Barr sat in his dimly lit office, flipping through a thick stack of papers in his hands, as he had done routinely for a very long time. In fact, he could not remember how long it had been. The papers contained a long, curated list of names in a fancy-looking font. Next to each was a blurb in a smaller font showing the person’s age, their hobbies, immediate family and other stuff that Barr did not care to read. Essentially, he held in his palms a list of lives, summed neatly in a few sterile lines.

It had once seemed simple. Choose a name, make the necessary hand gesture (think Hogwarts minus the wands), and the targeted soul would be untethered from this realm. Poof!

But there was nothing simple about being a so called Deather, the title given to one of Death’s many assistants. Sure, it sounded easy: every day, he had to choose one person to die. Piece of cake! However, and this is big, if he didn’t pick someone before the final second of his day, he’d face the fiery infernal pit (you know the one, from Downstairs, where a five-lettered horned devil waited with open arms). And, to up the stakes because, well, going to Hell somehow is not enough, someone close to him would die too. Thankfully for Barr, he had no one left to lose. No loved ones. No friends.

In life, Barr had been a real piece of work—a corrupt politician who’d thrived on power, money, and manipulation. But in death, he saw an opportunity for redemption. So each day, he picked the worst person he could find from the list: killers, abusers, the truly vile. A small way to balance the scales, hoping some higher power was taking note. Until he found Monte.

Monte was beyond evil—a crime lord who thrived on others’ suffering, his name whispered even in the underworld. Barr watched him for weeks, waiting for Monte’s name to appear. But it never did. Furious, Barr decided to hatch an extreme plan. To start, he made himself visible to Monte, an unusual move for a Deather. Monte was shocked at first but soon intrigued, and an unexpected bond began to form between them. They talked for hours, Monte sharing secrets and Barr listening intently and sharing ones of his own. Months passed and their strange friendship deepened.

Eventually the day came to enact the final stage of his scheme. That morning, when Death handed him the list like he had done countless times before, Barr tore it up without a second glance. Death raised an eyebrow but said nothing. For the rest of the day, Barr waited in the Sahara Desert, the sun blazing down as he sat on the hot sand. He had come to terms with his fate; he would not choose a name today. He knew what awaited him—a fate worse than death—but it no longer mattered.

With twenty minutes left, Barr transported himself to Monte’s mansion. Monte was lounging in his study, whiskey in hand, surprised but amused by Barr’s sudden appearance. Barr explained everything—how he’d wanted to end Monte from the moment they met, for all the evil he’d done. Monte, trying to suppress his growing anger, laughed, dismissive.

“You can’t kill me,” Monte sneered. “I’m not on your list, and I won’t be for a damn long time. You told me yourself. You’re powerless, Barr.”

Barr faced him, undeterred. Smiling, he said, “don’t you remember the rule, Monte? If I don’t choose, someone close to me dies.”

Monte’s face went pale. He glanced at the clock—one minute left. Realization and panic setting in, he tried to call his men, desperate for one final act to secure his legacy—to kill the traitorous next-in-line, his brother. But with a flick of Barr’s wrist, Monte froze, unable to move or speak. He could only stare into Barr’s eyes and see the hatred there.

Then the second hand hit its mark. Monte’s body slumped. Gone. Barr sighed in relief that he had done it. He had done enough.

Barr waited for his own end, but nothing came. Then Death appeared, handing him a letter—not a list, but a letter glowing with a soft, golden light. Barr read it, his heart pounding…

It was from Upstairs.