A lone man in his mid twenties was leaning against the glass of the small bus station situated far away from all the trouble this night had in store. He was watching the rain and for all he cared tonight could have been any day, but tonight the "spook" would be over. Halloween had become a joke, fully commercialized. No longer a thank you to god for a good harvest, no longer a ritual to keep the ancestral spirits resting. Out here in the countryside of Germany the holiday of "Martinisingen" was still trying to stay alive against the global trend of the pumpkin bonanza. The man was contemplating to light a cigarette. He knew it was unhealthy and he had tried to stop several times this year, but he still had a few with him at all times. His contact would get here the second he lit it. It was always like that. He would not get the moral kick after having smoked another one if he never finished it. Tonight would be a busy night all over the world. The Insurgency, the Foundation, the GOC, they all would try to start something tonight. The date was relevant in this regard to him and nothing more. Tonight a lot of people would die, their death covered up and in a few weeks there would no longer be a trace of them left. It was the night he to would disappear. The worst part about faking your own death was that you could take non of your stuff with you, could not tell anyone and had to leave some work unfinished "over the weekend" to which you would never return. He needed to get out here via stolen bike so that his car would not get him discovered. If the Insurgency did not show up, he would ride it back in shame. Than he could go back to his "normal" life. The Factory would never need to know.
The light of the nearest street lantern went out.
"Looks like the spook is on its way. Or we just past 3 AM, one or the other."
The man turned to face the thing that was now standing with him in the tiny bus stop. It had a long flowing black rope and a stylized costume scythe with a red blade. "To be honest I was expecting a car and guys in suits." The young man addressed the reaper without any hint of fear. You learn to just go with the flow eventually when you are invited to tack along to business meetings for Factory contracts. The reaper raised his scythe, "No small talk than. Straight to business." The man did not show it on his face, but he was mentally prepared for a dodge roll. If a client points a weapon at you, you hit the deck. Life by that rule or die without it. "So, this is just a scam than? You kill me and be done with it? No new Identity far away? No employment with the Insurgency. Do I get a last wish at least?"
The reaper lowered his scythe. "I see how it is. They did not give you the pamphlet did they?" The man was putting his hands into his pocket, as if to search for something. He still had his employee emergency button on him. Push that thing and the Factory is here to break him out of anomalous shenanigans. Never jump out of a plane without a backup parachute.
"No, they did not. They gave me a time and place and nothing more."
The reaper raised his scythe and rammed it into the soft earth next to the bus stop. It was now just sticking there, looking like an abandoned festival prop. "We should really get this stuff streamlined." The reaper shuffled through his ropes until he drew forth a stack of pamphlets held together by a rubber band. He pulled a pamphlet from the pack and extended a black gloved hand to give it to the man. The man grabbed it and began reading: "Chaos Insurgency Extraction Program". He was still mentally prepared to dodge roll. "For your anomalous knowledge and agreed cooperation the Insurgency will fake your death and the Foundation will purge you of the Records!?! Here at the Chaos Insurgency we pride ourselfs on our ability to make the Foundation do your paperwork!! Here is how:" Out of the corner of his eye the man noticed the reaper now leaning on the glass of the bus station, reading a tiny book with pure red enveloping. "You will actually die an anomalous death, but no worries, the trick is that we can reverse it." The man looked up to the reaper: "Do you know how ridiculous the proposal in here reads? If you can reverse death, you do not need me, just get Einstein or Tesla." The reaper did not even look up just gestured that he should continue reading. "Reapers have killed humans since the middle-ages, but there is a loophole. a reaper can only legally kill you if your time is up. Since you are clearly not about to die tonight from natural causes, your death is cosmically illegal! The universe itself will try to fix your death." The man turned the page. "Tonight a lot of gray cases will wash up on the big man upstairs desk. We are in the progress of using anomalies to kill people. The cosmos will need time to sort this all out. Reapers can remedy their own mistakes. You will be dead, seen by the Foundation as one of our victims and your body and worldly records purged. Your employer will be the last to have any idea you ever existed, but these records will be updated to reflect your new purged development. We resurrect you far away about a week after everything has run its course, maybe a bit longer (cosmic) margin of error. :D" At the last to symbols the man frowned. "Your marketing is…" He did not finish the sentence. A loud bang had echoed from the direction of the reaper. "People always look at the scythe." The reaper still holding his book had shot him with a tiny pocket revolver. "See you on the other side."
A twenty something man woke up in pain, pressed away a lit and stumbled out of a coffin. A robotic voice echoed over speak: "Welcome to the Chaos Insurgency please enjoy your stay." The man looked up. A man in a black lab coat was leaning over him. "You know, we meet before. I had a rope on back than. That button of yours really did complicate things. Factory equipment does not mix well with cosmic law." "Where and when am I" "January 12 2017, Base Six." "You send me back in time?" "Na, I am just messing with you. Marry Christmas 2021."
Two man in black lab coats were watching the resurrection room containing the pincer coffin through a camera feed. "That is 6 out of 8. I think marketing nailed it this time." The other man crossed the name of the newly resurrected Insurgent of a list, that still contained at least 50 names. "People really believe the cosmic correction stuff." "I mean marketing even convinced some of our researchers that cosmic correction and god judging deaths is part of reality. Even once we tell them that we made it up so that we could kill people, without them being hostile towards us after resurrection. They still think the cosmos might have an interest in people dying properly." The man looked over to the list. "How long do you think we need to get all of the new recruits out of hell?" "At the rate we are currently going, Halloween next year." "Cosmic Margin of error is wonderful, isn't it? If we can be more precise with whom we get out, we can than start to pull out the old blood, the VIPs."
The meeting did go well.
