[ WP ] [ TT ] The oldest person in the world is now officially a person who is a veteran of every single war his country has been in since WW1 . Reporters ask him how he has lived so long . His answer ? `` Make sure death is too afraid to come for you . ''

His face is carved with the ancient knife of age. He is smug, reveling in his belief that I feared to take his life. He is an expert navigator of the battlefield and speech craft. But today is the day that his supposed reign over me shall come to an end. 
 
 The journalist, her dark skin and frail eyes reflecting the lights situated in front of them, sits innocently with her subject for whom she fought so hard to gain an interview. All she wants is to find that one story to make it big. Today, she will receive it. 
 
 I stand idly watching my smug target from the back of the studio, interns rushing past me in our field of invisibility. None of us are seen by the production crew; they are far too entranced by my target's tale of his narrow escape from the jungles of Vietnam as the Viet Cong shot furiously. 
 
 `` And how old were you then?'' asks the journalist, her eyes glimmering with as her interest rages. 
 
 `` I was about seventy at the time. I know, you'd think it was impossible, but when you maintain yourself as I did, it's really not that surprising.'' responds by target, his smirk spreading across his pale, clean-shaved face. His hollow eyes watch the journalist's lips intently as she reads off of her list of questions, shaking with excitement in her seat. 
 
 I leave the darkness of my corner, stepping into the jungle of the production crew. I remember the moment of which he speaks. How easily he had been able to slip through the cracks every single time his death was planned. But I'd had too many souls to lead away for me to turn around and end him. 
 
 I suppose my allowance of his rebellion from my plan bred his cockiness. He could flaunt his arrogance so easily, for how could he not when the touch of age hardly seemed to affect him? 
 
 Suddenly I am on the set, and the journalist's passion radiates from every word that leaves her lips. She does not deserve to be traumatized by a death unrelated to her. The world does not deserve to be traumatized by my irresponsibility. 
 
 But I'm not in the business of justice. 
 
 I look directly into the eyes of my target. His breathing slows, his eyes widen, and I step forward. He is no longer smug. 
 
 `` Mr. Webber, are you okay?'' the journalist shouts, her passion descending into terror. 
 
 `` Do you fear death now?'' I ask my target. He does not respond to either question. 
 
 His youthful eyes turn soulless and he lies lifeless in his chair. I step back to watch the chaos ensue. 
 
 `` Oh Death, you've finally done it.'' I hear from behind. As I turn around, a man cloaked in white places his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 `` Lovely job. Truly a masterfully performed scene. But I do hope you never try something so idiotic again.'' he says, looking into my eyes. 
 
 `` And what have I done, exactly?'' I ask. 
 
 `` Well, my subject is not to be interfered with. Now I must go and save him, but it does not matter. Just as you were invisible to them, so shall I be. Go, return to your invisible corner among the interns. This will not happen again.'' he says. 
 
 I fade into the crowd and watch him walk up to the set and place his hands on my target. His soulless eyes fill with smug joy. The white-cloaked man disappears. 
 
 `` What'd I tell ya?'' says my target to the journalist, who falls face down on the floor.
