[ WP ] Immortality has been achieved , but overpopulation is a problem . To solve this , society has created a new job field : `` Angels of Death '' , people who 's job it is to simulate a natural death rate by killing a certain quota of random people a day . You are one of these `` Angels '' .

FADE IN: 
 
 INT. A BEDROOM - NIGHT 
 
 *A young man tosses and turns beneath his bed's covers, apparently trying to get comfortable. This is DAVE. After a few moments, he sighs in frustration, sits up, and turns on his bedside lamp. In doing so, he inadvertently reveals a figure in a hooded cloak standing in the corner of the room. This is ALAN. * 
 
 **ALAN: ** Shit. 
 **DAVE: ** Aaaaaaah! Who are you?! 
 **ALAN: ** Uh... nobody. This is a dream. 
 **DAVE: ** The hell it is! I've been trying to get to sleep for hours! 
 **ALAN: ** Really? Damn. Scratch that one off the list. 
 
 *Alan reaches into a hidden fold in his cloak and pulls out a small notebook. He thumbs through it, then draws a line through something on it. * 
 
 **DAVE: ** List? What list? What are you talking about? 
 **ALAN: ** Sleep apnea. 
 **DAVE: **... What? 
 **ALAN: ** You were going to die of sleep apnea. It's a terrible killer, and most people are woefully unaware of it. 
 **DAVE: ** I do n't have sleep apnea. 
 **ALAN: ** Are you sure? Have you seen a doctor about it? 
 
 *Dave starts to respond, but cuts himself off. * 
 
 **DAVE: ** No, I'm not going to play this game. Who are you, and why are you in my house? 
 **ALAN: ** Well, sir, you recently celebrated your two-hundredth birthday, did you not? 
 **DAVE: ** What? 
 **ALAN: ** You recently celebrated your two... 
 **DAVE: ** ( *Interrupting* ) I heard you the first time! What does that have to do with anything?! 
 **ALAN: ** There's no need to be rude. You saying `` what'' all the time is rather ambiguous. 
 **DAVE: ** Are you *physically incapable* of telling me why you're in my house? 
 
 *Alan sighs, pulls the hood of his cloak down, and sits on Dave's bed. Dave looks irritated by this. * 
 
 **ALAN: ** The truth is, Dave... 
 **DAVE: ** ( *Interrupting* ) How did you know my name? 
 **ALAN: ** The truth is, I'm here from the government. I'm here to kill you. 
 **DAVE: ** *What?! * 
 **ALAN: ** There you go again. Are you going deaf or something? 
 **DAVE: ** No, I... 
 **ALAN: ** ( *Interrupting* ) It would n't be unheard of at your age. 
 **DAVE: ** No, I... 
 **ALAN: ** ( *Interrupting* ) Did you catch what I did there? `` Unheard of?'' 
 **DAVE: ** No, I... 
 **ALAN: ** ( *Interrupting* ) Of course, the immortality treatments would cure that, so... 
 **DAVE: ** ( *Interrupting* ) What do you mean, you're here to kill me?! 
 
 *Rather than answering, Alan holds out his notebook for Dave, who hesitantly takes it. * 
 
 **ALAN: ** See? I have all of these options for a painless, natural-looking death. It's to keep the population under control. 
 **DAVE: **... `` Swan attack?'' 
 **ALAN: ** Okay, granted, some are more painless than others. 
 **DAVE: ** How would a swan get into my bedroom? 
 **ALAN: ** Some are also more realistic than others. 
 
 *Dave flips through several of the notebook's pages, all the while looking more and more flabbergasted. * 
 
 **DAVE: ** This is ridiculous! You ca n't just *kill* people! Certainly not with a `` dust allergy!'' 
 **ALAN: ** I've seen that happen once, actually. 
 **DAVE: **... Really? 
 **ALAN: ** Okay, well, I *made* that happen once. Same thing. 
 **DAVE: ** No, it is n't. 
 **ALAN: ** Oh, come on. Do you really think anyone dies by having a vending machine fall on them? Or by having their bladder explode? 
 **DAVE: ** What? 
 **ALAN: ** The Angels of Death have been around for *years! * Since long before immortality was a thing! Any ridiculous-sounding death was more than likely caused by us! 
 **DAVE: ** Like that guy who overdosed on laxatives with his girlfriend? 
 **ALAN: ** No, they were just idiots. Anyway, your name came up, so now you have to go. You were supposed to sleep right through it. 
 **DAVE: ** If you think I'm going to go quietly, you're mistaken. 
 
 *Alan stands up from the bed and stretches. * 
 
 **ALAN: ** Oh, alright. Fine. You get a temporary reprieve. 
 **DAVE: ** What? I mean... thanks. 
 **ALAN: ** May I have my notebook back, please? 
 
 *Dave holds the notebook out, and Alan pulls it away. As he does, Dave yanks his hand back, surprised. * 
 
 **DAVE: ** Ouch! 
 **ALAN: ** Oh, was that a paper cut, sir? 
 **DAVE: ** Yes, it... wait... 
 
 *Alan returns the notebook to its hidden pocket in his cloak. * 
 
 **ALAN: ** It always amazes me how *easily* those can get infected. 
 **DAVE: ** Stop. Wait. Did you...? 
 
 *Alan reaches over to Dave's bedside lamp. * 
 
 **ALAN: ** Sleep well, sir. 
 
 *Alan turns off the lamp. * 
 
 CUT TO BLACK.
