[ WP ] Give me a story where the good guy wins , but the victory is unsatisfying .

He looked over the bar at the man entering The Broken Drum. Not so much a man as a blurry outline in the shape of a tall, skinny, robed man - or maybe that was just the beer goggles. 
 
 He entered the tavern, unnoticed by anyone else, and seemed to come straight towards the man nursing his 10th pint of the evening. Nurses are a lot more forceful around these parts, and seeing as he'd run out of fingers to count on, this could have been his tenth'10th pint' for all he knew. 
 
 The space around him grew darker as the robed figure approached. Colder even. 
 `` What do you want?'' he muttered, barely audible. 
 
 I AM SIMPLY VISITING. A WORK TRIP, YOU COULD SAY. 
 
 A shiver ran down his spine. He was n't quite sure if he'd heard the words, or just, sort of... knew they had been said. 
 
 `` Work? You? You look like you've got one foot in the grave already!'' he quipped. Two glowing blue orbs shone from beneath the robed figure's hood, and he instantly regretted his words. He looked at his fresh pint, realising who his visitor was. 
 
 IT'S HARD KNOWING THAT YOU ARE THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES. I DO N'T JUST MEAN BEING A LITTLE BIT DISLIKED, OR AVOIDED AT THE BAR - I'M TALKING ABOUT ACTIVELY HATED, FOUGHT AGAINST, AND FEARED BY BILLIONS. 
 
 
 The man took a sip from his glass. 
 
 IT IS TRUE, SOME COME TO ACCEPT ME FOR WHAT I AM; THE CLEANER. THE CLEANSER. WITHOUT ME BIRTH WOULD BE IRRESPONSIBLE, AND LIFE IRRELEVANT. SOME APPRECIATE THAT, OR AT LEAST STOP FIGHTING BACK. 
 
 OTHERS DO NOT. 
 
 This time he took a large gulp. 
 
 LET ME TELL YOU, FRIEND, THERE IS NOTHING LESS SATISFYING THAN FACING AN OPPONENT SO DETERMINED TO STOP YOU, BUT KNOWING THAT YOU WILL WIN. KNOWING THAT NO MATTER HOW HARD THEY FIGHT, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE VICTORIOUS. THEY HATE ME, BUT THEY DO N'T REALISE THAT IT IS BECAUSE OF ME THAT THEY TREASURE THE TIME THEY HAVE. I GUESS YOU COULD CALL ME *THE GOOD GUY*. 
 
 He finished his pint, knowing it had been his last, and quietly placed the empty glass back on the bar. Death pulled a timer from within his robe, and watched as the final specs of sand finished pouring through. With another job done, another victory, he put the timer back into his robe and left the tavern unnoticed; it would be hours before anyone noticed his handy-work. There would n't be praises for him, that was for sure. But think what it would be like without him? 

