Blinding lights brightened the somber room as the smell of anesthesia and blood drifted throughout the surgery room, nauseating the backing nurses and some inexperienced doctors. No faces could be seen with everyone's nose and mouths being protected by blue masks, caps enclosing their hair, with the only thing seeable being their apprehensive eyes.

Cursing loudly as blood sprayed into his eye, Azrail turned his head to the right, scowling at the frenzied medics. "We have a fractured blood vessel!" No further words were required to be uttered as various nurses dashed over to cooperate, producing the best they could to hurry and cover the wound.

As the nurses treated the open blood vessel, Azrail was instead concentrated on the heart pulsating serenely in front of him, its red color throbbing with no notion that it was presently being handled. With harsh breaths, Azrail granted for a nurse to wipe the building sweat from his brow, not troubling to reflect about which nurse did it.

Without warning, Azrail's ears picked up the recognizable flatline note from the heart monitor, and with a sharp glance down towards the heart (Y/n) could see that it was no longer beating. It was still—unmoving, no longer throbbing as peacefully as it used to.

Silence stifled the surgery room as everyone stared at the unmoving heart in front of them, the smell of blood now fusing with the fresh odor of urine.

"He's dead."

Never drifting away from his lifeless patient, Azrail gawked down on the dead man. His legs were fixed from where he stood, his breathing still as everything seemed to gradually smash into him like an unsuspecting truck.

Another patient—dead.

No. It couldn't be. That was the eleventh one this year. He yearned to do something—anything! However, Azrail already realized that it wasn't feasible. This was an open heart surgery. If, possibly, it was anything else, then something could have presumably been done.

It was all over. There was nothing he or anyone in that hospital could do at that moment.

This didn't seem to soak into his understanding process thoroughly.

With a sigh, the woman next to him shook her head as she comfortingly patted his back, a glum look on her face. "Look, Azrial, there's nothing we can do now. Let's just go through our procedure and go on with our lives, okay?" Not even deciding to look at her, Azrail gently shook his head.

"No... there must be something-"

"Listen to Junia, Azrail. What's done is done. He's dead; that's a factor we naturally just can't alter. We're not death."

The man's words seemed to stumble inside his ears and out swiftly, his brain not troubling to refine his words and work to pluck out any words of wisdom.

Stepping out of the surgery room, Azrial and the others sanitized and tidied themselves up, throwing away their masks and gloves as they all went back to their bustled lives as doctors. Sitting inside of his office, Azrail gawked down at a still pencil that was on top of his desk, his delicate hair coating his melancholy eyes as everything that transpired inside of the surgery room looked to be like some kind of fresh nightmare.

But it was all too real for it to be such a thing.

Not blinking when someone knocked on his office door, Azrial growled a low "come on". Picking up the clicking of dress shoes, the person cleared their throat, their voice sharp yet strict. "The boss requires you in his office, Azrail. I assume it's about your newly failed surgery." Biting his lip, Azrial nodded his head.

"I'll be right there."

"You're fired."

The words of his boss overwhelmed him but didn't at the same time. Of course, after eleven deaths from failed surgeries, it would only be obvious to be fired, but yet, for Azrail—everything appeared too fictitious to be honest.

"Excuse me?"

"Listen, Mr. Alexis, you have held eleven failed surgeries—thus meaning that eleven innocent people perished in your care. We naturally can't have someone like you in our hospital to tarnish our well-preserved name. I'm sorry, but this is the right thing to do. Pack up your things. You're leaving today."

No words escaped his mouth as Azrail only bowed his head and got up from his seat, opening the door before closing it quietly behind him. Strolling down the halls and towards his office, Azrail overlooked the glances of consolation offered to him by his fellow associates, already learning of the issue.

Azrail was convinced some of them were satisfied to see him go. If he was being honest—he would be, too.

"-And so Alex just kicked him, not even bothering to explain why-Oh! Azrail! What did the boss say?" Halting in his path upon hearing her words, Azrail shook his head and strode away hurriedly, evading her hand.

