~Chapter 1~

I turn back a little and sigh sharply. The Siberian husky pup is right up at my calf, panting and wagging its tail. It's 6:10 in this frigid, February morning. My interview's at 10. If I stay here any longer, I'll miss my bus. And the timetables between the bus and train are out of sync. It's like someone has intentionally constructed this system that encourages losing hours of sleep to catch one bus or train. Because if you're late for one you're late for the entire commute, no matter how much commitment you put into being early.

But it's not like this dog has any of those worries, stretching its copper and white body back with its bright, blue-silver gaze concentrated on me. But when I look at the long scar over its left eye for too long, I feel this uncomfortable pool of warmth in the pit of my stomach.

A powerful gust rushes down Middle Country Road, freezing my legs that are barely protected by a thin layer of stockings. The dog whimpers as it runs and pushes its body against my leg. I raise a brow. Aren't huskies supposed to be used to the cold? Or maybe it's lonely. Out of all the dog breeds, Siberian huskies are my favorite. However, they're smart enough to pretend to be good, obedient dogs, when in reality they rather do their own thing. That's probably it. This dog's kissing up to me to get me to take care of it or something. I continue to walk down the road, but the husky whines with a high pitch towards the end.

"Stay!" I command coldly. The husky flattens its ears and sinks low towards the ground his its body raised upward, but doesn't turn back to its dry cardboard box a couple of yards away. Nonetheless, I continue down the empty road. I got no time for this. I have a future to keep in mind.

I manage to catch the bus besides the Home Depot, thanks to a homeless woman berating the bus driver for something – I don't really care what. The bus arrives at Ronkonkoma a half hour later and the sun peeks over the parking lot on the other side of the station. I brace myself for the incoming rush of cold air, and push through to the front of the wooden, Wild West station where the Dunkin Donuts is. The 7:10 train to Penn Station wouldn't come for another thirty minutes, so I might as well get something to eat.

The line extends to the far end of the counter with other early risers. I join the line, feeling that I would figure out what I want by the time I reach the register. After a few minutes, I do reach the register, order an Angus Steak and Egg Sandwich with an iced caramel macchiato, and then go over to the counter behind the line to pick up my order. While waiting my gaze fall towards the right entrance of the shop, my brows knitted when I see the husky from earlier sitting patiently by the doors. How the hell did it get here? We stare at each other for a while until the lady behind the counter delivered my food. I make my way to the opposite entrance that faced the tracks, looking back once to see if the dog would react. It sits there like a statue, its gaze following me. The train to Penn Station just arrived and I pace down the platform towards the right end until I find a car with mostly empty seats. A few minutes later, it leaves.

The ride itself is uneventful. The cars were almost empty up until the train pulls up at Huntington, where people flood in a fill up most of the seats. Not mine for some reason. Sometimes my overly imaginative mind rushes to think that these people are avoiding me because I always look sad or emotionless, or because they have no idea what to assume of me when they see my baby, caramel face.

Not this time though because I can't stop thinking about the dog. There aren't any announcements or complains about there being a stray dog roaming the aisle or anything like that. But the kind of behavior it has displayed reminds me of how movies use creepy white children to foreshadow a foreboding event in the future. Coming to that conclusion makes my heart pound hotly and slowly as lava pouring down a volcano. The fact that we – my family – don't have our own home makes the thought even worse.

I breathe a steady stream of air and put on my earphones to calm myself down – right when the train pulls over at Penn Station. The time is 9:10 a.m. when I check my iPod, waiting for the passengers to scoot out the car. I speed through the crowd to the 1 train, riding it three stops downtown to 18th Street.

The CVS where I would have the interview is a block away from the station. I enter the sterile-looking store composed. A girl around my age greets me and I ask her where the interview will be conducted. She puckers her lips in thought before calling out to a coworker down the hair products aisle about the location of the interview. I'm guessing she's new. The coworker says interviews are normally conducted downstairs in the stock room and he tells me to use the elevator to get there.

In the gray storage room, there are crates upon crates of products this store sells upstairs, which makes me feel uneasy. Is it okay for interviewees to be here? Won't they be concerned about people stealing their stuff? I want to return to the surface, not wanting to be implicated in some supposed crime. But before I could turn back, a petite Indian woman calls out to me from behind the divider towards the opposite left corner of the room. She asks me if I'm here for an interview and I reply in the affirmative.

"Oh ok, nice to meet you! I'm Davina." She holds her hand out.

"Nice to meet you, too. I'm Daciana Tanzer," I reply with an award-winning smile, firmly shaking her hand.

Davina invites me in, rushing to take out a chair for me to sit. She's pleased with my early arrival and explains that she will need time to set up properly. While she's doing that, hopefully more people will come. Then, she disappears behind the divider.

