When all was said and done the world was largely unchanged by these things. To be sure some would have noticed the fall of the Order after key members all turned up dead of unrelated accidents. Some whispered of government conspiracies and cloak and dagger operations. Others spoke of an irate wizard that had pulled strings, literal as well as figurative, on the matter. Neither, in this instance was true. Death had simply come to collect his due.

Drake went back to the life he had before he had been called on to service the Lord of the Lost. He rarely spoke of that service except to one other, and only then after making sure she wouldn't repeat the story to any others, especially those in the magical or supernatural communities. He had no desire to put up with people who thought they could turn his one-time association with that feared and hated figure to their advantage.

His Roadmaster that needed at least a month of hard work before it could be driven. He now had several Mythics that were fully capable of tearing him apart as enemies. He hadn't even been paid for the strange work Death wanted of him. None of that, however, mattered to him. Drake felt at ease despite all of this; for he had done things to help set the world just a little righter, and in the process had learned that even Death has a sense of humor.

A month after the Order had officially disbanded Drake was forced from his work by a knock at his office door. When he opened it he saw Death. After the initial shock wore off, or at least faded to the point where useful conversation could be had, Death let himself inside.

"I," Death's voice was softer now than it had been the last time they spoke, "came to discuss payment."

Drake couldn't think clearly, a thing that was likely due to having a personification of Entropy showing up at his door. "A wha? You're saying you can't pay?"

Death chuckled dryly. "I thought you might want to hear my offer then decide if you want it or money." Drake nodded but kept quiet. It wasn't every day, after all, that Death made deals. "One hour. Once that hour is up you may take anything you wish from my fields."

One hour's worth of time with the largest rummage pile in existence. Drake was interested, as he had, since a child, enjoyed picking through yard sales, things people had discarded as broken or unfixable, and attempt to find some use for them. How could he pass this up? "What are the conditions?" Death offered a boon, but he did not think that it would come without strings.

Death folded his arms in front of him, "You must explain your choices to me." Anything at all, physical or information so long as he explained why he wanted it. Drake considered, "I accept."

Death grinned. "Your hour starts Now."


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