The door was unnervingly silent as Azrail closed it behind him. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead and down onto the floor as he gripped an ancient barrel key in his fist.

He looked down at his closed fist and slowly unfurled it as he picked up the key with his other hand. Shaking slightly, he missed his first attempt to insert the key. After pressing it all around the keyhole, he finally managed to slide it in.

There was a solid click as he turned the iron and the door locked. He carefully turned the key back and slid it free of the lock before he pulled out a thin chain. He dropped the key into the chain, and closed the back to clasp the metal together before he carefully placed it over his own head.

He carefully tucked the key under his shirt before he turned around.

"Find what you were looking for?" Sentenza was leaning against a wall as he carefully shifted his cigarillo using only his lips.

Azrail seemed to change in an instant. All the apprehension and confusion washed away as he looked over at Sentenza with a smile. He walked over with confidence in each step and stopped right next to the assassin.

He leaned in close to Sentenza, and whispered, "And more."

As Azrail pulled away Sentenza looked irritated. "You need to realize what's going on here, and quick. If you want to survive that is."

Azrail folded his arms behind his back and started to walk away. "Surviving, now there's something I'm good at. You seem to have some experience there as well, am I right?"

Sentenza stepped out into the middle of the hallway, as his hand slid down to his side and rested on the butt of his gun. Azrail had his back to him but stopped as soon as Sentenza's palm touched the gun.

For a brief moment the two of them stood completely still. Both seemingly waiting on the other one to make some sort of move.

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Sentenza moved first. He pulled his hand off of his gun and grabbed a matchbox from his pocket.

Skrrp

The matchbox slid open with a quiet scraping sound, and the older man managed to get a single matchstick to stand up amidst the others outside the box. He flicked the box up with his wrist, and the single matchstick flew out of the box and up into the air as the matchbox flipped closed.

Sentenza slipped the box back into his pocket and grabbed the match as it spun in the air. Azrail was still standing completely still. Sentenza put the head of the match under his thumb's fingernail, and as he passed by Azrail, he flicked his hand out towards him.

Fwoosh

The match hit the side of Azrail's head, and the friction from Sentenza's fingernail managed to light it.

He paused a moment next to Azrail and lit the cigarillo in his mouth. With the expertise of a frequent smoker, he shook the match out and then flicked it down on top of Azrail's feet.

"I'm not what you should be worrying about." Sentenza grumbled as he reached up and scratched the scars along his neck. "Keep your nose clean."

Sentenza walked away without looking back at Azrail. All while the frail man stood frozen in place.

When Sentenza was finally out of sight, Azrail held up his hand that was clenched in a fist. He looked down at it and took in a deep breath through his nose. As he slowly released the air from his lungs, he unfurled his hand to reveal small knicks made from his nails pressing into his palm.

Azrail looked back at the door to the room he had come out of. Right in the center was a nameplate with his name on it. He slowly turned around and followed Sentenza's path.

But something caught his attention. He turned to look at a door. The nameplate was different. It had obviously once said, Ted, but that had been scraped off some time ago. Despite the original imprint still being clear enough to read, it had the name, Nugget, slapped over top of it.

The frail man reached up and touched the small mark Sentenza's match had left on the side of his head. As he did that, his other hand reached down for the handle. As he turned it, the door clicked open.

With only a slight groan, the door opened up. He walked inside and shut the door behind him.

His eyes focused on the bed. Sitting in the center of it was a chicken. Beaten, bruised, and abused. Now covered in bandages and crude splints. He walked up and inspected the pile of blankets and pillows that had been stacked like a pseudo nest for her.

It was a strange sight to be sure. But there was something else. The room had this oppressive aura throughout it. It was like walking into a predator's den adorned with skulls and discarded carcasses.

Except the room looked perfectly normal. Nothing crazy. Nothing outrageous about it. But still, the feeling surrounded it like a stench pervades a hundred-year-old outhouse.

Azrail stopped at the edge of the bed and loomed over Nugget. She was resting amidst her comfortable pile.

Slowly, Azrail reached a hand down towards her neck. But as he got close, he froze.

Her eye was open, and it was staring past his hand, and right into his eyes. However, she hadn't moved an inch. With her head tucked down by her wing, her one eye focused not on what was closest, but who was there.

Azrail pulled his hand back. The entire time, her eye focused in on him. But as he took a step back, her eye closed.

He kept watching her for a few minutes, but while he stayed back, she didn't open her eye again. But, as he took a step forward, her eye immediately flung open.

Again, as he stepped back, she shut her eye.

Silently. Azrail circled the bed and stepped closer on the opposite side. He reached down towards her again, but as he bent over the bed he froze in place. Her other eye had opened wide and was staring up at him.