Reaper No. 77

The room they sent Reaper-77 to was brightly lit, so much so that when she opened the door the unexpected onslaught of fluorescence made her eyes sting. When people think of death, they don’t usually imagine this place. A plain room furnished only with a small table and a wooden chair. In a way, cases like this one where Reaper-77 only had to euthanize her patient and leave, rather than comfort distraught family members, made things easier. Framing things that way sounds very cold and insensitive, Reaper-77 knew, but decades of working a job like this one has a way of making death feel like a mundane matter at worst.

Reaper-77's job was one she shared with thousands of trained professionals that are sent to evaluate any given individual’s projected quality of life and health trajectory. The terminally ill, those with debilitating chronic illnesses, and those approaching the age of 70 are the usual candidates for quietus.

Long ago, Terra became overpopulated and resources speedily thinned with a planet that could not support an exponentially growing humanity. Humans did what they could; expanding to exploit not just the planet they’d been born into, but the entire galaxy. Shipped off to whatever planets they could inhabit. It seemed like the answer at the time, but the truth is quite different; even the entire universe has its limits. Naturally, the faction of Reapers was born to fix a problem that was millenniums in the making.

Reaper-77 had already ‘reaped’ hundreds of lives, so today’s job was nothing special. She herself was getting old, reaching 65, the designated age of honorable discharge by the Center of Life. Today was her last reaping. Tomorrow, the five-year countdown of the rest of her life would begin.

Reaper-77 approached the woman in her cell, tied to a chair. She was not fighting, and posed very little chances of even successfully executing an escape, but she was still a criminal. Her relatives are likely watching in another room. This isn’t the peaceful goodbye the reaper is used to granting, but an execution.

Although a reaper doesn’t need to concern themselves with what made an elderly woman a criminal, she’d requested the case file anyhow, curiosity getting the better of her. It was something she’d never heard of: age fraud. Dina Davenport, the woman restrained to the chair, was able to slip through the cracks for years, reaching the age of 107 before being caught. Still surprisingly able-bodied against all reason, still of sound mind.

The old woman Dina Davenport smiles up at her. Reaper-77 had never seen such a wrinkled face, every line that could possibly be marked into a human expression appears as her patient’s lips stretched upward. She takes in the sight of her stark white hair, the skeletal-like hands resting on the arms of the chair, the rings on the woman’s neck. Davenport is watching her. The loose skin hanging beneath her eyebrows almost obscures the brilliant blue pupils that scrutinize Reaper-77.

Reaper-77 proceeds to set her briefcase on the table in front of the chair, where the lethal vial and the syringe await, sterilized and ready. As the case clicks open, Davenport begins talking.

“How many times have you done this?” The woman's unusual southern twang interrupted the pitch silence. Reaper-77 paused, giving the old woman a brief glance. This is a common question.

“I assure you; you will feel no pain. Even criminals are allowed mercy in their final hour.” She replied, clerically. Davenport shook her head.

“I didn’t ask if it hurts. Just wanted ta’ know, you seem like you’ve done this a lot.” Reaper-77 didn’t grace the woman’s observation with a reply. Not that it mattered to the old woman, because she continued to talk.

“How old are you?”

“64.”

“Ah, you’re ‘bout done, then?”

“Yes.” Reaper-77 responded, as she turned the vial upside-down and inserted the needle, beginning to extract the solution.

“Hm.” Davenport nodded. Reaper-77 turned around with the needle, squeezing the plunger slightly to make sure it worked. A droplet caught the light as it escaped the needle. Satisfied, the reaper flicked the syringe and approached the old woman, gently grabbing her upper arm and positioning the needle directly above her skin.

“Wait.”

“What is it?” Reaper-77 paused, narrowing her eyes with agitation. How was a woman as old and frail as this one still shamelessly afraid of death? She’d cheated it for so long.

“My necklace, take it before you go.” She bent her neck forward, slightly, her short bob of silver hair falling forward to reveal a thin golden chain at the base of her neck.

“I’m not permitted to remove items from cadavers.” Reaper-77 replied, sternly.

Davenport frowned, “I ain’t a cadaver yet, am I?”

“Your family can retrieve that from you at a later time.” With no more hesitation, Reaper-77 inserted the needle into the woman’s arm and pressed down on the plunger until it reached the base, then quickly removed it, stepping back. Davenport looked disappointed, sighing and staring straight ahead at the one-way window that was facing her.