The interview doesn't start until fifteen after. By that time, three other women walk in and wait along with me. Davina calls on me first and we exchange formal greetings once more. The interview begins and she asks me typical interview questions – why do I want this job, what makes me stand out from the rest of the applicants, what can I offer to this business. I smile and spout sugary, buttery nonsense. Fake it 'til you make it, like what Genevieve always say. And with that, the interview ends on a positive note, the two of us exchanging farewells and the best of luck surviving the cold. I go to school, my day continuing as normal.

I return to Ronkonkoma. It's 5:58 pm, but I pump my fists when I see that the 5:53 6A bus to Coram came late! In any other circumstance I would have to wait until 7pm to catch the final bus. The bus ride is quiet and relaxing, thanks to the driver turning off the interior lights during the mostly undisturbed drive. I disembark at Coram Plaza and move around the perimeter of the large plaza until the sidewalk ends, leading up to a small dirt path, and then to the side of the road. Against my will, I find myself looking for the Siberian husky. Did it make it back here? Or was I imagining things before? When I reach the box halfway through the road, I find it empty. Not sure what to think, I assume that someone else might've taken the dog to a vet or shelter.

A half hour later, I arrive home to my sister's house and see Genevieve and my little brother Dante in the living room, both of them absorbed into their laptops (well, Dante's on mine) to notice me. I say hello a little more assertively and Dante responds lazily as usual. Gen is still silent. I shrug, making my way to the kitchen to wash my hands and find something to eat. She's probably immersed in her schoolwork and probably hasn't slept since she came from work this morning. But then why would she choose to come down to Coram today of all days? I open the fridge: protein shakes, a jar of duck sauce, two carton of eggs, baking soda, and a medium pot half full with rice; then the cupboards: canned shit, mac 'n cheese, and Nutella (but there's no bread). Nothing to eat.

"Daciana, come here."

My body freezes. The cool, detached tone in her words is causing the adrenaline to pump through my veins. An ache duly hammering my head. I swallow, and move within my mother's presence. She continues typing in her laptop as if she never called me, but I wait, using the time given to me to calm down. What's wrong?! What did I do now? I don't remember doing anything wrong!

"Earlier today a young man came by asking for you. Do you know anything about this?" She leaves a gap of silence hanging in the air.

"I don't know anything about a guy," I say. "What did he look like?" But Gen remains silent, as if I should figure it out myself and dig my own grave.

I search my mind for an answer. I don't even know any guy from around here. Unless…maybe it was that guy that works at the Stop & Shop in the plaza who had offered to hang out with me. But there's no way he could've known where I live.

"Don't you see the situation we're in?," Gen says, her voice stern and controlled, yet sounds like her anger will burst out anytime soon. "You have no business looking for boys! Get a job!"

"Gen, I –"

She stands abruptly, almost knocking down her laptop, and jabs her index finger at the bridge of my nose. "Don't call me that! I'm your mother! Don't talk to me like you're bigger than me."

"Gen!," I insist, swatting her hand away. Anger's boiling underneath my skin, but I tighten my fist to will the emotion back from surfacing. Because I don't know how much more of this crap I can take. "You know that I don't go around looking for guys. Hell, I don't even leave the house that often. Like fuckin' really, Gen -"

"Don't use that language on me like I'm your friend! When you get some friends, go do that with them, but not with me."

The room's quiet, except for the deafening ringing in my ears. My right fist is itching to do something, but all I'm allowed to do is stare stoically at my mother's ugly, angry face.

"Y'know, you'd think after all these years I've been stuck with you that you'd know me by now. But you don't. Anything bad that's said about me, you'd believe in an instant. And any good I do, any achievement I reach, you just brag about them as if they're your own. Just to puff yourself up. And yet, you expect it to just…not affect me in any way. Sorry, but I'm not that numb -"

Gen turns away and goes into the kitchen, not bothering to hear the rest of my rant. I don't bother calling after her. I'm tired of pretending to be nice, pretending that I care.

I move towards the door, grabbing my phone and my iPod and putting on my jacket.

"Daci," Dante addresses me quietly. "The man Mom was talking about. Maybe it's just me, but he sort of looks like Vergil."

I inhale sharply without thinking. Daddy was here? Before I could get a chance to see him? But there's no way he could've known where we we're staying now. None of us has spoken to our grandparents ever since we were kicked out of our apartment – and even then, I was too shy to speak to my father when he did call. But if somehow this is all true, then it's no wonder why Gen was adamant about not telling me anything. She probably doesn't believe it either.

Dante stops drawing on his art tablet and turns where he sits towards me. "You still have photos of him, right? He had copper hair and his eyes kinda look grey. But the weird thing about it is that he looks…much younger than Mom – not a wrinkle on his face or a gray hair in his head. Like, isn't Mom fifty-one?"

