I sat next to Tony on my couch. It was getting dark, but neither of us had stood to turn on a light. He had the same shocked expression on his face as all the others, not that there had been very many of them. It was only once every few years I managed to screw up badly enough to where I actually had to sit them down and explain to them what was going to happen, that they were going to die.

Tony was my landlord’s son. He had long, black hair and two tattoos I could see, and at least twice as many piercings. He was a good kid, despite what people’s preconceived ideas of him had to say about it. He was one of those kids who came across as a burnout skater but would probably save the world one day. Or, well, at least he would have saved the world had he not met me.

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