'He won’t like this.'<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">'That’s what makes it so fun!' </span><br/><br/>'True, but it could cause problems...'<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">'What sorts of problems?'</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">'Oh, you’re no fun! Let’s just see what happens.' </span><br/><br/>'<span style="font-weight: bold">Do you realize how many terrible things have started with that statement?' </span><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Something wasn’t right.<br/><br/>‘He shouldn’t have complained, he really shouldn’t have. Now, here he was…wherever<span style="font-style: italic"> here </span>was. Not knowing where he was such a strange sensation for him, as was actually being there for that matter. This was just so odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he couldn’t remember something; this was really starting to not make any sense. And where were his minions when he needed them? …Were people looking at him? Actually looking at him? Oh…not quite sure of how he felt about that. Bit unnerving with them having eyes and all. Such squishy and round little things. And what were those doing there?‘<br/><br/><br/>The world bustled around Navy Pier, Chicago, even in the chilling wind that blew off of Lake Michigan at midday. Even in January, the busy city seemed perfectly able to carry on. Restaurants were open, there was shopping to do, and a concert blared into the air from the not so distant Soldier Field. Overall, it was a perfectly normal day for the windy city. Except for the one man currently sitting on the bench with his hands held out in front of him as though they intended to attack him with a will of their own as he attempted to lean back from the impending onslaught of carnage.<br/><br/><br/>Large blue eyes gazed wearily at the appendages in front of him, head turned to the side to provide a perfect look at the long profile of his face as the cruel wind whipped around his rather wild and feathered looking black hair. He was a young looking fellow, perhaps a stab at a guess would put him somewhere in his mid-twenties but one thing was absolutely for certain about him: he looked completely and utterly confused.  Even as he managed to tear his gaze away from his ‘meat mittens’, he seemed even more discomforted by the occasional glances people gave him as they passed by. Shifting uncomfortably as he sat, he turned to look down at himself, taking one hand and gently poking against his chest. The black material of the long sleeved v-neck was so…material. So real. Too real, for him. Slowly, his hands went to run against the jeans on his legs. It was such a rough material, so foreign to him.<br/><br/><br/>His gaze flicked up and began to run around the scenery.  It was all strange to him, now that he thought about it. He’d never taken the time, in centuries, to really stop and look at the world around him. Of course, he knew basic things like technology had flourished and created tons of things that went ‘beep, beep, beep, eeeeeeeeeeeee’ to cue him on where he had a job to do, but other than that it was all just part of the scenery. Part of a world he really didn’t have much say in. So, cars replaced horses and phones replaced, well, everything and that was that. What else did Death really have to concern himself with? Business had slowed, somewhat, but picked up in other ways but nothing was really different than it had been before. People lived, people died and then he came to clear them out. It was quite a tight schedule, really. Sure, there were other reapers running around for when they had a rush, but it was still his job to send each and every one on their way. He had come to think of himself as existences middle man, not really belonging to either realm but rather trimming the weeds on the sidewalk between life and the afterlife.<br/><br/>Perhaps that is where the problem began, though. Thinking like that. Either way, he was quite sure he had done something terribly wrong or there had been a sort of horrible mix up. They happened now and then, you know. Occasionally, some part of the universe would slip right out of place and, before you knew it, the mortals were suddenly complaining about lights in the sky or bigfoot in their back yard.  Normally, they were easy to fix but this just didn’t seem right. At all.<br/><br/>The man slowly took in a breath, hand coming to his chest again to realize he was breathing. In a panicked sort of motion, he suddenly rushed to feel the breath coming in and out of his nose and mouth. Huffing out hard, he backed away from the vapor cloud that formed in front of him as though he had just breathed fire, nearly scrambling over the top of the bench with his tall and somewhat lanky form.<br/><br/>“This is dreadfully wrong,” he suddenly muttered and stopped quickly, looking strangely at the air in front of him. Were those….words? And that voice! It wasn’t like his own at all. The tone was there, sure, but it was nowhere near as deep and it only came from one single point of origin. Shaken, he slowly reached back and sunk to the bench with a half defeated look about him.  For the first time since…well, ever, Death was lost in more than just his current location.<br/><br/>So, there Death sat with a mind that went completely blank. He didn’t know what was going on or where he was. He was, however, aware of the strange feeling of ‘being’, though he could never recall feeling that before. Unlike some otherworldly entities, Death had never been anything than what he was. Created to fill a rather maintenance sort of position, he had simply not been there one moment and there the next. All of his tasks and everything about him was there in his mind, and he had to question nothing. It was easy, really, like being born into a job that was made perfectly for you. His bosses, however, were a bit annoying to deal with at times. Thankfully, over the last several thousand years, they had taken a sort of back seat on existence. He hadn’t had to worry about those who couldn’t die and those who they wanted resurrected. And, thankfully, there were no more heroes. Ohhh, how he hated heroes. Always coming and going as they pleased and attempting to get in his way. Good riddance to bad rubbish, from his point of view.  Especially that…um, that one. With the curly hair and-…and<br/><br/>“No. No, no, no, nononono,” his hands raised to the sides of his head. “You’re not taking that! You’re not doing that!” Outwardly, he was addressing no one. Inside, however, he was directing it straight to the gods. “I…I can’t remember!” His eyes closed tight. “I-I can’t remember any of them.”  It sounded a bit pathetic, pleading almost. The names were gone. All of them. He could remember soft specifics, but not their names? He wondered whose idea that had been, and he had a distinct feeling of who it was but couldn’t recall the gods name for the life of him. Which he actually now had a life, so that phrase finally worked.<br/><br/><br/>Curling forwards, he just sort of sat there and fell silent once again. The look of confusion had settled back into a sort of lost little gaze as the wind whipped his hair around his hands and his face. There was one thing for sure, however, the male didn’t look like he belonged there at all. Something about him, other than the fact he wasn’t wearing a coat or any real protection about the weather, screamed that he was a bit off. Unusual, if you would put it that way. Still, people seemed to carry about their business with only a passing glance, if any, at the misplaced man.