I nod to myself with a slight smile, acknowledging this piece of information. But I didn't care how weird it sounds. It'd be nice to see my father again the same way I last saw him. With life reverting back to how it was before he left. He probably came by to make up for the fact that he left us without any financial or emotional support. And to fix and bring our family back together!

"Where do you think you're going?" Gen emerges from the kitchen with a white mug of tea.

I turn to Gen squarely, my head raised a little. "I'm going out."

She sits back on the couch and carefully sips her tea. "It's cold outside. Don't you want a scarf or a hat to wear?" Her tone's calm and inflected with sweetness. It usually means that our fight has been forgotten, like all the other fights we've had.

"I'll be okay. I won't be out for long anyway."

I untangle my earphones, put them on, and leave the house. The strong winds this night are more frequent than they were this morning. I don't let the extra cold bother me, as long as I can stuff my hands deep in my pockets for warmth and pull my furry hoodie over my ears. I follow the sidewalk lit with white street lights out of Homestead Village and cross the road past the security post down the long, tundra-like block of Homestead Drive.

The music switches from the serene dark lyrics of All Good Things Come To An End by Nelly Furtado to the ethereal hurricane that is Soundshower by Karl Future and Brother Simon. I scoff with a stupid smile as I make the turn down Middle Country Road with a more confident and poised gait. Geez, I think I'm still a little gushing from hearing about my father.

The lit sign by a Catholic organization center has changed; I notice every time it does because it's one of the few things that change around here. The message on the board reverted back to "FORGIVE ONE ANOTHER", which I can't help but stare at. Gen and I had silently forgiven each other just a while ago, but it won't stop all the future arguments I know we will have. Forgiveness only seems like a code word for forgetting everything bad that has happened and hoping things will get better. But I can't bring myself to forget.

The sidewalk stops and the dirt path picks up after it before merging with the side of the road. A street light up ahead blinks out. Underneath the patch of darkness it created is the empty box. Beside it, the Siberian husky gazes across the road, sitting erectly despite the cold. I see its blue-grey eyes glowing in the darkness. The closer I walk towards it, the dog turns it head towards me and runs up to my feet, panting and wagging its tail.

A thought comes to mind and I pull out my phone, skimming through the photo app to a picture of a framed photo of my father. I turn on the flashlight function of the phone, apologizing to the dog that recoiled from its brightness, and hold the screen beside the dog. The dog's copper fur and blue-grey eyes are exactly the same as my father's, which makes me happy. I feel as if fate's telling me something though I don't know what.

The dog suddenly sprints down the road, stops just as fast, and barks at me before sprinting off again. I try commanding the dog to wait, but with the whipping of the wind, the dog is too far too hear me. I psyche myself up and race down the road until Coram Plaza comes into view. Past the Dunkin' Donuts, the Capital One bank, and the BP gas station I keep running, though slowly losing stamina, before coming to the edge of Grant Smith Road where the dog sits in waiting. Then it runs off again, its howl echoing in the wind as its body vaporizes in the air, too. I clench my fist and grind my teeth. Are you kidding me?! It vanished?

But the wind is too strong for my hot irritation to burn any longer. I shake my head, stuffing my hands once more in my pockets, and turn back in the opposite direction. The heat from all that running is making me uncomfortable, tempting me to take off my jacket. Still though…

Just wait 'til Dante hears about this.

When I got home, it was 8:26pm and Gen is nowhere to be seen in the living room or kitchen. I ask Dante where she is, disturbing his concentrated guide-browsing on the TV.

"She's in Leona's room sleeping," he drones. Meaning that we have the rest of the night to ourselves."

I change into a black undershirt and a loose, faded-pink pajama slacks, putting on a baggy, green and white sweater and a scarf – all while telling Dante of what happened during my walk. With everything described – one thing sounding more ridiculous than the last, his attention grows steadily towards me, his brow cocked up and jaw slackened.

"I…don't know what to say to that," he says, shaking his head. "That is…way too big of a coincidence! I mean, a dog that resembles Vergil…that teleports all over the place?"

I shrug, taking out my laptop and booting it up.

Then, Dante chirps up. "Hey Daci, let's have a duel!"

I glance at him smiling stupidly, his head resting in his palms. "Since when did you want to play Yu-Gi-Oh?"

"Can't I play Yu-Gi-Oh when I feel like?" Dante fans his hands out.

"Whatever, fine. I needed to test out some new decks anyway."

I close my laptop and reach over to a mustard-colored plastic bag of tins and boxes, each of them brimmed with cards. I used to have a lot of duplicates when first getting back into the game, but I managed to sell most of them and used the money to construct coherent decks and some Extra Deck monsters.

We move to the carpet in the kitchen since the kitchen light couldn't travel upstairs and wake up Gen or our sister Leona. Dante lays out the mats and I distribute the tins and boxes all over the floor. "Like always, choose the kinds of cards you want. Forty is best but you can go up to sixty. Choose any archetype you want." I emphasize the last part, getting up to find paper and pen. Knowing my brother, he would pick my Odd-Eyes Performapal deck. It's his style per se, and he chose it only because it's a protagonist deck. Plus, Arc V is the latest arc, so he's biased towards Pendulum summoning.