Just a little more.

Closing his office door behind him Azrail—as promptly as he could—put everything into crates that he arranged for if a day such as this would arrive. Setting pencil cups and ornaments inside, Azrail banged his fist onto the wooden desk. His breathing accelerated as he tried his hardest to soothe himself.

He can't cry now. Not here, not now.

Drawing in deep breaths, Azrail snatched everything and raced away from his office, down the hallways as he descended to the first floor via elevator. Striding hastily to the opening Azrail barely delayed for the automatic doors to slide open as he walked out of the hospital and into the parking lot, immediately spotting his car as he opened it, cramming everything inside before striking the car door closed, not caring if he possibly damaged it or not.

Then he let it all out.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks as gasps left his mouth, no longer able to let out screams or sobs, only breathless unspoken words. Clutching the wheel securely underneath his grip, Azrail banged his head near the honking button, his body quivering as his brain finally processed what he had done that day.

He murdered another human.

"Damn... just fucking damn it!" Punching the honking button brutally, an intense, unceasing cry followed before subduing once more. Moving his fist away from the honking button, Azrail dried away his tears and switched on the car, speeding away as he darted down the highway towards his home.

Time seems to pass as days go by like a blur.

For the past two weeks, Azrail had done nothing but lament for the innocent lives that he thought he had taken, cursing his reality regularly as he avoided the outside world and instead opted to drown his heartaches with anything that could make his numbed. Azrail neglected the groceries, he ignored the bills, everything that he once took even the slimmest consideration for was now over his head and forgotten.

The thing that encouraged him to get another job was the IRS, addressing him letters, specifying that if he didn't pay off his bills, everything he owned would be confiscated and he would be evicted from his home. This permitted him little option but to apply for a job as a server in a neighboring cafe he used to frequently visit.

To him, this job sounded a lot better than taking the chance of slaughtering another human.

So now there he was, inside of a cafe as he wore its green uniform, a green cap being on top of his head as he leaned on the chilly kitchen wall, his eyes detached.

Observing as his favorite co-worker was again spacing out, Mark sighed and strode over to him, grasping his shoulder as he pressed it strongly. "Come on, Azrail! We have work to do. By the way, there's a table waiting for their order; table fourteen, if I recall. Go!" Tenderly encouraging the immobile male towards the already prepared order, Mark swayed his head and pouted.

"Wish I could ask if he was alright..."

With the four coffee cups clutched securely underneath his grip (Y/n) ambled over to what he could only guess was table fourteen as he planted down the cups, not troubling to study at their faces and investigate why they darted away from him.

"Four dark coffees for table fourteen. Enjoy." His voice was dead and unemotional as he spoke those words, not allowing them a second thought as he turned around, only to be held back by the unusually quick breathing of the lady closest to him.

"You're... you fucking bastard!" Turning around just in time to get searing boiling coffee spattered on his thin clothing, (Y/n) peered down as he followed the brown color rapidly expanding, most of the liquid already bled through the poor fabric, scorching his skin.

Aw... my uniform.

"Miss, please, calm down!" Feeling someone press their body towards his own, Azrail didn't need to glance up to know who it was. Who else would smell like peppermint in a cafe?

With an angered and mournful expression, the black-clothed woman bound towards Azrail and slapped him brutally across the cheek, pressing his head to the side. Feeling her nails penetrating into his skin, (Y/n) peeked down and brought his hand up, caressing his skin as he felt a lukewarm liquid trickle down onto his already stained clothing.

"Ma'am, leave the cafe! You are banned from his establishment!" Thankfully, the manager came out in time before the miss could do any more violence, but by then she was already being driven out forcefully by the people she came in with. Right when she was by the door, the lady pointed her shaking finger at him, large tears gushing down her cheeks as a snarl appeared on her lips.

"You killed my Richard!"

Richard? Who was this Richard she spoke of? Then it struck him. Richard was his last patient for the open-heart surgery. He passed by his hands.

Oh, yeah.

He murdered Richard.