Death's Rulebook

Prologue

Whether you loved it, hated it, or just want to scream at Kevin for being a dick, leave us your opinions, suggestions, and comments.
Oh, and for you extra generous people, a vote would be nice too. They help us out a lot.
Come now, don't be shy.

With love, Thea and Ivy :)

* * *

1. A brief introduction to Reaperhood. Written and edited by your new boss; Kevin (who will kill you again, if you a) don't pick up this damn manual and read it, and b) don't pay extra, extra close attention to everything written in here)

Hello, and welcome to this short work manual for newly recruited Reapers. My name is Kevin, and as you've probably guessed from the lovely title, I'm your new boss.

To start off, let me state the obvious. You are dead.

Really. Seriously, I'm not kidding. Irreversibly, inexorably dead. Just look at your corpse, stuffed into one of those morgue coffins. Or the car. House. I don't know where or how you died, and I don't really care. Point is, you're dead.

So don't even think about trying to bargain, rage or perform voodoo spells in an effort to get your life back. It has never happened before and it never will. And you are not some special snowflake for that streak to end now.

So to summarize: you are dead. The end. Got that?

Congratulations.

Now, I know what you're thinking. 'If I'm dead, then how am I still walking around?', and before you start, no you're not an alien, sparkly vampire, teen wolf, or furry— whatever that is.

You are a, wait for it, Grim Reaper.

Yes, yes, exactly, that skinny fellow in black robes with a scythe. Well, minus the black robes and scythe.

Think of us as Death's personal cleanup crew. One becomes a Reaper when their soul gets chosen to remain on earth to help others move on. I don't know why that is, but before you get any ideas, no, it's definitely not because you are the one ring bearer chosen to defeat Voldemort. Most likely, it's the dumbest and most awful lottery contest ever. And you were the winner. Yay you.

As you've probably guessed from the name, our job is to reap the souls of the people who are about to die, sort their personal information, and send them off to the afterlife.

Yes, there is an afterlife. no, I don't know what it is or who or what it's run by, so don't bother asking.

I know, I know, all of this is quite awful and a lot to take in, and I would happily let you take a breath to process everything... except I won't because I don't care. And neither does our God. No, I'm not talking about the jealous burning bush, or the flying spaghetti monster.

I'm talking about Death. Yes, the Death. Capital D. The being responsible for the actual act of dying, the one who gets things in motion, e.g. causes the house fires, car accidents, shoot outs and all those delightful tragedies that make the world a happier place.

He is, simply put the Dark Overlord of us reapers, the one you'll be spending the next unspecified amount of time cleaning up after. Meaning he'll be doing the killing, while you will be housekeeping. But don't think that means anything. I'm still your boss, and I will slap you silly if you try anything.

Now, before we get to the specifics of your new job, and what it entails, let me clarify. You are now a member of the undead, a job that's not quitable I'm afraid. Oh, suck it up there's worse things you could be. For one, dead. Well, deader than you already are. As in buried six feet under while your ghost haunts your mother's basement. You get the point.

You're basically a superpowered indestructible Grim Reaper whose sole job is to help the dead, not interfere with Death. As the age old wisdom goes—everybody dies. Some sooner, and some later. Why that happens, who the hell knows. But one thing is certain. It's inevitable, and it's not your job to question or intervene.

You are there to take care of the human soul and get it to board the heaven express train, not give it another shot at life.

So, word of advice, don't mess with Death. It'll only piss it off and make your undead life that much harder. Meaning I'll make your new undead life that much harder when I roast your ass over a nice camp fire and feed you to some stray cats. Which, trust me, is very hard to heal, even for a deado with your super healing abilities.

So, to summarize. Don't. Mess. With. Death.

Just do your new job, don't complain and put as much effort as you can into keeping me happy.

How do you keep me happy?

Simple.

Don't be a fuckup, and just get on with it.