Name: Charlotte Cole (alias: Rouge Remington) 
Year of Death: 1945
Total Reaps: -18
Place of Residence: A shack at the end of Stepford Way
Day Job: Assassin


"So I shoot, and a second later a piano falls on the guy and sends a spray of blood everywhere! There was this high-falutin' kind of bird nearby and she got hit by some of the chunks, goes totally loco!"

Beatrice looked like she was going to be sick. Luckily for her, right then Hekate happened to come in and I stopped, watching as Alex walked in after her.

"If it ain't Mrs. Grundy." I muttered under my breath, feeling reassured by the pistols in my jacket. 

I'd decided to play it safe and go through with the first reap she'd assigned me, but I had to say I was still annoyed. Why couldn't she just put me in the negative like Hermes did when I slacked off? That kind of punishment I took eagerly.

Call me suicidal for badmouthing her, but I'd learned with my time that the gods were nothing but a bunch of glorified saps doing their jobs half-heartedly. 

It was no wonder the world was such a hellhole, and how people like me ended up with the money and the power.

Not that I still had my empire. There was a time all of New York was practically under my rule, when my gangsters prowled every street and my will was the law. The police force should have been thanking me, seeing as I eliminated all of my competition. I was making their job easier, but no, they decided to throw all of their resources into bringing me down.

I was smart, though. I didn't go evading income taxes or shooting people in public. My gang had so many ranks to it that any kind of crime was literally untraceable back to me, and the fact that I was a woman kept a lot of people from taking me seriously as I rose to the top.

They called me the Red Lady. I bound loyalties in blood, and let ruthlessness gild my throne. Put simply, I shot first and asked questions later. Hesitation was not in my nature.

I took becoming a reaper as a sign. A sign that my legacy wasn't meant to die.

My watch beeped and I sighed, flipping open my pocket dictionary. 

It was full of countless inked-in pages, yellowed with time. I had to get it rebound multiple times, and the newest cover was a soft calfskin. A few more reaps were coming up. 

Might as well put on a show. 

The End

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