When I return with pen and paper, Dante is already done constructing his deck. Just from seeing Odd-Eyes Pendulum Dragon on the top, I assume it's Odd-Eyes Performapals. Like I thought.

"Did you make an Extra Deck?" I ask.

He replies with a toothy smile. I look through the Extra Deck pile to see what he may have taken. He has taken a good amount of XYZ monsters, mainly Numbers. Luckily he didn't take any of the Utopia cards. Probably because he doesn't know it was a protagonist's ace card – not that he likes Yuuma in any way. Oh well. I continue sifting through the pile. He definitely took Armades from the Synchro pile, though I'm not sure he took more than that. Fusion? He obviously took Rune-Eyes, Beast-Eyes, and Vortex Dragon since they fit well with his deck. Not sure if I'll be seeing them. I only have two Odd-Eyes after all. If Dante chose to have more than forty cards, I might not see them at all.

For testing purposes, I choose my Shaddoll Prediction Princess deck. It creases me that XYZ summoning may not be as easy as I would like since half my monsters are Shaddolls, which have varying levels. I would need to adjust to it somehow. We shuffle our decks, then trade decks for the opponent to cut and reshuffle.

"Alright Dante, prepare to lose," I say, creating two columns on the loose-leaf with 8000 underneath both of our names. "It is you who shall lose!" Dante bellows, getting into character. "Rock, Paper, Scissors, best two outta three."

I win my two games and go first. "Just a reminder," I start. "For the Pendulum format, the person who takes the first turn cannot conduct their draw phase. Now let's see…" My hand was decent at best. I had a couple of Shaddolls and the Ritual Spell for Tarotrei. I hate to resort to stalling, but I have no choice. "I set a card face down in Defense mode, and two cards face down. Your go."

Dante grins widely, laughing like a villain. He either has Odd-Eyes already, or he's gonna Pendulum Summon. Or both. "I use Scale 1 Stargazer Magician and Scale 8 Timegazer Magician to set the Pendulum Scale! I Pendulum – w-wha?!"

My body jerks upward upon seeing the two cards glowing out of nowhere. For a moment, I thought that maybe since they're holographic cards, the light overhead must be reflecting intensely from the surfaces. However, that theory went out of the window when the orb of light that engulfed the cards grows, enveloping me and Dante. Everything around me is only a clean white, and soon, I no longer see Dante in front of me. My legs falls beneath me and hover in mid-air. A hot anxiety radiates in my stomach. This is starting to feel too much like an anime.

Soon, the whiteness of the light fades from above into a blue-black with white specks scattered all over. When it completely dissipates, I drop from the air, but only by a couple of inches from the pavement. Still, it killed my butt! I kneed over my tailbone and hear a pile of cards scatter all over the ground along with the sounds of harder, but hollow objects.

"Aw man, are you kidding me!?" I hiss, taking up my laptop and phone and checking if they are still functioning. The phone's screen is still intact, and the only scratch the laptop sustained was a couple of scrapes around a corner. I boot my laptop up while raking all the cards with my outstretched arms and consequentially the dirt that happened to be underneath. "Man, dirt's gonna get in the sleeves. And it's gonna take me forever to sort all these out, ugh!"

While packing the cards back in their tins, I take a quick look around where I am. It's a common trope that being engulfed in a bright flash of light means being teleported to another place. And seeing the chalky white sidewalks under the glow of the city lights, and the small, cute, and colorful cottages juxtaposed around towering skyscrapers – this is definitely not New York, much less Long Island or Suffolk County. In fact, is there any city in the world that looked anything remotely like this? Maybe. There has to be, or else this place wouldn't seem so familiar to me.

I take the mustard-colored bag (thank goodness it's here too) and open it up so that it can adequately hold the tins and boxes. Now that I'm focusing on the containers before me, I notice that I'm missing about half my tins and boxes. I speculate that Dante has the rest. The light did catch him and the cards around him. Is he in this city, too?

"Are you okay?" A boy's voice calls out to me.

I glance over to my left towards the voice. The light from the interior of the building named Hotel (original, isn' it?) shines from behind him, obscuring his face. I continue packing my stuff.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I finally say. "Don't concern yourself with me. I was just leaving –"

"My father has requested to see you," he interrupts, his voice low.

The fuck is he talking about?! Someone wanting to see me? But I just came here! "I'm sorry, but I don't…" My boy had come closer to me, and seeing his face this close, the words I was going to say hitch in my throat.

The boy's big, green eyes linger upon me stoically. Then, he flashes me a gentle, but pained smile, his hand held out towards me.