Mortality is the great unifier. Rich man, poor man, middle-class man; none escape the dance of death. Everyone will one day pass over that border into the unknown, but, as we all know, not before they get the chance to challenge the Grim Reaper to a game for their soul!
As the fastest person alive, you decide that a foot-race is the way to go. Once Death takes the lead, however, you find it hard to keep up. “Ha!” he shouts over his shoulder. “No man can outrun me!” You find this incredibly frustrating, having never wanted to die in a cliché.
A simple tug-of-war is your best bet, you figure, seeing as the Reaper is nothing but a bundle of bones. Unfortunately, said bundle of bones is jacked as hell.
You settle on a simple game of Simon Says. Unfortunately, He sees “Simon says let me live?” coming a mile away.
You challenge Death to a nice game of Sorry™. You know you can’t win, of course. He’s Death itself. But it’s an old favorite, and you’d like one more round.
You decide to lean on your training, challenging the Grim Reaper to a dance competition, only to find you’re not the only one to spend a few seasons with the Ballet Russe.
A simple game of chess seems the way to go. After all, it’s a classic. And besides, you’re a master at it. Your grandfather taught you well as a child and—ah, well, that’s a checkmate from Death already. That’s fine. Maybe best two out of thr—ah, yes, he’s done it again. Well, perhaps best five out of—ah, okay, yes. No, of course, straight to hell, yes sir.
To your dismay, the fucker even wins a coin toss.
You challenge Death to a Scary Story Competition. It’s fortunate He wins, really, as the tales He tells you would leave any mortal insane, begging for His release.
You challenge the Reaper to a battle of the wits, only to find he’s heard them all before.
You, too, challenge Death to a foot-race, but one where the winner is the he who finishes last. Death agrees, laughing. Two-hundred years in, you’re feeling pretty good about your choice. A few hundred years after that, however, society collapses. The last humans die out. Life on Earth more or less ceases to exist, except for you, the sole witness, who can no longer remember where he placed the finish line.
You rack your brain for hours, trying to find the perfect game, until you do: it’s called Magic Mines. You and your friend David made it up on the playground when you were eight years old. There’s no way the Reaper could win at a game no one knows! But, you soon discover, He knows it well. The Reaper, it turns out, is David. Which explains why He skipped your ten year reunion.
You give Truth or Dare a shot, thinking yourself capable of tricking the Reaper. Unfortunately, he loves it. He’s asking for too much. “Dare me to reap that baby,” he demands. “Come on! Dare me to take his soul! I’ll totally do it if you dare me.” He’s that guy, you know?