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Hey everyone! Kien here announcing that I will be posting one of my favorite stories chapter by chapter! I will only be posting one chapter a month seeing as it is a work in progress, so no whining at me for more hokkai? xDDD Like you really would... ANYWAY, here it is <3.

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When you first meet a person, you make a choice whether to pursue a friendship with them. Upon making a stand in friendliness, you get to know them and become comfortable with their feelings and habits. Sadly, the two of you are separated over the summer; and when you try to reacquaint yourselves, they have changed. You find yourself in a position of confusion; did you simply imagine the other personality? Well, to tell you of one truth I would have to reveal another, so I will tell you this story instead.

1. Doppelganger
Swinging his legendary Axe through the air caused the crowd to raise such a ruckus that he decided to do it again. A flash of his white teeth signaled his apparent enjoyment over the screams. With a thumbs up to his band, he pulled a pick from behind his ear and shouted, “One two three four!” Whence he reached the final number his fingers sprang into a fever which carried notes at a miraculous speed into the banging ears of the accumulated populous. The beating of the drums only fueled the pandemonium while the bassist was concerned with “keepin’ it real.” His clear notes sang dimly compared to the brazen buzzing bellows produced from the guitarist.
“Only God controls your death, but his servant is sent to TAKE YOUR LIVES!” screeched the lead singer/guitarist as he belted out the impacted tones so well known by Death Metal bands. Elderly members of the crowd pressed their hands to their ears in a useless attempt to save their hearing from utter destruction. Smoke spurted from the speakers and flooded the stage cueing the band to disappear; standing alone, the lead singer appeared to be on fire while the music grew dim and faded away along with his body. Members of the crowd whined in protest when they had finished admiring the special effects. Little did they know that the speakers had malfunctioned and the main guitarist/singer really was flaming. Standing backstage he patted the flames out of his hair and scanned the room to see if he was being watched. Automatically he flicked his fingers to make a snapping sound that caused his guitar to morph into the form of a scythe; which he tapped on his skin. In a matter of seconds, all the charred blemishes had disappeared and his hair had grown back to its exact length!
“That should do for now.” He mused stroking his well squared chin. Clump, thump, bump, scuffle, shuffle, sounded through the no-longer empty hall proving that a large group of people were struggling to move towards him. Quickly he discarded the scythe and leaned against the wall. Being surrounded by fans was not his idea of fun, but he did like to study them. That girl, how was she going to die, and when? These questions always occupied his mind, causing his body to relax and dreams to cascade through his thought patterns. Plunged suddenly into reality he took the pen pushed towards him and signed the paper so desperately given. “To Joanna,” he wrote, “From Doppelganger.” Upon receiving the autograph, the young woman surveyed him strangely.
“Hey! You’re supposed to put your name on here!” She whined clenching the paper in one hand and pointing at him with the other. Her nails were buffed to a clear shine and they reflected the sparkle hidden in her dark green eyes. “Really?” queered the sarcastic man, “Have you ever signed an autograph?” Her eyes fell to the floor and she nervously fingered the tips of her light brown hair as he continued, “Who are you to tell me how to write one then? If you have no experience on the subject, don’t preach your ideals to me!” Finished with his scoffing, he spread out his long arms and pushed the jeering and odorous humans off his path and strode away. “The nerve of that girl! Telling me to do things differently,” He pouted, his shoulders drooping while scuffing his shoes on the floor. “She was cute though…” The steady sound of his cold heart beat woke him from his pity party and reminded him he had work to do.
“Doppel!” Ordered a bossy voice in his head, “Hmm?” He replied to the loud indignant voice, “Your next mission is approaching the ‘deadline’!” Growing louder and even MORE annoying, the voice continued it’s screeching until it was sure he realized what must be done. “I see. Can’t very well greet them like this can I?” Musing, he gestured movements for the waltz while his clothing and appearance flashed into that of an aristocratic gentleman. Scythe in hand, he walked three paces to the left and clicked his heels together. Prompted by nameless voices, the man descended onto the supernatural highway located at the earth’s core!
“Welcome to the Supernatural Highway Sir! Please enjoy your flight!” Laughed a young street attendant with ruby red lips and such blond hair that it seemed to be white.
“Thanks, hon.” he chuckled, a hand on his hip while looking down at her, his height was staggering compared to hers, she being a mere 5 feet, while himself being 6’4.
“Don’t call me Hun, mister.” She scowled, taking a quick step and gestured towards the “highway”.
Indeed, there were roads, but none seemed be occupied, at least not the ground. Upon looking up, however, there were a myriad of supernatural beings flitting and zooming above the road. Some had “vehicles”, such as a winged motorcycle, for the sake of clichés, and others used their natural-born wings.
Our main character on the other hand, had wings as well, but he preferred to fly using his own ingenuity.
