Heralded by tolling bells and a cloud of black smoke, the arrival of the Grim Reaper was a... grim affair for most. He was the ultimate end of the line, a point of no return infrequently moved by heartfelt pleas from the living. His trade was souls and he took it seriously.

As he stood over a passed Sim, scythe in hand and foot tapping rhythmically to the last song the Sim ever listened to, he watched his newest Grimtern fumble through the fundamentals of soul-reaping. It wasn't as easy as just swinging a scythe and calling it done. The cause of death had to be determined, the time of death documented, and the information about the Sim- name, age, and occult- needed to be properly matched to the scheduled death. Then the soul needed to be properly harvested from the body. It was an art Grim had perfected over eons, one he had only recently begun passing on to others in order to lighten his workload. He had hobbies he wanted to pursue and vacations to take on faraway beaches.