"Mac' wake up! We're late!"
Mackenzie Arbitor's peaceful sleep was harshly broken by the frantic call of her Weapon, Archer Force-more formally know as Prince Death. She flew into a sitting position and struggled to untangle herself from her blankets, all the while feeling a guilty satisfaction that she'd managed to sleep a few more minutes late without completely oversleeping. "I'm up! I'm coming!" she called down the hall as she ducked into the bathroom.
A few minutes later she emerged, still half asleep but fully dressed, to find Archer in the kitchen pouring orange juice into a glass. "Good morning," she yawned.
Archer raised an eyebrow. "Uhhh, Mac'? Today's Saturday. Why are you dressed for school?"
Confused, she glanced down at her school uniform. "Uhhh, I thought we were late for school!"
He shook his head. "Not for school. We're late for our mission, remember?" She stared blankly. "Mission?"
Archer rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mackenzie, our mission," he explained patiently, as if trying to explain a math equation to a four-year-old.
The teenage Scythewielder searched her memory for a second, trying to remember when they had received a new mission.