The world looked sadistic to young Jeremy as he staggered down the street. Tripping, he fell to the hard ground and convulsed in the freshly drenched grass. Wiping his thin mouth on the sleeve of his torn dingy brown jacket, he wheezed out his last regrets. Finished, he pulled out a package of arsenic and commenced downing it, when suddenly, a black metallic form oozed out of the gravel and slowly rose up above him. It morphed and dripped like a liquid while forming into the shape of a man, approximately 6’4, the fluid seemed to be made of a coal and silver finish. Finally the figure finished morphing, now holding a scythe in his right hand. “You know,” he mused, “Suicide is merely cowardice.”
Saying this, he slid the point of the scythe in front of the boy’s throat and cut into the flesh easily. Instead of blood gushing from the fresh wound, an eerily blue liquid dripped from his throat and started to be absorbed by the scythe. Once finished, the weapon glowed for a moment, and then the man lifted it and sighed gently. His hand waved over the boy’s head, and he touched his young throat. Caressing it gently the wound healed instantaneously.
Now the eyes of the boy shone with the deathly stare that is forever seen on corpses. Showing slight remorse, the man slid his fingers across the boys eyes, and positioned his head in a more flattering way, as flattering as death can be, so that whoever found him wouldn’t be too disgusted by the sight. It was the man’s duty to take the souls of the dead and transport them to one of two places: Heaven or Hell. Perhaps it might seem cruel to leave a body lying dead, but as the angel of death, he cannot interfere with how a person dies. Suddenly aware of footsteps, his scythe evaporated and he dropped to his knees next to the, now vacated, body. Cupping his hands to his face, he mimicked remorse while forcing tears from his brilliant emerald eyes.
“Jeremy? Is that you?” queered an elderly lady as she joined the group of spectators that now surrounded the man and body. “Jeremy!” She screamed reaching towards the boy and shaking him wildly. “Wake up! Wake up right now!” A cool hand touched her arm and pulled her to a standing position. “Ma’am… He’s dead.” The calm voice pulsated in her ears as tears streamed in floods from her graying pallor of a face.
Using the saddening situation to his advantage, the man slipped away and again descended into the earth. He needed to think before his next assignment. Faint sirens boomed in his ears, he was haunted by ambulances and fire trucks. This truly was the century of the Lord’s coming; he was constantly on the job zipping from one state to another. Doppelganger was his earth given name, though he was not evil, he was a servant of God sent to do His will. Although he frequently made mistakes and was usually in the middle of a punishment, he was lucky, for God has a wonderful sense of humor. If he didn’t, why in the world would he create puberty or teenagers in general? So yes, God being the one who invented laughter, He likes to laugh as well.
Bing Bring bzzt! His pocket buzzed loudly as he pulled out his cellular phone and lifted it to his mouth. “You have reached the Angel of American’s deaths! How may I help you?” A booming voice on the other end answered quickly. “Doppel! You are late AGAIN! And this time, there are WITNESSES! Old man Fergusson fell into the meat grinder again, but this time, his WHOLE body is mince meat. Get over there now!” God’s melodic and thunderous voice pushed him backwards, causing the angel to fly right into the Deli! Bam! He lay silent on the ground for a few moments thankful that God had made him invisible before expelling him from wherever he was. Standing, he surveyed the astonished people gathered around the pile of ground flesh and other types of gore. Astounded, Doppel leaned down and plucked a soul from the mess.
“Ew,” he groaned, “This one is pink. I guess it makes sense though, he worked with raw meats.” He smiled wryly and absorbed the gooey substance into his scythe. Each soul he collected was added to his bank of faces. He could summon the look of any dead person at any time. It was a wonderful way to keep his identity a secret from the humans. Glancing at the paralyzed infidels, Doppel waited quietly for the paramedics to burst through the blood spattered glass doors. Had anyone even called them yet? Silence covered the room like a black mass, flitting between the bystanders. A smile spread widely across his face as he observed the humans disbelief over such a gruesome thing. Being the American angel of death, he dealt with more oddities than any other servant of God. Americans truly have sick minds and ideals when they cross that border into crazy town.
“Finally!” He muttered as an ambulance rounded the corner and the medics rushed in. “Clear the way please!” Shouted one of them while the others pushed people back and asked them to vacate the area. Bored, Doppel turned and brushed arms with a CSI coming to inspect the scene for foul play. The jittery inspector shivered from his wispy touch. “Humph. Pardon me.” He knew no one could hear him so he felt a little foolish apologizing, but out of habit, he did anyway. Bored of watching all the commotion, he whisked himself out of the building and plodded down the street.
Birds were singing sweet little songs and people were humming on their way home from work. Dramatically raising his hand into the air, he snapped his fingers and cats appeared to consume the birdies while the humans began to scream at the freakish scene. Laughing merrily, Doppelganger continued on his way to the next soul transfer location.

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