His frame is large and imposing. Muscles ripple just beneath his skin with every movement, blood coursing through his veins in a hot, angry rush, spurring him onward. His steps are silent, so as not to give him away. He moves like death. Strong, confident, unyeilding, silent. Death always catches you by surprise. Even when you’re looking it right in the face. You always think that maybe you might escape it. He never runs. Because for him, this is all planned. He knows where you are going to go already. His strides are firm and assured. He has planned this attack. He has planned this moment. He is ready for it. He craves it. He’s smarter than you, from the moment, he has known what he would do. He’s planned it ten steps ahead. He’s imagined it. Both this way and other ways. You will not out smart him. You will not cheat death. He will come for you. Death comes for everyone.