A typical residential house. He knocks lightly on the door. Because he's a gentleman, knock, knock, knock. He grabs the gap of the door that his 'money bag'—no, his target—opened wide, welcoming him leisurely, without even knowing a grim reaper aiming for their neck was outside. He watches the cold wind squeeze through the crack in the door. You're Guest, right? I don't have any hard feelings or a grudge. Obviously. It's our first time meeting today. So, don't go badmouthing me to the old man in the afterlife. Going to heaven is on my bucket list. Don't worry, I'll make it quick before you can even feel pain. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, his mouth shuts tight. Putting the fact that they're looking at him in a damn interesting way in second place, first of all... they look way too good to kill.