[ 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 '' .

`` Next we add the oregano and tada! Perfect bread crumbs. Now we're going to roll our chicken in that egg, get it nice and sticky, roll that in the bread crumbs, and let it sit in the fryer until it-'' 
 
 `` Sorry to interrupt.'' A tall man in a fedora and a trenchcoat walked on to the set, drawing a pistol from his pocket. `` I'm sure you know what I'm here for.'' 
 
 `` God dammit. Okay, cut to commercial.'' A short, fat little woman with a Bostonian accent walked up to the fake kitchen counter, touting one of those fake paper megaphones that served little purpose other than to make her feel important. `` What's the big idea?'' 
 
 `` It's a random lottery, ma'am. I'm afraid Chef Charlie has been selected for death.'' Trenchcoat shrugged apologetically. `` Interfering with an Angel's duty is a felony offense.'' 
 
 `` It's fine. Come with me,'' Chef Charlie, who had remained surprisingly calm during the entire thing, led the Angel to his dressing room. 
 
 `` You know, when I drew your name, I was shocked. I mean, I watch your show- everyone does. So, sorry, but I kinda have to do this. Take your time, you're the last one for the day. And uh, since I'm such a big fan, feel free to wrap up your last episode.'' The doorway had been designed to accommodate shorter individuals, and he had to stoop to get in. 
 
 `` Hey, trust me, I get it. Have a lot of enemies in high places. Sometimes my name will turn up. First time, it kinda shocked me, now this is pretty much routine. Coffee?'' Chef Charlie collapsed into a La-Z-Boy and gestured towards the coffee machine. 
 
 `` First time? So you are a Survivor.'' Trenchcoat retrieved his pistol and aimed it at Chef Charlie's head. 
 
 `` Wrong. Try again.'' Charlie rolled his eyes. `` And good call on the coffee. Tastes like shit. I think it's the brewer.'' 
 
 `` Not in the mood for games, and I'm the one with the gun. This is n't something to joke about.'' A bead of sweat trickled down Trenchcoat's forehead. The room was stuffy. Way too warm for a trenchcoat. Charlie pulled a card from his wallet and flicked it over wordlessly. 
 
 Trenchcoat lowered his gun. `` Angel. Well ai n't that rich. Mind telling me how you qualify?'' 
 
 `` Number one killer in the world is cardiovascular disease. Millions of people watch my show. Millions of housewives cook this shit for their families. Have you ever stopped to check the ingredients? Of course you have n't. Nobody ever does, you ca n't be assed to do it. You said you watched my show? I'd stop if you did n't want to die. Sure, we do n't age, but our arteries still clog.'' 
 
 Trenchcoat took off his hat. `` So you make people kill themselves slowly with a smile on their face. Something to be respected about that.'' 
 
 Chef Charlie grinned. `` We'll tell them it was a mistake. Cooking with Chef Charlie will continue to air. And next time you point a gun at me, remember- I've killed more people over the course of this conversation than you will in your entire career.''
