The consequences of an argument at an interdimensional outpost

The first thing any interdimensional traveller will tell you, is that some dimensions are really hard to find. You'll never get used to it. Just like you would never know the way to a restaurant that moves every other day. These dimensions are only visited by travellers who need a rest and pick the first dimension they find. Or by people who don't want to be found.

One of those dimensions is called the junkyard dimension. Well, some snarky people call it that anyway. Its only permanent inhabitant, who calls himself the collector, prefers the name "second-hand dimension". It's no wonder why it didn't stick. While only few people find this place, it almost magically attracts old stuff. If you are looking for a gift to someone who collects antiques but seems to already have everything, you'll find something here. Right now the collector is sorting through a collection of snow-globe dimensions. The one he's holding in his hand at the moment contains a dead star. A small distance from him (the dimension is only about a square kilometer large) is a café. It only serves canned food. Nothing that finds its way here is fresh. Its dilapidated exterior and the sign "the best café in this dimension" tell you everything you need to know about it. The coffee is surprisingly good, though.

Two people are sitting in the café. They are each on their own, and absorbed in their own thoughts. One of them, a tall, slender man, dressed completely in black is drinking a Latte macchiato. Describing the milk used for it as old is downplaying the effect time had on it. There's a reason why the menu lists it in the "Aquired taste" section. It's the first time he's drinking a Latte macchiato. He had heard that some people liked it and wanted to see what was to it. He's glad that he doesn't have intestines that would need to digest this drink later. "No wonder," he thinks, "that people are dying so often." But at least he understands its name now.

A woman enters the café. She takes a to go cup and a teabag out of her backpack, fills the cup with hot water and puts the teabag in it. Only then she looks around the café. Her gaze falls on the other person sitting in there. He is small but muscular and has short brown hair. His left eye is covered by an eyepatch. His left arm is missing but was replaced by a mechanical version. Only when the woman sits down right in front of him he takes notice of her.

The first man watches them. They are talking quietly. It's obvious that they didn't await to see each other here. The first man doesn't listen to the conversation, even as it grows more infuriated. He knows how it will end. He watches as the man raises his mechanical arm, as if he wants to give something to the woman. If you would have stood close by, you would have heard a click and seen a small piece of metal fly out of an opening in his forearm in her direction. The man gets up, turns around, and leaves the café without another word. The woman tries to call after him, but her voice fails her. She gets up, stumbles, and uses the table to support herself. As she regains her balance she starts to follow him. Only after a few steps, she falls to the ground. She lays there for a while. When she stands up again, the world around her is darker. All colours seem a bit more pale to her. She looks down, and sees her own corpse lying on the ground.

Death sets down is now empty glass and gets up. "Molly Harper?", he asks. She sighs. "If I'm judging the situation correctly, and I think I am, you know exactly who I am." Death smiles. He always does. His face is only a skull. "Yes. But most people like it when I call them by their name". She looks at him. "I don't think this matters now. So he actually killed me. I didn't expect that."
"Most people don't," he replies.
"So what happens now?"
"That's only for you to find out. I'm but the receptionist". She smiles. "So even in death the adventure doesn't stop". And suddenly where her ghost had been just a moment ago, there is nothing.

Death takes her to go cup, empties it, and orders another Latte macchiato. He sees now why people like it.