"You have 120 second to confess your most shameful secret. If it bores me, I'm done with you."

The young man looked the devil in the eye, a smile creeping across his face. "That's easy" he uttered in a slow southern drawl. "I am death."

Now the devil had heard a lot of things in his time. Murderers were common. But to declare oneself to be death itself. This was new. "Do go on" the devil hissed with a curious raise of the brow.

"I have killed, as have many others you have known" the man began "But death is not indiscriminate. Death does, is fact, care who lives and dies." He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders "A murderer may examine his subject and choose with care. But in the end, he does it for the thrill. Because it is exciting. I do it..." he paused "because it is my job."

"I always kill for a reason, though the victims may never know it. Good, Bad, Young, old, healthy or frail, everyone's time will come. And when it comes, I am there."

"So you consider yourself an Angel of Mercy?" the devil asks, a bit put out. Many murderers claimed such things.

"Not at all. I am simply a surgeon who doesn't care if his patient lives or dies." the young man states plainly. "Now breathe deeply"

The devil seemed perplexed by this last statement, he took a breath to state as much, but the air seemed odd. When had a mask been put over his face? And why was he suddenly lying down?

The devil tried to rise, but something was holding him down. Something was making his eyelids heavy. Something was pulling consciousness from him. His eyes closed. The last thing the devil heard was the single word "Scalpel." and then all was darkness.