“I got no family members to claim anything.” She said, softly.

“Likely because you outlived them all.” Reaper-77 pursed her lips. The old woman chuckled, turning towards her executioner with a bitter smile.

“Ya’know, young lady, your bedside manner leaves a lotta be desired.”

“I’m hardly a young lady.”

“Everyone a’ you’s young as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’d imagine.” Reaper-77 checked her watch. Approximately 30 seconds had passed. The serum should take full effect after the two-minute mark.

“Think you’ll be ready to die, in five, six years?”

“Yes.”

“Can't say I believe you one bit.” Davenport scoffed, “How long’ll this take?”

“About another minute or so.” The old woman seemed to take this in, letting out an uneven, trembling breath in response.

“My necklace. It’s real gold, the expensive kind. The kind people used to excavate when Terra was new and rich. You shouldn’t let it burn with me.” Reaper-77 paused. Real gold is immeasurably valuable. If she was being honest, the small necklace clasped around her neck was worth a small fortune. The thought in itself was enough to make Reaper-77 consider the woman’s plea.

“When my grandmother’s mother was alive, they still used to let ‘em live as long as they could, as long as they wanted. When my mother died, I was 45 but it was like bein’ a kid all over again. You get scared without your mama. When I had my daughter, I ne’er wanted her to feel that. Got my wish...” Davenport’s voice was becoming distinctly breathy as she continued, “Center of Life decided...her quality of life was p-poor and sent a Reaper to the house. She w-was...she was a baby-”

“That’s alright. You’re starting to have trouble speaking. Your body is beginning to shut down. Take it easy.”

“She was. Perfect. If the damn fools hadn’t decided she was done... a-and they had no right to decide that... it wasn’t mercy... it was murder... a hundred years ago every d-doctor would have f-fought tooth and nail...until the end...” She sighed, bending her neck forward again, the gold jewelry twinkling in the unnatural light, “When I’m....gone there’ll be nothin’ left a’ her.”

“My condolences.”

“-fuckers... feel like heroes but everyone hates ya’ll... everyone-” Her breathing grew more labored, she swallowed with difficulty, and laid her head back against the chair. She was fighting back, rebelling against what was coming. But who can ever combat a Reaper’s serum with sheer force of will?

“Close your eyes and relax.” Reaper-77 instructed. Davenport shook her head weakly, turning her gaze back to the reaper, her trembling lips opening ever so slightly. She looked as if though she had something more to say. It took a minute of Davenport's wide, unblinking stare before Reaper-77 realized she was looking down nothing at more but a corpse. It sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. The dead woman’s gaze still felt very much alive, sentient, and accusatory.

“Why would you hold onto your life for so long?” Reaper-77 wondered aloud as she reached over gingerly to close the woman’s eyelids. Her fingertips trailed down to the chain around the woman’s neck, deciding on an impulse to reach around her head and unclasp it.

Is it real? Reaper-77 couldn’t tell just by looking at it. A thick pendant shaped like a heart hung from it. She laid it down on top of the table where her briefcase was and rubbed it with her thumb, admiring the shine. The pendant clicked by itself, snapping open abruptly. Reaper-77 was startled, almost dropping the necklace entirely. There’d been a hidden compartment in the pendant?

Turning it over in her hand, she squinted at the inside of the open heart. A faded picture of a young girl’s face stared back at her. Unassuming, innocent, seemingly healthy. Her mother's pale blue eyes gazed out of the photograph. There was no doubt who the child was.

“Stupid woman.” Reaper-77 muttered, swallowing down the knot that formed in her throat involuntarily. It was almost shameful to have allowed a shred of guilt take root. In a world that would’ve allowed that child to live, that child would have died unexpectedly not long later. The Reapers gave her a send-off, gave the mother a chance at a proper goodbye. Predictability in a world like this is necessary for society to function.

We’re doing God’s work here, Reaper-77 reaffirmed to herself for the last time in her long career, they just fail to see the big picture. That’s why they need people like us.

Reaper-77 shoved the necklace in her pocket and closed the briefcase shut, allowing Dina Davenport one more backwards glance before steeling herself and stepping outside. The team of white hazmat suits that waited outside looked at her expectantly. Reaper-77 nodded at them as she walked past.

“You may discard the body.”