotdog the guy says is "All beef." What he really means is "All but beef."